(This is something that I took down for a while, but I'm planning on writing a sequel, so I'm reposting it. Enjoy.)
She could see in his eyes that he wasn’t well. She knew what he was, but she had no idea how much pain it caused him. She was only human after all. And he…he was a vampire.
She came home at around one o’clock in the morning, eyes red and mascara running down her face from the once endless flow of tears. She had stormed out hours before, terrified and upset. He had told her his secret, and she hadn’t taken it well.
As she stepped inside, every cell in her body told her to run away again. But then she saw him, on the couch, staring at the ceiling, helpless. He had heard her come in, but hadn’t acknowledged her existence. She could see from across the room that he had been crying as well. A vampire crying, she thought, how odd. She cautiously took a step forward, shutting the door quietly behind her.
“Mitchell,” she whispered.
“Why did you come back?” he asked sharply, his eyes still locked on the blankness of the ceiling. His voice cracked in the way a voice can only when you’ve been crying. She could hear the hurt in his voice as well, and it shattered her heart like a vase having been knocked off of a countertop.
“Mitchell, I’m so sorry. It was wrong to leave,” she said, stepping closer.
“Why did you come back?” he repeated, looking over at her. For the first time, she could see a small glimmer of vampire in his eyes.
“Because…because I love you. It shouldn’t matter,” she said, flattening out her creased orange dress, trying to keep from crying again. She stepped toward him even more, kneeling down next to the couch. Next to him. His gaze had returned to the ceiling. She reached for his hand and he yanked it away, as if he were scared.
“You were right to leave, Celeste. You shouldn’t have come back. You’re only going to get hurt. All I do is hurt,” he said, the pain in his voice becoming more prominent with every word.
“Mitchell, we’ve gone months without me knowing. Without you hurting me. If you had really wanted to, you would’ve killed me already.” She grabbed his hand again, and he didn’t pull it away. In fact, he seemed to squeeze it ever so slightly.
“Celeste, you aren’t safe. Nobody is safe. I may have controlled it for now, but who knows how long I can hold out?” The hurt in his voice was unimaginable. A small part of her, right on the surface, was terrified. Goosebumps began to rise on her delicate skin, and a shiver rushed down her spine. “If I kill you,” he continued, “I could never live with myself. But I would have to. And I wouldn’t be able to control myself anymore. I’d tear the world apart.”
“Don’t say that, Mitchell, please.” She started to let go of his hand, but he only squeezed it tighter. A bit too tight. “Mitchell,” she whispered, “you’re hurting me.” At this, he released immediately, shaking slightly.
“See,” his voice quivered, “pain.” He sat up, hung his legs over the front of the couch, and put his face in his hands. His shoulders began to shake, and she could tell he was holding back sobs. “I…I can’t do this anymore, Celeste. I can’t. The pain doesn’t stop. Not just for my victims, but for myself. I can see each and every one of their faces.”
She reached her shaking hand toward his face, lifting his chin with her fingertips. The tears rolling down his face clearly reflected the remorse pent up from constant murder over the last hundred years. She could, deep down, see the human in his eyes. Celeste brushed the curls, stuck to his damp face, away. She used the back of her hand to wipe away his tears, and he responded by doing the same to her. She hadn’t even noticed that she had been crying as well.
