I'm Just the Worst Type of Guy to Argue With.

I lick my cold and pale lips, the chalky white color contrasts severely with my wet tongue’s caress. I blink my eyes for a brief moment, but only the slightest motion disturbs my lonely and silent figure. A harsh gust of warm Spring wind shoots through all of the trees surrounding me, the trees in the backyard of Cierra Trent’s house. I remain unmoved among the rustling leaves, only the silky, yet slightly mat with blood; black hair that I cared so little about would shift, as would the red tie wound around my sallow neck, brightly contrasting the two unlike objects. I look down at the grimy and blood-soaked tie, thinking of the girl I had strangled with it just last week. The tie wasn’t originally red, of course, it was really a nice and simple white tie, only a few months ago, brand new, and it went perfectly with my—stolen—pinstripe suit. But that was then, and this is now, and now, I return my attention to the beautiful enchantress that sits beyond that window pane, thinking her daft and human thoughts, tangling her perfect hair in knots by tossing and turning….

Wait.

She discontinued her movement, falling into a deep and almost indissoluble sleep, as she did every night, at exactly this time; I stare down at my watch, midnight, on the dot. Just like the past few months that I had been watching her, waiting for her. Of course, I hadn’t just watched, I had tasted, during her deep slumber, three minutes from now, I would creep, ever so cleverly, onto her balcony, and, swiftly, for sure, I would be in her bedroom, reveling in the delectable bounties of her soft neck… Even the thought of her blood made me begin to anticipate her luscious, sweet, and hot blood surging past my lips and fangs and into the throat that craved her impatiently and greedily.

I cracked my knuckles and performed the daily ritual: the climbing, the sneaking, the creeping… It all led to what pleasures I truly could not express. Her acceptance of my taking her blood, however unwittingly, was soothing to my troubled lack-of-soul. I took another hungry look at her jugular artery, my hazel eyes widening with every vibrating pulse that I both felt and saw. I heard her heartbeat pound in my acutely sensing ears, as if it were my own, though mine was no longer thumping furiously, as hers was. It was as if I could always hear it, even in a crowd of people at night, among the bustling humanity, with so many hearts, I could tell hers apart easily. Perhaps it was due to how closely I had been watching her, but, then again, it could be that I had some sort of connection with her. Maybe that’s why I’ve kept her alive for so long…or maybe it’s because I like her blood fresh, and I like to hide in the shade and see just how exhausted she is at school due to the frequent blood loss? Either way, she was still alive and I enjoyed having a fresh snack, especially one that was such a delicacy.

As I took my fill for the night, taking in her essence, I surveyed her even closer than I ever had before. Her form was encompassed in a thin, ivory nightgown, which I could see her quite clearly through, all of her. Her black hair smelt of vanilla and cinnamon, reminding me of pumpkin pie, which was always my favorite food, way back when I was a meek and inferior human.

“Sleep Sugar.” I whispered in a cavalier and sultry tone, addressing the girl that was about to have her jaw punctured, though she didn’t hear me, and though she didn’t know of her fate.

I took off the human mask and let my true face free, with its angled features, crouching brow, and sharp white teeth that elongated farther into even sharper white teeth. I sink my teeth into her neck, letting my fix flow through me, relishing the euphoria that came afterwards, reveling in the power that I felt from her body. I take a cloth and, with much care and precision, clean the wound, afterwards I place a healing herb, which I stole from some Spirit Worshippers, in the puncture marks that I had made myself. I took the smallest look back when I exited her bedroom and all that I wanted to do was savagely rip her throat out and eat everything of hers that came into my sight, to hear her scream… I resisted these temptations, killing a little girl on my way home, in lieu of killing Ci.

“Ci-errr-uh-trent… Awwe, Sugar.” I said to myself, rolling the beautiful name on my tongue, but eventually concluding that Sugar fit her better, because her blood tasted of candy, and had the same effect on a vampire as twenty Pixie Stix did on a human.

Her blood sugar must be high.