Twisted Irony

From the street below, I could hear the bass beat pulsing through the walls of the building. I had come alone tonight. I was seeking someone fresh and new to satisfy my lusts. I thought it would be an uneventful night. 1

I was wrong.2

She was not your usual club goer who would sidle up to you and press themselves to you before asking to buy you a drink. And once they had you they'd wink to their friends who were cheering them on from the background. No, she was alone, like me. And she was dark, a dark angel who looked terribly out of place. She was beautiful, or rather it was a queer sort of beauty. Her eyes were dark, a sharp contrast to her pale and almost luminescent skin. Her hair was the color of blood, and though I was unaware at the time, this was most ironic.3

We didn't need many words. We were drawn to each other by a magnetic force almost as powerful as gravity. When I introduced myself, she reached out and took my hand, but instead of shaking it, she raised it to her lips and lightly kissed it. It was this touch that sent my head swimming and I was no longer thinking.4

Her room was wonderful, but I didn't think to take it in and I have never been back. She was gentle and light, placing her searing kisses along my already burning body. Searing, is an interesting choice of word for what I felt next was a searing pain in my shoulder. Her fingers, which had only just lightly danced across my skin were now piercing it drawing blood. I tried to shake myself free, but was unable. My writhing only tore my flesh more and she demanded I keep still. She lay me on the bed and set about her gruesome task. FFID0, she cut my skin and it was this gentle evil which made me look at her. What I saw, were those same eyes blazing with a lust unmistakably for blood. Her lips were parted and through them I could see fangs. I had let myself be seduced by a vampire and would die for it.5

She lay herself over me and drove her teeth, like needles through my neck. I did not cry out, but there were tears upon my cheeks. As she sucked, I could feel myself deflating, draining rather quickly. But she could not kill me. When her eyes had met mine I had seen something else behind her crazed lust for my blood. A sadness. The kind that eats away at your heart till its rotten. And so she could not kill me. But I was transformed. She had kept me alive to be with her and in doing so had cursed me to the same twisted fate she endured. And for all eternity, we shall haunt the streets, killing to stay alive, living a sick and void life.6