Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2022 18:57:47 -0500
From: Taylor Bullet <taylorbulleit@gmail.com>
Subject: And Hell Loves Heaven, part 2

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Thank you all for reading. Please enjoy part 2.

Taylor R. Bullet

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Present Day

"You're not even listening to me," Clarissa said, poking my shoulder with
one of her pointed acrylic nails. Startled, I jumped to the side some,
rubbing my shoulder where her miniature dagger tried to stab me.

"Sorry, I just-" I cut myself off, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent
myself from sounding like a pathetic, lovesick, pest. Clarissa took a sip
of her coffee, swirling the ice and drink around in the cup afterward. We
were walking back to our office building from Castello's. It just also
happened to be on the same street that-

No.

We're not going there.

It's been almost four weeks.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would have called.

It's over.

But telling myself that however often didn't stop the nagging feeling of
wanting to see him, wanting to talk to him. It hurt, the pull, rejecting
the instinct-like attraction that it was to go find him. It was unhealthy,
and I knew that, yet here I was.

It was the middle of the day; it wasn't like he would even be in this part
of the city anyway. I did some research and found out that he worked for
JPMorgan-Chase downtown. It was probably some risk analyst job or something
similar, but I didn't dig too deep. There was no need, really. I found out
where he was during the day, and that was enough to quell my curiosity for
that question. Emphasis on that.

"Have you tried to talk to him since?" she asked. I grimaced.

"No. I told you I gave him my card."

"To which he could have drunkenly lost," she countered.

"He wasn't that drunk," I grumbled. She shrugged. Another sip.

"He soberly lost it."

"Or he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Or," she said, pointer finger raised, "He's scared."

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting off the headache I
knew I was going to give myself. The same headache I gave myself yesterday
by stressing about this.  "You're way too optimistic about this," I told
her. She smirked.

"No, I'm just playing devil's advocate," she chirped along with the birds
fluttering about. Spring had turned into summer unseasonably quickly in the
city, but I wasn't complaining. As long as I had my sunglasses, the sun
felt pretty good on my skin.

I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment before turning to her as we stopped
at a halted crosswalk.  "Do you honestly think that I should try and
contact him?"

"Yes, I do," she said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" I pestered, wanting to know what was really behind her egging me
toward it.  She put her hand on her hip and raised a brow offensively as
she lowered her sunglasses, staring at me with her piercing gaze.

"Because, Ricard, you've been moping around for the last month, and all you
can think about is him. You need actual closure, for better or for
worse. It's rather going to work out, or it's not. I don't give a damn if
you're immortal, this isn't healthy." When she finished, she looked at me
for a second more before sliding her shades back up on her nose.  The stern
expression on her lips dared me to defy her. I didn't, which was not only a
decision for my health but also admitting, begrudgingly, that she was
right. Blubbering about wishing I had answers wasn't effective or
useful. It's not like I didn't know that in the first place, but it's a
sense of fear of being rejected that is enough to blind you from finding
out the ultimate truth. It was enough to keep me attached to him for years
and years, and it was enough for me to not risk total decimation of hope
now.

"And how should I do it? I don't have his number or anything." I asked her,
actually hoping she had an answer. The walk signal appeared across the
street, and we started to walk across.

"Facebook has Messenger. Just shoot him a message and see if it sticks,"
she suggested casually. That bit of hope inside me grew some, but so did
the fear.

"Oh, shoot, I forgot that," I muttered.

For the rest of the short walk back to the office, my nerves built with
every step. Doubt had firmly rooted itself inside my brain, and the thought
of being flat out told no by Micah had me wanting to curl into a ball and
vanish.

But Clarissa was right.

It needed to be done.

I couldn't just hide away in hopes that he'd eventually contact me, which
at this point it was looking like he wouldn't, but that obviously wasn't
enough of a deterrent for me to let go. I hadn't let go for ten
years. Yeah, I'd gotten back to a sense of normalcy, but that was just
drifting through the daily functions with his memory always on my mind. Now
that he was here, and I knew he was so close... knew the street that he
lived on, knew that he was only a mere city block away, it was tearing me
up inside.

When I sat down at my computer and pulled up Facebook in the browser, my
hands began shaking as I typed in his name and clicked on his profile. Once
his page pulled up, my eyes were once again drawn to the photo of us on
graduation day that was still on his featured photo list. Looking at it
brought me a little bit of peace knowing that while he may not make the
first move to contact me, he still cared.

He still cared.

He had to.

I pressed the message button next to the add friend one, the little message
screen opening up in the lower right corner. I think I stared at the stupid
cursor blinking in the text field for about five minutes, thinking over
every possible horrible outcome my brain could imagine.

R: Hi.

My fucking god I wish I stopped there.

R: It's Richard.  R: And you know that because my name and face are
attached to this. So that's obvious.  R: I miss you.  R: I shouldn't have
just said that but it's true.  R: Look, I know you probably hate me. I get
that. I know it. But I can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me
insane not hearing from you. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. But
please just tell me so I can stop driving myself fucking crazy wondering
what you're doing, where you are, if you're thinking of me too.

I wanted to fucking scream looking at the messages that I had sent. Not
only were they desperate as hell, but they were also flat out creepy. The
regret that filled my gut was almost tangible like I could reach into my
body and rip it out of me if I tried hard enough.  I slumped back in my
chair and smacked my hands to my face, sliding them down slowly as if I was
wiping the shame off me.

You are fucking pathetic.

I had fucked a completely perfect thing. We could have been so happy. Right
now, we would probably have a home together, maybe work for the same
company, begin thinking about starting a family, or have a child
already. But I destroyed that all with a single sentence, and now, fate
dangled on this man responding to a fucking direct message. I wanted to
scream.

Ding.

I froze in my chair. My body felt cold, and my stomach felt empty
suddenly. I looked at the screen and went completely pale at the single
word reply that lied underneath the disgusting text bubbles I wrote.

M: Wow...

Wow? That was it? That was all he had to say to me when I wrote all of
that? Anger started to build as I looked at the stupid word underlying the
conversation. Was it creepy? Yes. Was it heartfelt? Yes. But was it
genuine?  Yes, however-

M: You okay?

I looked at the new message and pursed my lips, tentatively placing my
fingers back onto the keyboard.

R: Honestly? No, not really.

It only took him a second to reply.

M: I figured.  M: It looked like you panicked a little bit there.

R: It came off creepy rather than endearing... sorry.

M: I mean kind of, but I know you.  M: I've also been staring at your phone
number for the past four weeks wondering what the fuck to do with it.

My heart stopped.

R: Oh...

M: I don't know what to do about you, Rich.

R: What do you mean?

My body shook as I waited for the inevitable final blow, and I could feel
it coming. I watched the minutes tick by and the little typing bubble pop
in and out of view. When his message finally appeared, my next breath
nearly came out as a gasp.

M: You hurt me. You hurt me so bad that when I think about any of my time
at college, I nearly have a panic attack. It's been ten years, and that
still happens. Seeing you for the first time outside the coffee shop, so
close to my apartment, I didn't know what to do. I was surprised I even
talked to you like I did because when I got into my car and started driving
away, I started bawling my eyes out. I at least had a couple weeks to
accept that you were here in the city before we ran into each other at the
bar. But then I got tipsy, and we actually talked. Even though I was a mess
that night, it was the best I've felt in a long time. You explained some
things I've wanted answers to for years... so, I've been staring at your
damn phone number not sure what to do with it.

I was breathless by the time I finished reading his words. My body felt
numb, and I didn't know how to even begin a reply. My eyes kept looking
over you hurt me, and the guilt I never stopped feeling punched me in the
gut. I became so distracted by the feeling that I didn't even realize that
he had written something more for a minute more.

M: You said you still loved me.

R: I do.

I sat there, looking at the screen waiting, waiting, and waiting, but
nothing came. I wanted to scream and punch the desk. Why did he just stop
typing? Did he not want me to love him? If so, why didn't he just tell me?
Why was he slowly ripping away the band-aid, making it hurt more, and more,
and more?

I became so enraged that my vision started to turn white. I was about to
stand up, about to flip my desk or punch the brick wall, but my cellphone
started ringing on my desk. It was a number I didn't have in my contacts.

Local.

Probably a possible new client.

Or maybe it was him...

 I stood, taking a moment to breathe and try and calm the fuck down. My
hands gripped the corner of the desk, restraining myself from full-on
ripping a chunk off. Releasing one last long, strangled breath, I reached
for my phone, answered, and put it to my ear.

"Richard Miller," I said, probably still too sternly. The other end of the
line was quiet. There was some office background noise, but the person
wasn't saying anything.

"Hello?" I asked after a few more moments.

"Rich," the deep voice said shortly over the line.

"Micah!" I gasped, startled from hearing his voice.

He called me. The man fucking called me! I couldn't tell if I was excited
or horrified, but I felt something at the fact that he'd called.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Meet me at Main Street Park tonight. You know
where that is?" he asked, his voice strained and low. I nodded, even though
he couldn't see me.

"Y-yeah, I know where it is. What time?" I asked, my voice nearly pleading.

"Seven?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

And then the line went dead.

I wasn't sure rather to jump for joy or to pass out from stress. Both
seemed like viable options, and the latter seemed like it may happen just
because. As I looked at the time on my phone, I groaned seeing that it was
only just past two.

By the time that 6:30 had dragged itself around, I was a complete mess. I
had left the office around four after finishing up a quarterly report for a
client, and hardly restrained myself from going unnaturally fast on my
walk... run... home. I had showered, washed every inch of my body, and
stressed over what to wear like a high school girl going out on a first
date. When I had actually calmed down enough to see straight, I put on a
dark blue V-neck t-shirt, dark lighter jeans, and black leather fashion
sneakers.

As I drove the short distance over to the park, my body was nearly
vibrating from nerves. I didn't know his intentions of wanting to go to the
park. I assumed it was to talk, and if that was true, was it for good or
bad things?  The other question was why he couldn't have just called me and
told me? Did it need to be face-to-face? Was it one of those talks?  My
stomach was doing flips inside of me when I pulled my car behind his car on
Plymouth Street. As I took off my seatbelt, I looked up when I saw his door
open. He swung his jean-clad legs out of the car and stood, the soft-pink
polo clung to his muscular torso, showing off his thick biceps. The air was
caught in my breath as I watched him move, every bit as beautiful as I
remembered, maybe even more. His hair was a little longer, and not styled
professionally like it had been recently. The curls were free, and due to
the extra length, they fell over to the right side of his head, showing the
clean fade cut on the left side. When he looked at me and flashed a nervous
smile, my heart started to pound harder and harder as I unbuckled my
seatbelt and opened the door.

"Hey," I said softly as I closed the door.

"Hey."

It was stupidly obvious we were both nervous. I could sense it and smell it
on him. Even if that wasn't a thing, the flickering in both of our voices,
and his hands shoved deep into his front pockets were telling. We both
stood there, scuffing our feet across the ground looking at each other
before I eventually spoke up.

"You look good."

He perked up at that and got a goofy little grin on his face. He wasn't
angry. He didn't seem upset. So far, this was going a lot better than
anticipated.

"Thanks," he said, eyes cast down, but then he looked back up at me.

"So do you. I, uh..." his words drifted off as he gnawed on his lower lip
for a second. "Shall we?" he asked. I smirked shyly and nodded.

We both locked our cars and started our slow-paced walk into the
park. Parents were watching their kids on the playground not too far off,
and others were just milling about the area. We kept to the right and
walked around the park building, almost going underneath Brooklyn
Bridge. We didn't speak as the path approached the river. When we got to
where the trail split left or right, Micah stopped. I stood next to him.

"When you called after you left, I would watch my phone ring and ring," he
said, his voice holding steady, but his eyes looked far away as he gazed
out over the water. "Mom told me I should pick up, that maybe you wanted to
talk. I thought it would just be another door in my face." I could hear his
words start to shake. A moment of silence passed before he
continued. "Would I be wrong to say that she was right?"

I immediately shook my head, my mouth opening, but it took a second before
any words came forth.

"God, no, Micah, I-" My words caught in my throat as my jaw trembled. "I
felt horrible. I wanted to, I tried to, fuck..."

Frustration welled in my gut as I fought back tears from forming in my
eyes. It was far too early for that. "I just wanted to know if what I did
was right."

Micah nodded slowly, sucking his lips between his teeth for a minute,
contemplating in silence. Without a word, he turned and started walking
down the path along the water. I followed.

"I could feel you pulling away those last few months," he said as that
tired, beaten-up sound came back into his voice. I looked down at my feet
as he looked up at the sky. "I thought it was just finals, but how stupid
could I be to think that finals were bothering you. This wasn't your first
rodeo." He sounded angry with himself, and I looked up at him, my face
distraught.

"No, Micah. Do not blame yourself for my failure!" Although my words were
soft, they were exasperated and forceful. There was no way in hell that I
was going to let this beautiful human take any blame for the hell that I
had caused for the two of us. That was non-negotiable.  "That is my burden
to carry, and mine alone."

"How is that true?" he asked, his eyes scrunching up.

"Because I'm the one that left!"

"And I could have reached out!" he shot back quickly, a bit forcefully,
catching the gaze of a mother pushing a stroller as she passed. We both
stared down at our feet as we waited for the woman to get some distance
away from us. We both stopped walking once we were alone again.  "I just
never thought you'd be the one to hurt me like that again. Don't blame
yourself entirely when we both fucked up," he said on a sigh. When I looked
up into his blue eyes, the pain was there right behind the surface, and a
crack formed on my heart.

"You're letting me off so easily..." my voice quieter than I expected.  He
shook his head.

"No, I'm not letting you off the hook. I'm just saying that I am also
partially to blame here." He sounded exasperated, and he wiped his face
with his hand. "You caused me so much pain, Rich, but I could have ended it
if I just picked up the damn phone when you called then, or really
ever. That's what I'm telling you."

He turned to face me and grasped my hands, and I involuntarily gasped a
little at the unexpected contact. "Tell me if I'm right or wrong here," he
said, looking nervous. "If I had answered or called you back at any point
in time, would you have tried to get back together with me?"

Breathlessly, I answered, "Yes."

Micah closed his eyes, and his lips started to tremble. Tears that I had
been fighting back started to come forward, and I was sure it was the same
for him at this point.  "You have never been far from my mind, Micah. I
hope that you can try to believe that," I said, hoping that he would.

He nodded shallowly, although it was more of a rocking of his head. As he
opened his eyes, a few tears fell.

"I-" he sucked in a breath. "I can."

We stood there, looking into each other's eyes, the baby blues slowly
warming my soul as heat began to mix in with the pain that they held. His
lips began to turn upward into a small, easy smile, and his hands let go of
mine and started to run their way up my arms. I placed my hands on his
waist as he began to move in, leaning down some to meet my height. I
shuddered as his face got closer. At the brush of his lips on mine, my eyes
fell shut as I pressed further into his serenity. His arms came around me
and held me tight as his lips seemed to dance across mine, and the memory
of how familiar this is was striking.




2006, September

Santa Clara University

It was dark out at this point. The stars shining over California were
dimmed if they were close to the moon, which was out in equal force
tonight. It was a cooler night, settling somewhere in the mid-sixties with
a slight breeze. He had his black hoodie up, a little bit farther back on
his head so that some of his ears showed. It was kind of doofy, but also
adorable.

It was date number one of what I hoped would be many, many more. He'd asked
me out to see `Flags of Our Fathers' since he knew I liked history, not yet
knowing that I had lived through it.

Fought through it.

I hadn't been in Japan, but I knew men that fought and died there. The
movie was intense, I couldn't help but tense during some parts, as
parallels from how gruesome those times were coming to the forefront of my
mind. It was so long ago, yet not at all. Surprisingly, it wasn't even the
missions in the Army that were the worst memories, it was when I would go
off on my own to hunt.

Those, easily, were my most savage days.

It was the only period of time in my life that I had ever broken my
philosophy on hunting. Granted, I guess it could be said that some of these
people were hardly even human. It was helpful to have Micah, the smiling,
adorable laughing, cute, handsome son-of-a-gun sitting next to me with his
hand on my thigh the entire time. If there was anything that could relax
me, his hand on me was going to be my new number one fix.

 At this point though, I was just glad that the popcorn that I had consumed
in front of him to seem normal had stayed down as long as it had. I hadn't
drank in a while and my stomach was more volatile. With any luck, the small
amount that it was would just stay down, and I'd maybe just feel like
garbage tomorrow for a bit.

We were holding hands loosely, our fingers together at the knuckles as our
hands swung freely between us while we walked. A warm, bubbly feeling had
been building in my body the whole evening. It wasn't that there were any
nerves, hell, this was what I wanted, had been wanting since I first saw
him on move-in day. We'd been friends practically since I said hello to
him, and now... tonight was just like any other time that we'd hung out,
except his hand was touching mine. Those eyes looked into my eyes with a
bit of a sparkle that had only been seen when he thought I wasn't looking,
and he called me cute when I opened my dorm room door when he came to pick
me up. The whole evening seemed so perfect, maybe, just because of how
unremarkable it had been. Everything felt so normal, so natural, and I
loved every single second of it, of him.  I sighed, humming happily.

"Whatchya thinking about?" he asked casually. I blushed, chuckling,
embarrassed.

"Honestly?" I asked, looking up at him, smiling. "You." And I watched as
the red rose on his cheeks as well.

"Oh?" he smirked. "What about me?"

I looked down at our feet, walking in tune with each other. His bright red
Puma's, recently a staple of his closet, and my black Nikes. "Just how
normal this seems. You and me," I said, clarifying. He sighed happily.

"It does. And to think I was nervous asking you out," he chuckled. I
smiled, closing our hands together, and looking ahead.

"You shouldn't have been," I told him.

"Yeah..." he said longingly, remembering. "But isn't everyone nervous if
they're going to ask out their crush?"

He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.

"Okay, that's fair, I'll give you that one," I said, staying quiet for a
moment after, my words quiet. "But I'm glad that you did." We both looked
at each other then, a happy glimmer in his eyes that I knew I shared.

"Me too."

We were quiet on the way back to my dorm, our hands never breaking apart as
we walked. Both of us just fell into this comfortable silence, where just
enjoying each other's company and presence was more than enough to keep us
satisfied.  When we approached the main entrance of my building, we stopped
in front of the door, and he released my hand from his. Neither of us said
anything in those first few moments, both of us awkwardly chuckling here
and there as our eyes went from each other to the ground.

"I'll be a loser and say I had a really good time with you tonight, Rich,"
he said, stepping closer to me. I looked up at him, my heartbeat starting
to rise. I could hear his as well.

"I did too," I said back, my voice low. He smiled and slowly closed the
distance between us, his hands snaking their way around my waist. Where his
hands touched, they left a trail of fire burning across my skin. I had a
feeling I knew what was coming, and I was nearly dying for the opportunity.

"I would really like to kiss my handsome date goodnight if that would be
okay with him?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot. I rolled my
eyes and chuckled silently.  "I'd like that a lot if you did," I said as
our heads began to drift closer. I wrapped my arms around his waist as
well, pulling our bodies as close together as I could as his lips plastered
themselves to mine. I don't think either of us anticipated the immediate
intensity that the connection would bring, but it was as if the moment our
lips met, a bomb exploded, leaving both of us hot with need. His hands
gripped my back, pulling me closer as our lips moved across each other, the
taste of him on my tongue every bit as sweet and delicious as I could have
ever dreamed he would be. I bared down on the hunger in my soul, but it
wasn't too hard with the devilish passion forcing its way forward, driving
my mind hazy when he nibbled on my bottom lip just a little.

When we eventually broke apart, we were both out of breath, and both of our
jaws were slack from it. We both stood there, still wrapped up in each
other's embraces, our bodies shuddering as we breathed. His hand came up
from my side to cup my face, and I leaned into the gentle touch, closing my
eyes for a second to cherish the feeling. My eyes opened again as he said
the words...



Present Day

"Dear God, Richard. You're so beautiful it hurts." His voice was a hoarse
whisper that dug me out of my delusion.

"Wha-" my eyes fluttered open. His one hand was in my hair, and the other
was holding my side. He was looking at me no longer with the pain and
tiredness that he had before, but with hope, and God if I was lucky, lust.
"Hi," I muttered awkwardly, smiling. His mouth widened into a gorgeous
toothy grin that had my heart melting as if my entire being wasn't already
in a puddle from that kiss. He started laughing.

"Hi."

"Hi," I said again. We slowly drifted apart from each other, but one pair
of our hands found their way together. We both looked into each other's
eyes for a second, warmth and happiness directed right at me, solely, for
me. I wasn't sure who took the first step, but we started back into a slow,
lazy pace down the path. It wasn't exactly a peaceful silence. There was
still a bit of tension in the air of things that needed to be said and
asked, but both of us were just too damn giddy about the kiss to do
anything else but bask in it.

By the time that we made it around the loop and were once again by the
entrance of the park, I mustered up a bit of courage and turned to face
him.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked him carefully, hopefully. His smile
faltered slightly as his lips parted some.

"I don't want to say restart, because that would insinuate erasing all of
our history, but, Richy, I..." his words fell off as he shook his head, his
face looking like he was almost in disbelief for being in the situation. "I
want us to be us again."

The smile that broke out on my face couldn't have been helped in the
slightest. "I want that too." And with that, our arms came around each
other in a tight embrace, my face burying into the crook of his thick,
muscular neck.

"This might be asking for too much..." he started. "But please come home
with me. I don't want to be without you tonight." He sounded so desperate
in the moment, like I would refuse such a simple request from him. I didn't
speak, but nodded my face into his neck, holding him a little tighter. His
body shuddered, and his breathing hitched a little bit. He may have been
crying, but I honestly couldn't tell for sure.

When we finally let go of each other, I realized there were a few onlookers
whose eyes were trained on us without shame, but I couldn't have cared any
less than I did at that moment.

I had my Micah back.

He was mine. And for the first time since I got on that plane to the east
coast all those years ago, the world seemed right again.



  			***



I parked my car behind Micah's as we pulled up to his building. It was a
brownstone like mine, however, this was one that had been turned into
apartments. There were two entrance doors, and the two ends rounded out in
a hexagonal shape instead of a traditional blocked-off corner. Large
windows with thick, carved, wooden frames were neatly placed up to the
third floor, where the squared design took the place of a rounded top.

My nerves, while elated and excited, had my body nearly shaking in
anticipation. I wanted to know which window was his. Where he had been
looking out from the past several months, and what his view of the world
had been. It had taken so long to get to this point, to get back to some
form of normalcy, if it could even be considered that after so many years.

I got out of the car and watched through the tinted windows of Micah's as
he organized a few things in his car. When he seemed satisfied, he popped
the door open, and my eyes were locked to his figure as he stood up
straight. We both looked at each other with shy, lazy smiles, a blush
forming on his cheeks as I felt the temperature of my skin rise.

"Which window is yours?" I asked, breaking the silence. He turned and
pointed.

"Second story, left. That's my living room," he said, lowering his hand
back down. His hand looked as if it was about to reach for mine, but he
changed directions and moved it back to his side.

"Uh, shall we go in?" he asked awkwardly. I nodded. As he led the way, I
took a deep, calming breath before I started to follow.

As I walked up the stairs of the front stoop, he was putting a key in the
front door to unlock it. He pushed it open and we both walked through,
going up the immediate staircase off to the right of the entry.

The walls had a pale dark brownish-gray color with a small metallic line
design in them. Along with the dark wood floors that seemed original, were
maintained, but could stand to have been re-sanded and finished. The
ceiling being bright seemed to be the only light colored thing in the
space, with even the railing being painted black.

His apartment, however, was the complete opposite. The space that started
in the kitchen was open and bright, with a soft blue color on the living
area walls where the window curtains were pulled open. The floors inside
the apartment, in contrast with the ones in the hall, had a glossy
overcoat, making them shine when Micah flicked on the recessed ceiling
lights. The kitchen was simple, with it just being on the one wall, and
flowed nicely out to the living space where a couch and TV set sat on top
of a square gray rug.

The space, while filled, was pretty spartan, like he had just moved in. The
only item that wasn't for him were a couple of dog bowls and a bag of
food. Before I could even ask, the patter of paws sounded from the hallway
to the left of the room, and a happy little Pitbull, black as night, came
trotting around the corner. Her mouth was open in a smile and her tongue
was flopping out lazily to the side.

"Hi, baby!" he said all excitedly, in a chirping high-pitched dog voice. He
patted his thighs and the happy dog jumped up onto him, her paws going up
around his waist, seeming to give him a hug as he started to scratch behind
her floppy ears.

"This is Pearl," he said, laughing softly as he continued to pet her. She
was nuzzling her head into his stomach, looking absolutely adorable. I
reached out and started to stroke her back. Her head, instead of turning
around, looked back as far as she could bend it, almost upside-down, to
look at me with that same cute smile as before.

"Hi, pretty girl!" I cooed, scratching under her chin while Micah rubbed
her sides.

"She always needs about ten minutes of attention when I get home. Doesn't
matter if it's from a day at work, or a quick trip to the store," he
explained as Pearl put her head back into his stomach.

"She's cute as hell, Micah," I told him, walking into the space a little
more, peering down the hall that had three doors in it, two on one side,
one on the other. The kitchen had stainless steel appliances and what
looked like light quartz countertops paired with dark wood cabinets. But
again, besides the basic small things like a coffee maker, blender, and a
toaster, there was nothing personal sitting around anywhere, which, for
someone who has lived here for several months, it seemed weird.

"It's not a huge space, but I like it," he said, Pearl now sitting loyally
by his side, his hand resting lovingly on her head. "Bedroom is down the
hall on the right, and bathroom and laundry are on the left. Have
everything Miss Pearl and I need." Pearl's tail began to wag at the mention
of her name.

"How old is she?" I asked as I walked back over to them, kneeling down to
pet her.

"She'll be three in August. Got her when she was nothing more than the size
of my hand. God, she was so freaking small," he said, sounding slightly
amazed by it. A lightbulb seemed to go off over his head as he reached into
his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pearl began licking my forearm as I
rubbed her. After he tapped his screen a few times, he turned his phone to
me, and my heart nearly exploded. It was a photo of Micah holding what
looked like nothing more than a little black ball nestled up in his
arms. Obviously, it was Pearl as a puppy.

"Oh my God!" I gasped excitedly, ogling the photo. Micah was in a light
blue t-shirt, and they were standing in-front of a silver Audi that was a
few model years older, maybe his car before his current one.

"Mom took that," he said, a bit of sentiment coming into his voice as he
pulled the phone back, looking at the photo himself. "Pearl loved
grandma. Always gave her food from the table, which turned into a bad, yet
adorable, begging habit."

I chuckled at that. "But how can you say no to such a cute face?" I asked
in my own dog voice.

"Simple," he started. "You don't."

I stood up, and we watched as Pearl trotted over to the couch, hopped up on
it and curled into a ball on the cushion.

"You ever get any pets?" he asked, breaking the silence. I shook my head.

"No, I've contemplated it, but never pulled the trigger. Would just get too
sad over time," I said, looking over at the dog still.

Another bout of silence followed before he sighed.

"What made you message me today?" he asked.

Fear spiked in me suddenly, but it dissipated nearly as quickly as I looked
over at him. There was no malice in his tone, nor was there any anger on
his face. He looked curious, and pitiful maybe? I wasn't quite sure, but
everything seemed calm. I think it was obvious that there were more
questions to be asked, more answers to be given, and I would be the one to
tell him everything he wanted to know.

I moved to the kitchen counter and leaned back up against it, sighing. His
eyes followed me.

"I was afraid to. I was going to let you contact me first, but I guess I
got impatient and just wanted an answer," I admitted. My lips tightened,
and I looked at him, waiting for him to respond. He grabbed his elbow and
leaned his hip against the island counter side.

"I'm glad that you did. I still didn't..." his words trailed off and he
shrugged.

"Didn't what?" I urged him on. His eyes fell heavy and got darker...

"Didn't have the courage to confront you. It's... it's the same feeling
that kept me from picking up the phone back then. Betrayal runs deep,
Rich," he said solemnly, scrunching his lips before biting the bottom
one. "Even with you standing here right now."

"You're afraid that I'm going to hurt you again," I said knowingly, my
words flat. When our eyes locked, I could see that I was right, the
fractured pain right on the surface. I moved off the counter and took a few
steps up to him, placing my hand on his wrist, rubbing my thumb across his
skin.  "We're not going to be exactly as we were, and I'm not going to
pretend that we will ever be. It's a different time," he took a deep breath
in, and I watched as his chest filled and decompressed slowly.

"We're both different people than we were back then, too," he spoke softly.

"And I'm not going to ask you to heal in a day. I'm not going to ask you to
act like it didn't happen," I told him, my eyes rising to his baby blues. A
strand of brown curls fell into them. His eyes glanced to the side for a
moment, before they came back to mine, shimmering with hesitation.

"What is it?" I asked carefully, a sense of worry dripping in. A wave of
sadness washed over his face as his free hand reached up and grabbed at the
collar of his polo. Pulling it down slowly, revealing more of his olive
skin, I started to see the organized pinhole scars that would have formed
an upside-down trapezoid.

My bite mark.

"It never went away," he whispered. "I thought one day it would disappear,
but it has been a constant reminder of what was."

My hand raised slowly up to his neck, and as my fingertips barely glided
just above his skin, a nearly magnetic connection pulled my hand to where
the bite marks were forever scared into his skin. His eyes watched me
carefully as I traced the marks with my fingers, glazing over the skin at a
glacial pace, taking in everything that I could through touch and sight.

"You were my donor," I whispered longingly. "And back then I didn't think
things would end. A vampire's mark-"

"Neither did I," he said, cutting me off. He swallowed hard, his voice and
lips trembling. His eyes were closed now, hiding the brilliant color
beneath their lids.

"I don't plan to lose that opportunity again with you, Micah."

My hands moved up to his cheeks and caressed his face. His came around my
waist, the large mitts he now possessed easily holding me firmly in place.

"I don't think I could handle that pain twice," he gasped.

"I won't let that happen."

Seemingly out of nowhere, tears were streaming down both of our faces as
our lips collided in a soft sob of a kiss.

We had needed each other in that moment, that moment of pure vulnerability
and weakness. His fingers curled into my skin, a welcome squeeze on my
body. The aggressive press of our mouths on each other was desperate and
harsh, the force putting pressure back on my teeth.

We didn't move, but just stayed glued together, until he broke away,
rolling our foreheads together, his hand locking in my hair, gripping, and
then letting go. Slowly, it came down to caress my face like both of mine
were to his.

"I've missed you so much." The words rushed past his lips in a breathy
mess.

"As I have with you," I said, my words just as sloppy, but lower,
quieter. We stood there holding each other for a short time, but it wasn't
long until a wet nose and a silky, furry body was wedging her way between
our legs, forcing a space open. With a mix of a sob and a laugh, Micah
reached down to pet Pearl's head, the dog leaning up into the touch and
closing her eyes.

"Hi, baby girl," he garbled, still stroking the peaceful animal's
head. After another moment, Micah looked back at me, his hand cupping my
cheek. Much like Pearl had, I leaned into his touch.

"I want to see your eyes," he said softly, sincerely, his face
endearing. That sentence sent me reeling, remembering the first time that
he said that to me.



2006, November

Somewhere Along Interstate 5 South



I couldn't lie. I felt like absolute garbage. I've never, not in my entire
life, been motion sick. But being in Micah's Toyota Camry, rolling down the
interstate after a half a week of vomiting my brains out in secret in
Micah's back yard after eating regular food? I could eat regular food in
small quantities as long as I fed the same day, but this? It had destroyed
whatever resolve my body had.

I'd kept a good face the entire time, but last night had been arguably the
worst. Micah had found me, woken up by my wheezing. He had also seen the
other night's piles out in the brush and had questioned what the hell had
been going on. Why had I been vomiting everything back up? Why did I not
tell him? Was I okay? Food poisoning? Was I a vegan or something? The
upside to looking and feeling like death then was that I was able to fend
off a majority of the questions. We agreed to not tell his mother, to avoid
her thinking that she had poisoned me with her cooking, and just go with
that I had fallen ill that night in general. Even though this was only the
second time that I had been around his mother, she was a sweet, loving
woman whom I did not want to disappoint.

I'd met Micah's mother once before when she drove down to campus to bring
him some things and to catch up with her son about three weeks ago. Micah
also thought it would be a good time to introduce his mother to his new
boyfriend and ask about bringing me to the `family' holiday since it would
be just the two of them.

Ever since that first date, my heart fluttered at the term, when he'd call
me babe or something else cute and disgusting. While I hadn't dated many
people in my past, I've had serious committed relations, however deeply
private they were given the views and laws of the time. Besides how I felt
for Micah, Andrew Hanover was probably the most strongly that I had felt
for anyone.

It was 1912, and back then, I had considered it love. Perhaps it was, but
in a different fashion, in a different way. He was my barber that I had
been going to for a little over a year. We'd chatted while I was in the
chair, gotten to know each other and had a comradery that, at the time, was
unparalleled to others I had known. Eventually, we'd had drinks one evening
after we were both off work, which ended in a walk in Prospect
Park... which ended with me kissing him, and him kissing me back.

The romance had been private and secretive. If anyone found out, both of us
would have been ruined. I had the luxury of being able to restart, but him,
being found out as a queer would have ostracized him in that city. Yes, of
course he technically could have restarted somewhere else, the lack of
communication technology making that relatively simple, but he wasn't
rich. He lived okay, but nothing was terribly fancy. He couldn't just pick
everything up and go nearly as easily as I could.

It was enough back then, for us, for me, to meet late at night, sneaking
into each other's homes when others weren't around. But there was always a
tension, a fear, always checking over our shoulders to make sure we weren't
being watched.

In private though, our time together was wonderful, passionate, sacred, and
that's what made it worth it. We'd been together for a few years, sneaking
and loving about the city, but when the first war started in Europe in
1914, he had growing concerns. He had joined the army in 1915. As much as
it is clear as day now, I hate to admit that we had grown apart in the
times that he was away at training. Our times together had shrunk to only a
few times a year as he was shipped across the country for military
matters. By the time the United States had entered the war in 1917, his
last time with me was strained and brief.



1917, April

Richard's Old Home in the Bronx



"So you're leaving," I said, staring out the window of my parlor room. I
was trying to fight back the tears that were forming. I hadn't seen him in
six months, and he had just shown up at my doorstep out of seemingly
nowhere. I had been thrilled at first, but one good look at his anxious
brown eyes had sent my heart in a tizzy. I knew then that whatever he had
come here for was not good.

"Yes, and I'm sorry," he said, stress building in his tone. I could hear
his boots walking up behind me. "I don't have a choice."

I whipped around at that.

 "But you do have a choice!" I seethed at first. My body went rigid as I
looked at his startled expression. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,
trying to relax even a little.

 "You- used... to have a choice," I amended sullenly, looking away from
him. Carefully, he walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I
looked up into his face, hardened, but the slightest bit of sadness
breaking through the façade.

"I understand why you can't go yourself," he said softly. "You have your
business, your clients. They're only going to need more guidance as the
world works through these times, but me..." he chewed on his lips for a
moment, his eyes boring into mine. "I'm not going to live forever, Richard,
I don't have that luxury. You've afforded me many of things in our time
together, happiness being one of them that I thought I'd never truly find."
His hand slid down to my heart, where it was slowly shattering under the
surface.

"But we could never truly be together, Rich. Not in this lifetime. I pray
that you will live to see a day where two men like us may share a life
together. For me, at least, I can go fight for that day, fight for you."

 His voice was earnest, imploring, almost begging me to accept the fact
that he was leaving, that this was a noble decision.

"I know," I said, my words taking on the same darkness I felt in my gut. My
hand came up and took his hand from my chest and brought it down between
us. I didn't let go, and he didn't pull away. There was a moment of silence
between us before I spoke. "Where are they shipping you to?"

He sighed.

"France, somewhere there first. We're going to help the French."

My heart sunk. He was going to be sent right to the thick of it then. A
shiver of fear shot down my spine. "If I get the chance, I will write to
you, Richard," he told me, squeezing my hand some. It did little to comfort
me, my entire soul feeling crushed and dusty.

"And I will..." I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress it, but
the tear fell from my eye anyway. "And I will look for your letter." My
voice broke at the end, and I hated myself for it. For a shining moment,
his hardened face had broken as he gently wiped the tear from my cheek.

"I must go now. They'll be coming for me soon," he said quietly, his words
dim. I hardly noticed when his lips came to my cheek, his hand caressing my
face gently as his warm skin touched mine. When he pulled away, he began to
walk backward, still facing me.

 "I love you."

What I didn't know at the time, was that when I looked up into his face,
looking at the shimmering chestnut brown eyes, that it was the last time
that I would ever see them.

"I love you too," I whispered.



2006, November

Somewhere Along Interstate 5 South



There was a difference between then and now, and I couldn't tell why it was
this way. Maybe it was the time, or maybe it was the place, or maybe it was
both. But the love I had felt for Andrew was different than the love that I
held for Micah. With Andrew, everything had felt temporary even though it
lasted for years. Every time we were together I knew it could possibly be
out last. No, we had never discussed things coming to an end, but sometimes
you just know that a relationship that you have isn't going to last
forever, even if the feelings that you have for that person are true... you
know that somewhere down the line that it will fail. It will crumble, and
eventually it will die whether you want it to or not.

For me, in all my years, it was rather through failure or literal death,
with the friend or lover succumbing to ailing health. I had watched friends
from each era of my life pass, making new ones, and watching the light in
their eyes dwindle out eventually too. I had never feared it, and I always
knew that it was going to come. I had known it with Andrew, and I knew it
now, but now... for the first time...

I feared it.

I feared the loss.

For the first time, this felt like something that didn't have to be
temporary, that didn't have to end in heartbreak or death. And now, with
the two of us sitting in this car with things sitting so uncertain, I felt
it. I felt fear. I felt the gut turning fear more so than the bile in my
stomach from an unbalanced diet.

And this was all so avoidable.

That was the worst part.  I hadn't thought it through. Micah had never
really seen me eat food. I'd had a granola bar he'd offered half of to me,
or an apple slice here and there. Nothing that would make me lose my
stomach. Romantic dinners were, one, not in a college budget, even though I
could afford it.  Micah, thankfully, was much more attuned to nights in
cuddling watching movies or going doing outdoorsy stuff like hiking and
swimming. But this, Thanksgiving, had been a massive oversight in my
judgement, having been so caught up in making him happy and being with him
and his mother on a holiday... that was solely based around food
consumption. How the hell was I going to hunt?

My head was resting on the window, looking at lights of other cars on the
interstate in the night. I could sense Micah looking between me and the
road, his heart rate elevated nearly since we woke up this morning.

He was worried.

He was confused.

He wanted answers.

Someone may think that I would have more wisdom on what to tell him, how to
navigate this mess that I have caused, but I didn't. I knew, too, in the
back of my head, that my carelessness was going to lead to him finding out
what I really was.

"I'm going to be fine, Micah," I said quietly, my voice sounding weaker
than I had imagined it would. It wouldn't help my case.

"I want to take you to the hospital once we're back in Santa Clara," Micah
said, sounding worried, but certain. I sighed, sitting up in the seat, my
stomach reeling at even the slow movement. I rubbed the bridge of my nose
between my thumb and index finger.

"No, that won't work," I told him tiredly.

"Why wouldn't that work?" he asked, his tone sounding patronizing. I huffed
long and looked over at him, my expression probably looking as exhausted as
I felt.

"Because it just won't, Micah. Please-"

"No, you have been vomiting everything you've eaten up for days! I'm not
going to let you starve yourself over your pride," he grumbled, full-on
angry now. "You won't tell me what's wrong. You won't let me help you! Why?
Why won't you let me help?"

"Because you can't!" I growled, my voice sounding demonic, but God I just
needed him to shut up and drive. I had an emergency pack of blood hidden in
a taped Taco Bell bag in my minifridge. If we could just get back to campus
and I could drink that, I'd be fine within minutes.

It was tense and silent in the car for almost a half-hour after that, the
car speeding down the interstate towards Santa Clara. He was white knuckled
nearly the whole time, eyes dead-set on the road. I could feel his anger,
sense his frustration that I felt awful for causing. But what could I do,
right now, in the car? While I knew at this point I needed to tell him
something, now wasn't the time nor the place.

"I don't fucking understand you, right now! You know that?" he said through
gritted teeth, making me feel worse just from guilt at this point. The
nausea was at least wearing off slowly but surely since I wasn't poisoning
myself with any more food at this point, but as the nausea faded, the
hunger I felt grew, making the emergency bag I had in my room even more
important.

"Can we just get back to campus and go from there? I'm feeling better. I
promise," I said to him. He looked over at me with narrowed, pissed off
eyes. After a second, he shook his head in frustration and lifted one hand
off the steering wheel lazily, smacking the material on the way back down.

"Just," he pursed his lips for a moment. "Fine. Just. Fine," he huffed out.

"I don't believe you at all," he mumbled the last part. He could be
angry. That was fine. As long as we got back to campus before he made some
split-second decision, I'd be golden.

The rest of the drive was completed in the same silence as before, the
radio turned off, and nothing but the sound of the tires on the road and
the soft hum of the engine chugging along filled the quiet.

When we got back to campus a couple hours later, I could tell that Micah
was completely fried. He looked exhausted, frayed, and absolutely done. I
was pretty close too. Mostly, the hunger I felt was completely ravenous. If
Micah wasn't actually angry, and honestly, kind of intimidating like that,
the smell of him would have made the close space much more uncomfortable
for me in that regard.

As soon as he parked the car and turned the key, he was out of it in a
blink of an eye. He popped the trunk and was grabbing our bags once I
stepped out of the car. The hunger in my gut was reaching a near painful
level as the sickness from the week almost completely gone, and the hunger
was taking over.

"Micah, I-"

"Here's your bag," he said curtly, tossing my duffle at me. It smacked my
chest as my arms wrapped around it. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

While I could tell he cared about my answer, the doubtful aggression on his
face masked his concern almost flawlessly. I could see it in his eyes
though, behind the fire, the worry that struck him.

"I'm just extremely hungry," I said truthfully. There was no point in lying
about it since the explanation could be vague. He rolled his eyes as he
shut the trunk, the strap of his bag thrown around his neck.

"No kidding," he said flatly.

"I have something in my room I'll grab first, give me a few minutes, and
then I'll come to your room," I told him. The wind blew softly, knocking
his scent right into my nostrils. I had clamped my jaw hard to avoid
groining in need. I need to get to my room now!

He looked at me confused.

"Why?" he asked. I was already taking a few steps backward.

"Because, you wanted answers, right?"

He looked at me with dubious frustration. "So, all of a sudden, you're fine
to talk?" I was already on the sidewalk in front of the car moving back
toward the dorm.

"Yeah, just, give me a few," I rushed.

Before I turned around and started speed walking down the sidewalk, I saw
him throw up his arms like he had a million white flags saying that he gave
the fuck up. He was pissed, obviously, but me telling him I'm not entirely
human in a little while could make this go spectacularly horrific, so...

Once I was out of sight, I sprinted as fast as I could, figuring it was
dark enough out that I wouldn't be seen if I stuck to the shadows.

By the time I made it to my room and closed the door, the intensity of the
hunger had me nearly tackling my minifridge, flinging the door open and
snatching the fast-food bag from the small shelf. Once I had the
liter-sized blood-bag in my hand, I sunk my teeth into it and sucked.

As soon as the blood hit my tongue, relief, albeit mostly mental, started
to shoot through my body.

My body slumped against the front of the bed frame, my body mimicking the
feeling of being drunk off alcohol from the intense feeding frenzy that I
had just endured. There was blood dripping from my face and onto my shirt
from how sloppy I had been, but I didn't really care. The only downside was
that this shirt was just going to have to be trashed, but that was fine. I
was fine; finally starting to feel more like myself again as the blood
nourished my famished body.

"I know it's stupid, but you weren't answering your phone and I-" Micah's
words halted abruptly as he came through my door, as obviously my stupid
ass had forgotten to lock it in my frenzy.

The blood packet sat in my lap, empty.

My shirt? Bloody.

My face? Just the same as the shirt.

My fangs? Out and proud.

My brain? In a complete daze.

Micah dropped his phone from his hand as his face became a startling mix of
pure shock, confusion, and horror. My head turned in his direction as I
lazily tried to wipe some of the blood off my face, coating my forearm with
it instead and further smearing it across my cheek.

The door had slowly closed behind Micah as he stood stunned frozen in the
room.

"Fuck!" I grumbled, rolling my head to the side away from him, not even
wanting to know what he was going to do once the initial shock wore off. I
grabbed the blood packet and tossed it toward the trashcan next to my desk,
missing it, of course.

"R-r-ri-ch?" his voice trembled with an immense amount of fear.

I looked over at him as I moved to stand, the color was quickly leaving his
skin, going pale, while his face turned slightly red and green. Looking
away, I stumbled to my desk, leaning on the top. I pulled open the drawer
that I kept basic cleaning supplies in and pulled out the container of
cleaning wipes.

"Rich," he said. His voice was still shaky but had a little bit more
footing than before.

"What?" I asked, turning towards him as I pulled out a couple of the
wipes. His eyes seemed locked on me by an invisible tether as I started to
remove the blood from my face.

"Your teeth, a-a-a-and you, what is that on you?" he asked, sounding half
afraid to know the answer, and the other half honestly curious. It smelt
like blood in the room, it was pretty obvious what it was. Given, however,
that it wasn't entirely normal for a person to just be consuming blood,
there was a reasonable place for doubt, no matter how misplaced it truly
was.

"Micah, I really need you to keep calm as best as you can right now, and
whatever you do, please don't leave," I said calmly, as I wiped the last
bit of blood on me off my arm. I pulled off my shirt then and tossed it
into the trash, this time making it into the bin.

"Answer. Me," The words were as quiet as they were punctuated, showing that
he was either about to become incredibly angry as I have never seen him
before, or he was about to snap and run screaming from the room. I held up
my hands in a calming motion for a moment before using my one hand to point
at my teeth.

"These are my fangs, and what was on me was blood," I told him carefully,
watching his face twitch with emotions of every kind every second that
passed. He quickly reached up and ran his hands through his dark curls,
stress clearly winning amongst the emotions battling for attention. His
head started to shake.

"Richard Miller," he started, slowly backing toward the door. "I need you
to explain to me, very, very, carefully, what in the actual fuck is going
on right now!" By the end of the sentence, he was yelling and, regrettably,
I hissed at him.

"Quiet, you adorable idiot!" my eyes were searing as I stared at him. His
eyes went wide and he backed into the door, panic filling his face.

"You, what are you? I don't get how, and I don't want... you just, and I,
you-" he started babbling incessantly. "What are you?"

I sighed, relaxing my body as I looked at him, standing there in front of
my boyfriend with nothing left to hide.

"A vampire," I said softly, but surely. His jaw twitched some, and I wasn't
sure if he was having a stroke or if he was actually a robot and
short-circuiting.

"That's not real," he blurted suddenly, but I could hear the mind-blowing
doubt in his words. I took a tentative step toward him. He swallowed hard,
his heartbeat flying higher than a spaceship.

"I need you to take a deep breath, babe."

"Rich," he squeaked. I took another step. "Please."

"Please, what? And you need to breathe, for real, you're turning purple."

"But your eyes aren't red," he stated, weirdly confidently, and then took a
long, nearly gasping breath of air.

"Yes they are," I said calmly.

Another step.

"No they're not. Your eyes are hazel!" he fought. He shook his head then in
a short angle range. "And those fangs can't be real. They're fake for
sure."

But he didn't sound sure.

His confidence faded as I took another step toward him, standing directly
in front of him now.

"Why don't you touch one and tell me that they're fake," I told him. His
eyes, while still wide with fear, also grew a spark of defiance as his hand
reached up quickly toward my mouth, but then he faltered, pausing.

"Don't touch the tip or you'll cut yourself," I warned him. His pupils
flared at that and sweat started to bead on his forehead. His hand slowly
started moving toward my lips now, and I moved them to reveal the top left
fang. Once his thumb and index finger latched on, his heart rate plummeted,
slowing down as if all the adrenaline in his body disappeared all at once.

"This is a dream," he whispered, his fingers trying to wiggle the tooth
free lightly. He paused again, his brows knitting together and his mouth
slightly agape. Realization and curiosity took over as his thumb moved
glacially down the sharp tooth, and stopped once he reached the sharp
point, barely touching it.

"We got in a car accident, and we're both passed out somewhere on the
freeway." He pressed the pad of his thumb up gently against the fine
razor-sharp point. The instant the skin broke, the sweet, sweet taste of
his blood had me lurching, and him gasping as his other hand grabbed his
wrist, looking between me and his now bead of blood that was forming on his
thumb.

I couldn't help but run my tongue over the tooth where a minuscule amount
of his blood still sat, even the tiny amount enveloped my taste buds with
his unique, rich flavor.

"My god!" I groaned.

I bit my lips together and sucked in a breath through my nose. Trapped in
my own euphoria, I opened my eyes when I heard a sturdy thump. Micah was on
the floor now, back against the door, his expression completely blank. This
snapped me out of my trance as for some reason, him being emotionless
worried me more than if he was screaming out of fear.

"Micah? Micah are you with me?" I asked him gently, taking a few steps
toward forward and kneeled in front of him. I looked at him as his eyes
seemed to stare straight past me. When I reached out to place my hand on
his one outstretched leg, his whole body tensed at my touch. His eyes
shifted and looked at me like he was looking into an abyss.

"Please tell me what you are thinking?" I asked him carefully, fear
building in my tone. It took him several moments to speak.

"I'm not dead yet," he said, almost as if it was a question. I frowned.

"Edward didn't kill Bella in that stupid vampire book series you're
obsessed with, right?" I asked, him, thinking of the only thing that could
possibly relate to this right now, as shitty as it was. His face stretched
for a slip second before going back to normal, and then his brows knitted
like he was thinking.

"But that isn't real. This can't be real," he said, disbelief radiating
from him. But suddenly, it was like some weird lightbulb had popped on. "So
that's why you think they're stupid," he mumbled, sounding suddenly, very,
annoyed. I leaned back some, my face falling.

"Really? That's where your brain goes to right now?" I asked
patronizingly. He looked up, looking bold.

"You're the one that brought it up," he scoffed.

"Is this a joke to you?" I asked, holding my hand out in question.

"No!" he shouted, startling me, and then he receded back into
himself. Then, much softer, "No, no it's not."

I sighed.

"But yeah, I don't like them partially because it's not really
realistic. Diamond skin? Really?" I asked, rolling my eyes. He did chuckle
a little at that.

We both looked at the floor for a second, letting the moment settle around
us before we continued. I got up and moved to the closet, grabbing a random
white t-shirt off a hanger and throwing it on.

"Can I sit on your bed?" I heard him ask from behind me. I turned around.

"How many times have you done that without asking?" I almost laughed. He
shrugged, looking awkward.

"I know, I just..." he looked at his feet. "I don't know if I should be
screaming, passing out, or what. Nothing makes sense to me right now,
Rich."

"That's fair. I don't want you to do either of those, preferably
though. I'd like to talk to you about this, maybe explain everything a
little bit?" I offered, moving to the bed myself. After a second, he sat
down next to me with his hands in his lap.

"You're going to hate me," he said sheepishly. "But I have to ask this
first."

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What?"

He bit his bottom lip, looking nervous.

"So, you're, you know, not going to kill me in a few minut-"

I shut him up, moving in to kiss him with lightning-fast pace. He gasped
and moved back a little, but quickly fell in-line with my movements. It was
just lips, my fangs were still out, I didn't want to accidentally bite him.

"No," I murmured softly after breaking the kiss, placing my forehead on
his. "There was only ever one span of time in my life that I killed, and
that was almost seventy years ago."

"Okay," he whispered. I pecked his lips again and moved back.

"Next question," I said once we were both situated. His eyes looked into
mine for a moment, and I felt like I knew what he was going to ask.

"You said your eyes were red?" he asked, and then he started leaning in,
staring intently at my eyes. When the realization struck, I wanted to laugh
at the look of betrayal.

"You're wearing colored contacts!" he bellowed, and that did get me to
chuckle a little bit at the pout he started to give. "I don't know how I
never noticed that before. I mean, it's subtle, but you can see the
contact."

"Yeah, hazel and brown we're really the only colors that covered the red
once plastic contacts became a thing in the 1950s. Before that they were
glass." I shuddered at the memory. "They were uncomfortable, but the glass
wasn't nearly as opaque when dyed." I watched his face fall as I spoke, his
whole-body language sobering as the words soaked in.

"Before 1950?" he asked. "How... how old are you, Rich? Your birthday is
July 12th... of?"

I nodded slowly and intertwined one of his hands with mine, looking into
his eyes.

"Of 1715. I'm 291 years old, Micah."

While he wasn't freaking out, overall, he looked extremely overwhelmed at
that knowledge, and leaned back some, using his free hand as support. He
didn't try to remove his hand from mine, so that was at least a step in the
right direction.

"I was born in New York in 1715 when she was still under British rule," I
told him gently. Rubbing my thumb over the top of his hand. "Lived on the
east coast for most of my life, until I moved out here after World War
Two."

His eyes bored into mine like a drill tunneling into the earth. He looked
stricken with thoughts, but the wall he had put up, rather intentionally or
not, blocked any form of emotion from breaking through.

I waited, for what rather could have been five seconds or five minutes, it
wouldn't have mattered, but we'd seemed to have reached a critical mass for
him on things that he could mentally absorb without having a complete
meltdown.

"I want to see your eyes," he whispered suddenly. I nodded my agreement. I
was nervous, but if this was what would appease him...

"Of course," I said.

I stood from the bed and moved over the to my desk, pulling out one of the
drawers with my bathroom supplies. I grabbed my contact case buried at the
bottom of my shower caddie under soap and shampoo, placing it onto the
desk. I twisted the cap off the two sides and looked over at Micah.

"Okay," I said, and brought my fingers up to my one eyes, holding the lid
open as my other hand removed the plastic sheath. I heard Micah gasp
sharply once my fingers were out of the way of the first eye.

We locked eyes for a moment, his lips parted slightly in awe as he
stared. The second contact was removed just as quickly, and then I stood
before him, eyes ablaze by the bloodthirsty red, my mouth open some to
showcase the spiked teeth. I could hear his heart rate accelerating as his
eyes seemed locked to my face. He seemed frozen on the bed where he sat,
making no intention to move. But while his exterior was silent, hearing his
heart, seeing the strain in his muscles, smelling the fear, I could tell
that he was screaming on the inside.

"Micah, please..."

Don't run away.

Please don't leave.

I wanted to beg him to be calm. I'd fall down on my knees for him to not
leave. We'd only been together for such a short amount of time, and while
our inseparability may have seemed suffocating to some or to a few of our
friends, he had become a needed presence in my life, and I in his. I didn't
want him to go. I didn't want to think of that pain. Imagining it now
though, as I watched his body react to me, to everything that he had
witnessed since walking into this room, it seemed fully plausible to fall
into this imaginary void that seemed all too close to reality. I felt the
tears in my eyes start to well.

"Please..." it came on a shuttering wheeze, making it breathy and
desperate.

Something shifted in him, his body starting to come alive again. Slowly,
tentatively, he shifted on the bed, using his hands to push himself up to
standing. His eyes never left mine as he moved, the curiosity growing as he
came to stand toe-to-toe with me.

The intensity that rolled off him in waves had the hairs on my skin
standing up straight, fear and electricity seeming to jolt down my spine.

The hunter becoming the hunted, I suppose.

I wanted him to say or do anything, but he just continued to stand there
and study me, observe, and look. Then, seemingly at once, his whole body
softened, and his face shifted into a relaxed curiosity as a hesitant hand
came up to my neck. I reached up to wrap my fingers gently around his
forearm.

"They're fitting, you know?" he said. "The red, its..." he paused, nibbling
on his bottom lip like he was embarrassed about something.

"What?" I asked, chucking, slightly nervous.

"It's beautiful, Rich," He finished quietly. My hand slid down his arm to
his shoulder, slowly moving down to the small of his back, pulling him in
close to me, confident enough that he had calmed down enough. His hand
moved to my shoulder and the other came around to my waist. "Although, the
fangs give me a bit of the creeps." He admitted guiltily. I rolled my eyes
and retracted them.

"Better?" I asked, moving my other hand behind his neck, starting to pull
him in a little closer. His breathing hitched.

"We still have a lot to talk about," he said, trying to sound serious while
holding his nerves together. I smiled softly and nodded.

"I know. And I'll tell you..." our lips were grazing each
other. "Everything."




Present Day

Micah's Apartment



"I don't have any, uh..." I looked around at the kitchen counters like I
was going to find anything that I would need. Micah pointed nodded in the
direction of the hallway.

"I have an extra contact case in the bathroom in the second drawer on the
left under the sink. There's solution in there too," he told me.

I said okay and made my way to the bathroom, pulling out the denoted drawer
and placing the little case on the sink's flat rim. I could hear him and
the dog moving out in the living room, along with some sweet giggling
coming from him. It made me smile at myself in the mirror, a warm feeling
building in my chest.

I was in Micah's space, invited by him into his home, met his dog... I
braced myself on the sink as I was lost in the flurry of thought. It had
taken so long to get to this very moment, to get back with the human who I
foolishly left out of my own fear of commitment, fear of eventually losing
him. I was finally back here where things actually felt like they belonged.

Arguably, I would rather have him in my home, a place where we could live
and be happy, be a family. But even being here with him, hearing him
playing with Pearl in the other room, it felt like home.

It felt like us.

I took out the contacts, spraying a little solution into the dish before
closing them up and putting the container back in the drawer. I took a look
at myself in the mirror, the red a little bit darker from the slight hunger
I had, but nothing that seemed anymore devilish than needed be. All I could
hope was that he would still see me for how he had in the past, for how he
saw me in the park, in his living room moments ago.

I knew he would.

In fact, it was almost a guarantee.

Still, the human mind, even mine, old and immortal, still had that
troublesome nagging feeling that something would turn out in the worst
possible fashion. It was enough to cause hesitation leaving the bathroom,
to cause hesitation in finding out what he would perceive me as. I knew
that we had barriers to overcome and I wasn't going to pretend that he was
just going to forget the pain that I had caused the both of us. He wouldn't
live as long me, even if he chose to be with me and be my donor again.

Granted, maybe by the time that he passes, I'd be ready to leave this world
with him.

Or would be join me in eternity?

That was something that I had never considered.

"Micah?" I asked as I walked out into the room. His back was to me, Pearl
having jumped up onto him, her front paws up on his chest. He was
scratching her head. When he turned around, he gasped once he saw me,
becoming still as his eyes locked to mine.

He swallowed hard.

Tension.

It built in the room like the Los Angeles smog. My chest started to tighten
as the seconds passed. I lost track quickly of just how long we stood
there. Everything seemed frozen as I waited for him to say what he felt.

What he wanted.

It was only a matter of time, but it felt like a lifetime away.

"It's been so long," he said quietly.

Pearl hopped down from him and came around his side, sitting down loyally
next to him.

"Seeing eyes like those..." his words drifted off as he shook his head with
a smile. It wasn't like he had said anything extremely profound, but I
started to choke up just seeing the man smile like that.

Quirky and shy.

It's something so small that I missed so much.

"I guess I could say the same thing," I said, talking a casual step toward
him. "And you were never even afraid of them."

He shook his head again, tucking his head before looking back up. "They
always suited you better than the gray, I have to say."

I could feel the flush coming to my face after that. I took another step,
swinging my one foot in front of the other, shoving my fingers into my
pockets.

"You've told me that before," I said bashfully. I guess it was my turn to
be shy. "You should still be mad at me."

He shrugged, patting Pearl's head for a moment before she trotted off down
the hall, probably to the bedroom. This time, he took a few steps toward
me, almost closing the distance between the two of our bodies. When our
eyes me, they shimmered with a determination, longing, and fear.

"Never said I wasn't, but I had while to figure out the raw emotion. We
still have shit to talk through..."

He glanced at the ground before looking back at me.

"Things to figure out. I want to know what the hell you've been doing the
last ten years, how you've been, what friends you have, and when the hell
you decided to age? Somehow? I still don't fully understand how you do
that, even after so long, but," he took a shallow breath, huffing some.

"I want to relearn who Richard Miller is. Get back inside that ancient head
of yours," he chuckled then, smirking. "We might as well pretend that I
just found out you were a vampire again."

I bit my lip, embarrassed for a moment.

"This was much more how I intended to tell you originally." A casual
conversation, maybe after a relaxing date night, ease into the topic, get
all the information out. Then, when I showed him my eyes, casually saunter
out into the room again...

"Oh, you mean me catching you post-feeding frenzy wasn't planned?" he
retorted playfully. Our bodies came together in a loose embrace then, hands
at each other's waists, foreheads together.

"Not even the slightest," I closed my eyes, thinking back on the
memory. "It must have looked so bad."

We both sighed happily, laughing a little at that. The memory, if a bit
horrific, was at least somewhat funny at this point.

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty spent," he said softly between
us. "Want to recline back on the couch and watch a movie for a bit?"

I nodded my head, and he moved back from me.

"I'll grab us some sweats and stuff. My clothes might be a little big on
you but-"

"I'd love nothing more," I said, cutting off his ramble. He smiled as his
hands moved up my sides, resting on my shoulder for a moment. Micah moved
away then, going down the hall. From his bedroom, he called out.

"You can put your shoes and clothes wherever, doesn't matter to me."

I toed off my shoes and started walking down the hall. When I turned into
his bedroom, my steps faltered at the sight of a nearly nude, mature,
muscular, Micah.

He was bent over at the waist in nothing more than some tight gray briefs
as he looked through the bottom drawer of a dresser. His backside filled
the fabric garment completely, stretching it, the elastic riding a bit high
on the cheeks bent over like that. His legs were hairy, and so was his
back, leading me to believe that the front of him also donned a healthy
helping of fur. The muscles rippled under his perfect olive skin, the
striation in his back, arms, and legs nearly causing me to drool at the
perfect sight.

Hunger grew in me, even though I had eaten healthily yesterday.

"Holy fuck."

My eyes went wide with shock and embarrassment as I heard my words in my
ears, rather than just in my mind. Micah flew upright and spun around,
revealing just about everything I thought his body would be now and so much
more. He wasn't flat abs and chiseled muscle, but his core looked strong
and toned, and his chest was puffy and defined. The hair from the back only
grew much denser on his front, an even darker path flowing from the middle
of his chest, straight down into the front of his underwear.

My mouth felt dry and tacky at the same time as I continued to stare, my
fangs threatening to come down, unable to bring my eyes away from him. I
didn't dare look below the elastic band, giving myself at least a little
bit of false decency.

I'd seen the man naked, made love to him a countless number of times, but
that was back then. He was a completely different person now, a whole new
mind and body to explore... eventually.

"Oh, hey. I was going to bring, uhm..." he said, heat rising in his
cheeks. My brain misfired.

"I, uh, thought that, oh uhm, I just..." I swear my eye twitched. "Fuck,
sorry." I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"Rich, hold on, you're fine," he said quickly. I halted where I stood, and
a pair of sweats and a plain white t-shirt hit the side of my body. I
fumbled with them for a second before I got a grip on the clothing. When I
looked at him, he had his arms crossed under his chest, smiling wildly at
me. The stance only proved to pump up his chest even more than it already
was. He raised a waiting brow at me, and my eyes dropped to the clothes.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, you just got a free show," he said sarcastically, and then he
winked. "Continuing to, I might add." Drawing the attention back to that he
was still only wearing the briefs. Again, I had to restrain my eyes.

"And I'm trying to be respectful," I said meekly. He barked out a laugh.

"Rich, shit, I'm just trying to..." he paused, the jovial look on his face
fading as his head tilted some. He took a few slow steps toward me,
frowning.

"You're hungry," he said, knowingly, a bit of fear in his voice that seemed
unintended. I knew I felt it in my throat, the dryness, but I wasn't aware
that my face showed it as well.

"I wasn't until a few moments ago," I admitted.

"It kind of came on like a truck. It's fine though. I can handle it," I
said, trying to assure him.

"Just a sudden urge." I laughed nervously at my own words. "Haven't felt
that kind of pull since-" my words cut as I focused in on the beautiful man
before me.

"Since you."

I was breathless.

 It was not even a second later that our lips were connected, my hands
dropping the clothes to the floor and finding purchase on the warm skin of
his back and the curls of his hair. His grabbed at the fabric of my shirt
seeming to want to rip it off my skin. His lips opened, and his tongue
licked at mine. It was too easy to open for him, to let him in, to taste
him. It wasn't until I felt his tongue drag under one of my fangs that I
realized they had come down. Before I could do anything about it, the
sweet, sweet taste of his blood had hit my taste buds, and from there,
everything turned gray and hazy.

"Whoah..." his voice sounded distant, like he was in the other room or
something, talking through a wall. I could hear his heartbeat and the
sloshing sound of blood being pumped through his veins. The smell was in
the air now, filling my nostrils and swarming all of my senses, drowning in
his smell, in his taste!

"Rich... Richard!"

I could vaguely hear him calling out to me as a thud shook my body. A
wall. We were against the wall now, and his neck, it was bent over,
stretching, showcasing the beautiful veins coursing through right under the
skin. So beautiful, perfect. And my mark, it was there, taunting me,
showing me what once was mine. Where I laid claim. I wanted to claim it
again. I wanted what was mine!

"Pearl, it's fine, it's..."

Take what's yours.

Reclaim it!

His head shifted, and his eyes came into view, the baby blues coming right
into my vision. It distracted me just long enough.

"Richy, snap out of it!" he yelled, and he sounded... scared?

That wasn't right.

There was a dog barking. My hand was gripping something soft and curly
tightly, and the other was gripping something else. My eyes were shooting
around, looking at what in the world had just happened.

I had pinned him against the wall with my body, my hand gripping his hair,
and the other pinning his one wrist to the wall. He had his free hand
wrapped around my bicep, but not tightly. His face was painted with shock
and his eyes were wide open. Mortification quickly started to settle in as
I realized how quickly and easily I had lost my control. I nearly jumped
back from him, my body trembling as I walk backward, nearly yelling my
apologies over the dog barking.

"I'm so sorry! I can't, I don't know how I, I'm sorry, s-so so sorr-whoa!"

"Richard, watch-" he called out to me at the same that I tripped over the
something fuzzy. The room blurred as I fell backward, and I heard a loud
thunk.

Darkness.