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Regret

Music blares, a little too harsh. It throbs in my head, a little too loud. I take a drink, a little too drunk. I kiss her, a little too rough.

Later, I'll regret this.

Later, this will matter.

But right now, I'm sloppily making out with a vampire in a back alley. And it feels fantastic.

"Wanna take this to my place?" she slurs, eyeing me up entirely unsubtly.

I grin and reach around, picking her up. She wraps her legs around me obligingly, kicking off her heels as she does so. I don't bother to pick them up, and she doesn't seem to mind.

I carry her back to my car, and we collapse into the back seat. Her mouth is on mine in seconds, and I trace the outline of her fangs with my tongue.

It takes me a little too long to pull away.

She lets out a low whine as I do, trying to tug me back down. She looks almost hungry, looking at my lips through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I thought you wanted to go back to your place, doll?"

She reluctantly lets me go. I climb through to the front, resting my head on the back of the seat.

I shouldn't be driving anywhere in this state, drunk on cheap vodka and cheaper beer, but it's 4 am, and the streets are quiet, and that doesn't feel like a problem right now. The music is softer here, away from the party. I can hear my heart beating, loud as a drum.

She can too.

"You know...We don't have to go anywhere. Not like there's anyone here to see us, anyway."

Her voice is soft, intimate. I won't realise it until much later, but the drunken slur is all but gone.

She slowly climbs into the front.

Giving me time to run.

I don't run.

Music blares, a little too far away. It throbs in my head, a little too quiet. She bites me, a little too rough.

Later, I'll forget this.

Later, this won't matter.

But right now, I'm feeling the blood drain from my neck as I sit in my car. And it feels fantastic.

She's taking her time with me, savoring me, relishing me.

She doesn't notice when I start to move, too drunk on my blood to care. She doesn't notice when I fumble open the glovebox. She doesn't notice when I reach inside.

But she definitely notices when I plunge the stake into her back.

She chokes, mouth opening to spill blood onto my neck. I twist out from under her, opening the car door and stepping out to watch as she sprawls, lipstick smeared and hair askew, onto the empty seat.

Her body shakes and convulses, shriveling up and decaying in seconds. It's fascinating, in a morbid way, watching her go from sultry, gorgeous twenty-something to a pile of dust in the time it takes to blink, but I don't linger.

After all, I've seen this gruesome sight plenty of times.

Comes with being a hunter, I guess.

Another car pulls into the empty lot, my partner Alex stepping out.

"You took too long," he says, by way of an explanation, "I was worried you were in too deep."

I snort. "With her? Please. She was pushing fifty, max. I could have taken her in my sleep. Now help me clean her up, she's all over my car."

We bag the dust and throw it in the back, making an effort to clean up the seats. I wrinkle my nose.

"Damn, can't believe I was making out with that ten minutes ago," I joke, keeping the atmosphere light.

"Well, you do seem to have a thing for older women," Alex snarks right back at me.

I shove him, but my heart isn't in it.

In my head, I'm a thousand miles away. Sitting in the back seat of a car, with a pretty girl, doing things we'll regret, later.

Her voice echoes in my head, an endless chant. Others speak over her, an endless parade of everyone I've ever killed.

Remembermeforgivemeforgetmelovemehatemekillmekissmewantme-

Regret me.

For a second, I almost do.