All Hope Is Gone

"Please. . . don't do this!" A young teen was in my grip. His wide brown eyes were looking at me in terror, and his body was shaking in fear.
The words caused a memory to stir in my mind. A younger me, in another life, asking the same request. The thought almost caused me to let go of the human. Until he tried to break free himself.
Jerked back to the present, I snarled at him and grabbed his hair. I pulled back his head, exposing the white flesh of his neck. A rush of triumph filled me as I darted my head forward to latch onto his throat.
Sweet bliss filled my mouth, satiating the hunger that drove me to drink more.
He groaned in my arms as I continued to gulp down the blood. His heartbeat had been racing, only now it pumped harder to make up for the lost blood supply. It would continue to grow faster, until finally slowing down and stopping.
As I finished my drink, I pulled my mouth and teeth from the now destroyed neck and licked my lips. He was unconscious, and I ran my hand through his dark dirty hair. He was an innocent. I was the monster.
I couldn't help but feel a little compassion for my prey of the night. His words from before had rang a bell in my mind. I had stumbled upon him while hunting. I knew he was a homeless kid, I had seen him in the daylight trying to find some source of shelter for the night. At least now he didn't have to worry about the cold.
I sat there in Central Park, waiting for his heart to stop and for him to pass on. I had sat down and put his head on my lap, not caring about the wasted blood that was flowing gently on my jeans. We were under one of the trees by the river, shaded from the light of the lamps. It was around midnight, no one in their right minds would be out at this time, unless they wanted to be mugged or murdered.
Well, except me, but I was another species. Someone who muggers and rapists wouldn't dare give a try at.
At last, his heart gave one final throb before stopping. I sighed, gave his hair one last caress, and put his head gently on the snowy ground. The police would find him in the morning and label him as another victim of the blood-drinking murderer.
I had only been in New York City for two weeks, but I had built up a good reputation already.
I stood up, brushing the snow from myself, and started the long walk home. Memories sprang up as I walked down the cobblestone paths.
It had been two years since I had been changed into what I was now. The name of the man who had found me was Jack. I had stayed with him for a year, getting the reins on my new life, before venturing out into the world on my own. We had become friends, he was my mentor and I was a companion. I soon found out that the lives of our kind were quite lonely ones. He had been happy to have someone around to talk to. But I had grown bored over the course of the year.
Now I was an artist, striving to get by in New York City. One would think that with the beauty and charm that came with living the life as a vampire, it would be easy. Not quite. I still had to have some sort of income to pay for my apartment and for the comforts of a home. And the life of an artist wasn't glamorous by any means.
But I was independent. I had been bitten when I was twenty. I had just moved out of my parent's home two years before, stared college, and I had just gotten the taste of life outside of my hometown. It was a taste that I wanted more of. Becoming a vampire didn't mean that I was content to live in a basement, only coming out at night to feed. It was more than enough for Jack, but not for me.
I had gone back to college and finished with a Bachelor's Degree in Fine Arts. I created paintings that were shown in various art galleries throughout New York. It didn't give much money, but enough for me to pay for an apartment.
Speaking of which, I strolled up to the apartment building. Listening to hear if anyone was walking around, I weaved a sigh of relief when I heard nothing. I made my way up, unlocked the door, and relaxed instantly as I walked into my home.
It was a small three room apartment. It had a bedroom, bathroom, and a room that was split into a living room and kitchen.
My living room was scattered with art supplies and half done paintings. I had made it into an art studio, putting a desk, easel, and shelves in to hold all of the things I needed for my art.
I went to my bedroom and stripped myself out of the bloody clothes, which I put into a garbage bag to be washed.
I walked into the bathroom and turned on the water for a shower. The mirror above the sink showed myself covered in blood. To the normal eye, I appeared to be a slender, somewhat tall girl. I had clear pale skin, long limbs, and hands that looked graceful with harmless long nails.
I had lips that curled up at the end, the top one was thinner than the bottom. Hazel eyes stared back at me as I made my assessment. Dark curly hair made it's way down my shoulder, covering my breasts and trailing to stop at the middle of my back. My vanity in regards to my attractiveness had disappeared over the two years.
I had seen my eyes filled with blood lust. Those lips held back razor sharp canines that could split skin easily. That pale skin had been bathed in blood before. And it still was.
Blood was caked on my stomach, throat, and hands. Now that my minds was cleared and my thirst was quenched, I flinched at the memory of that boy. Guilt was something that could eat away at you if you let it.
The steam from the shower clouded the mirror and I sighed, pushing away my thoughts before climbing in to be surrounded by the warmth of cascading water.