Before departing, I take a quick glance around the house, curious to see a fellow vampire’s living arrangements. Paintings and photographs throughout the years are hung on the walls within hallways, and along the stairs, leading up, framed family photographs are hung.

  Towards the top of the stairs, I see a group photo of Emery, Grace, Taylor, and two others who I don’t know.

  I peek around in the upstairs room, finding what would be a master bedroom; however, Emery’s turned it into a study.

  A computer sits on a desk facing a window. A couch, draped with a knit gray blanket is beside it. Faintly illuminating the room is a small lamp which sits on a side table next to the couch, and on the other side of the room, a bookshelf the width of the wall, reveals Emery’s impressive book collection.

  I’m like him.

  In the absence of sleep, I read.

  I take a quick glance at his collection, and several I’ve read, while many others I haven’t. Then, on a middle shelf, I spot a photograph in a frame. It’s Emery and a woman who looks to be his age. A dried rose sits in front of the photograph.

  While the photo looks to be at least thirty years old, Emery looks identical to how he does now. I assume the photograph was taken right before he was turned.

  I don’t know who the woman is, and I’m too new of a friend to ask. I also probably shouldn’t be in here so that’d be two strikes against me.

  I push my thoughts aside and return to the main floor where I change into my old clothes and set the clothing set for training on a chair where they’ll find it when they get back. I put on my coat and exit the house into the early morning light.

  The dark sky clouds press from up above as I start into my run. I lurch forward and grab hold of the nearest tree, climbing it until I reach a point I can no longer climb. From it, I leap off, air rushing past me. I extend my hands, grabbing hold of a horizontal branch.

  My vision is sharp. I can already see the branch I’ll grab onto on the next tree. I’m like an Olympic gymnast, though I have an inhuman edge on the competition.

  I look down and find as even of a surface as I’ll find in the forest and drop down, landing firmly on both feet. I take a moment, focus my eyes on the path forward and shoot off, zooming through the forest.

  Any human camping in the area would merely see an instant blur that blended into the scenery; nothing to even spark a reaction.

  Beneath the shade of leaves, it’s dimly lit in the forest. Fallen branches and dead leaves hardly have a split second to crunch beneath my feet before I’m already several dozen feet away. Still, despite the speed, my eyes absorb everything; sharper and more focused than ever, with campus as my destination.

  I arrive on campus about thirty minutes before lecture. To my surprise, two other students beat me and are now reviewing notes. I don’t even have my notebook.

  Sitting here, now, I can’t get Cara out of my head.

  I need to see her.

  I hope she needs to see me too.

  However, as thoughts transition from one into another, I begin to think that I may be developing a hunger for Cara.

  I thought a century around humans had developed my resistance to cravings. I thought I had enough discipline to control myself. I’ve resisted the monster within for a century, and I wonder if this is more than a crush.

  If so, I’ll need to stay away forever. I don’t have cravings yet, but I fear this may be the beginning. I’ve never been in such a situation before — an infatuation with a human.

  How could I live with myself if I hurt her?

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  I couldn’t lose control.

  I couldn’t let the monster win.

  I must remain mindful of where I am at mentally and how I’m feeling. Perhaps it would be best to hunt more regularly and before I come to campus?

  The realization then dawns on me.

  All of this for a human; someone I hardly know?

  If it gets to that point, you would think it would be easy to walk away. ‘James, you’ve lived without her for a century. Surely another seventy years wouldn’t be that hard to stay away,’ but another part of me would disagree.

  Cara is like testing a new drug. I tried her one time and now I’m hooked. I’m an addict, and I must satisfy my craving.

  I shut my eyes, feeling the monster rejoicing within. I fear if anyone looks to me they’ll see my dark crimson eyes — the eyes of a monster; of a killer and hunter.

  I hold my breath for two minutes, calming my thoughts; resting my brain, but suddenly I feel a rush of air move beside me.

  Someone just sat down.

  I exhale for the first time, open my eyes, and turn slightly to my right.

  “You didn’t call me, so I take it you’re not interested?” the voice of Cara asks.

  Shit…

  If my heartbeat was human, it would be beating faster now. The human in me can feel my face flush, but I know that to only be a mere memory.

  I pause before speaking. “Be smart, James. Use your words properly,” I tell myself.

  Cara rests her arm on the tiny desk that pulls up and over her armrest. She places her right jaw on the heel of her palm, looking at me; trying to read me.

  “Cara, look I thought a lot about it. Believe me, but I don’t think I’m right for you,” I say. I pause before finishing with, “I’m sorry.”

  She smiles to me sweetly, revealing straight white teeth. She laughs gently. “It’s fine, James,” she says. “I get it. I can be up in your face, and it’s not for everyone.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I say. “I swear.” I raise my hand as though taking an oath.

  She reaches out and touches my hand, putting it back down, though for a moment her eyes cross; her expression widens.

  She felt me.

  Act normal. Act normal.

  “Look — can we at least be friends?” she asks.

  Didn’t notice…

  Her tone is softer; gentler than I’ve heard it. There’s a glimmer of pleading in her eyes.

  “I’m new here,” Cara says to me, “and I don’t really know anyone. To be honest — you’re one of the first people to talk to me.”

  “Really?”

  She nods. “I swear I don’t bite.” She smiles to me.

  It’s my turn to smile now. “I bet you don’t,” I say. “Of course,” I say. “I’ll be honest with you too,” I continue. “I don’t know anyone here either.”

  “Perfect!” Cara exclaims. A teasing light appears in her eyes as she plays with her hair. “Can we start over?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t see a need,” I admit.

  She smiles at this, leaning her head on my shoulder, giving me a small hug around my shoulders. Her touch sends a sharp sensation down my spine. For a moment, my world stops as I turn to her slightly, but in that same moment she sits back up.

  Again, the world resumes.

  But I remain frozen. It’s been a century.

  What I’ve wanted most — a longing for human touch; anything really — has been fulfilled, and I don’t feel elated or relieved. I feel numb. I wonder if I’m in some vampiric form of shock.

  “I will say, James, you’re as cool as a cucumber.”

  I laugh at the childish simile, but quickly formulate an excuse. “I took a really cold shower just before I got here. I think I’m still thawing out.”

  She laughs and doesn’t press further. “Here’s to a friendship that’ll hopefully last the rest of the semester.”

  “Longer than that,” I add, smiling.

  “I think I’d like that,” she replies.

  When class ends, Cara puts her notes in her backpack and slips on her light jacket before turning to me.

  “Need me to send you the notes?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ve taken this class before,” I admit.

  “Failed last time?” she asks. “Wait — sorry — I’m being nosy.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care. Didn’t fail,” I say. “Just didn’t do great.”

  This is true, I’ll admit. After reviewing the practice exam our professor handed out, I would’ve gotten only a C at that moment in time. I assume the other exams I would have done average in as well. On the days exams are administered, I don’t show up. No need to draw attention that I shouldn’t be here.

  “Gotcha,” she says. “Hey, want to get some early lunch with me?”

  “It’s nine-thirty?” I say.

  “Emphasis on early.”

  “Do they even have lunch food now at the dining center?” I ask.

  “Good point,” Cara says. “Forget that. Want to go into town? I know of a few places? Starbucks?”

  “Starbucks sounds good,” I say. “They have food there too, and no, you’re not paying.”

  “Look, you may think it’s the man’s job to pay for the girl, but if we’re just friends, I can pay.”

  “Cara, I’d really rather — ”

  “James,” Cara stops me, “don’t fight me because you won’t win.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Fine, but I’m getting something cheap.”

  “Cheap is good. We’re college kids, after all. C’mon, I don’t have to be back to campus until my night class. Today’s my good day. Tomorrow is eight to five-thirty,” she says as we make our way out the main doors of the lecture hall.

  “Without any breaks?”

  “No,” Cara replies, “I get an hour and a half mid-morning, so it’s not horrible, but it’s still a day’s work.”

  “No kidding.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? Oh — Er — I have a light load this semester.”

  “What’s light for you?”

  “One class,” I admit.

  “James — what are you like a Super Senior or whatever they call fifth years?”

  More like one-hundredth years.

  “Yeah, something like that. I never went to advising,” I add.

  “Oh,” laughs Cara. “That’ll do it.”

  “Dumb question,” I say.

  “Go for it.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “It’s LaFlore. Yours?”

  “Ah, French for ‘the flower.’ How worldly?

  “You speak French?” Cara asks me, sounding impressed.

  “No,” I admit. “Just basics, you know.”

  She laughs. “Better than me,” she says. “What’s your last name, since we’re playing that game?”

  “Mine is Holloway.”

  “James Holloway,” she replies, holding the door outside for me. “I like it.”

  “Cara LaFlore. I like it too.”

  “All right, James Holloway, enough flirting with me. C’mon, let’s get to my car. It’s not too bad of a walk.”

  Cara then proceeds in front of me and leads the way, and I follow.

  Cara LaFlore drives terrifyingly. Stopping is done with no transition. I feel as though I am in some physics experiment, and we’re testing the limits of bodily inertia. Everything happens, whether accelerating, turning, or braking with a sudden and bone-snapping jolt. Each time she brakes, my seatbelt pulls into my chest, and every time she accelerates, my head snaps backwards into the head rest.

  I’ve managed to live over a century. I’ve survived the sinking of the Titanic, lived through two World Wars, the Depression, the mess that was the 60s. All I need is one missed stop sign and it’ll all be over.

  “Portland drivers suck,” says Cara, glancing quickly at me.

  “Yeah…” I agree softly. “You don’t say.”

  “On the bright side, it’s not much further now.”

  I look up to the sky and quickly put my palms together in a prayer motion.

  Thank you.

  For the rest of the trip which thankfully lasts only another five minutes, I don’t speak to Cara, so she can focus all of her attention on her death-defying driving.

  As we pull into the parking lot, I see it’s a small, mom-and-pop café.

  “I decided against Starbucks,” says Cara as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Nothing against them, but I figured give business to the locals.”

  “I’m with you there,” I reply, unbuckling my own.

  We walk in and go up to the counter where Cara orders a fancy iced-coffee with a countless number of additions. I order a plain, black coffee with sugar.

  “Wow, didn’t realize I was getting coffee with my dad,” says Cara.

  I laugh softly. “Er — I guess I just like what I like.”

  “Fair enough,” she smiles.

  We take our coffees after Cara insists on paying again, and we sit at a table beside a street-facing window. Foot traffic is quiet but steady on the street outside, but I keep my focus on Cara.

  I take a sip of the hot coffee and feel as it runs down my throat. I savor it, feeling the heat from within.

  “I still can’t believe that’s what you got,” Cara says. “Of everything on the menu!”

  “Like I said, I like what I like.”

  Cara sighs, but smiles her sweet smile. “All right, I’ll let you drink your lame coffee choice in peace. So, what are some of your interests?”

  “Interests?”

  “You know, like, hobbies, activities, favorite movies?”

  “Oh — Er — I like to read,” I say.

  “Nice. Read what?”

  “Anything really,” I say.

  “Sci-Fi? Westerns? Wait, James, are you a Romance kind-of guy?”

  “Not my usual, but I’ve read a few, yes,” I say.

  “I can just tell these things,” Cara says, taking a swig of her iced coffee. “Any favorites?”

  “Romances?”

  “Sure, I guess — or other books?”

  “I like fast-paced action books. Something with a good plot and not a lot of fluff.”

  “Define fluff,” Cara says.

  “You know — page length descriptions of puffy clouds or sunsets. I hate that,” I say. “Everyone has their own opinion, but I want the author to just cut away the meat, but leave enough to hold the skeleton together.”

  “I understand,” Cara says. “I’m like that too. But at the same time, I like to read poetry.”

  “You write it too?”

  Cara laughs. “Hah — hardly. I suck at writing it. I can’t rhyme for my life.”

  “I can make a rhyme anytime,” I reply.

  “Never say that again, James. Promise me.”

  “Okay, I promise,” I laugh. “What about you? Do you have any favorite movies?”

  “I like a few from the seventies and eighties,” she says. “I bet you wouldn’t know them.”

  “I bet I would,” I reply.

  “Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, Breakfast Club,” she lists out for me.

  “Really? You thought I wouldn’t know those? Molly Ringwald fan?”

  “John Hughes.”

  “I liked Terminator when that came out,” I reply. “Er — the latest one, I mean.”

  “What guy didn’t?” Suddenly, her eyes focus in on mine. “You have the prettiest eyes, James. Sorry, just had to get that out,” she says.

  “Prettiest?”

  “Fine — most handsome? There, does that work?”

  I laugh. “Sure. Why do you say?”

  “You just do. I figured I’d let you know. They’re the darkest caramel amber I’ve ever seen. I’m jealous.”

  “Like your fancy coffee,” I say.

  She laughs to herself, taking another sip.

  I keep my head out of hers. I resist listening in on her thoughts. I like not knowing what will come next. There’s a certain excitement from the anticipation. It’s easy to stay out of others’ thoughts. It wasn’t when I first turned, but over the years, I’ve trained myself to not.

  “Well, thank you,” I continue. “I think you’re just pretty in general,” I say. “You have a nice face.”

  A nice face? James, what the hell!

  “I mean — you know — you’re just pretty overall.”

  “I’ve been losing sleep over my face, so now I can rest easy,” she laughs. “Thank you.”

  I nod, pushing past my stupid remark. “You said you’re new here. Where did you come from?”

  “Oh, just Washington state, but still, it’s a state away.”

  “Where in Washington?”

  “Upper northwest area,” she says. “You wouldn’t know the town.”

  I don’t press further. “Any siblings?”

  “Half-siblings. My dad’s step kids.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Alive and well! Dating some guy. Everyone is good,” Cara says. “And here I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I made it fairly clear in class. I’m kind of lonely,” she says to me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you, but I just feel like I can trust you. Something about you just says you’re a safe place to talk to.”

  “I am,” I agree. “You can trust me.”

  “It’s just a whole new world here, and with my family, it feels like everyone’s moving forward in a good way, and here I am, and I’m not feeling like it’s a good thing.”

  “You’re a freshman?” I ask her.

  She nods.

  “That’s typical. When I was a freshman, I felt the same way. Like a fish out of water. Eventually, you’ll find your group and you’ll find a rhythm. All life is, is a game of rhythms. Sports are all about rhythm, music is all about rhythm. You’ll find your own.”

  She smiles. “Thanks, James. That makes me feel better. What about your family?”

  “They’re back east,” I say quietly. “I don’t really talk with them much.”

  Technically, I’m not lying to her.

  “I get it. Some families have issues,” she says.

  I nod in agreement. “Yeah, some do.”

  Though outside, I look calm and collected after lying to her. Inside, I’m screaming.

  This is exactly why this doesn’t work. Everything I will have to tell her when it comes to personal information will be lies.

  It’s not right.

  It’s not fair.

  I’m best off staying away. My consciousness tells me this, but the rest of me — the entirety of my being and who I know myself to be — knows I can’t let this one get away.

 

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