The machine rocks with the auto shut off, the boy retrieves the hose to leave. I stare, waiting for the inevitable. She comes to a brief stop before speeding onto the lot. I suspect the hesitation may have been a small pang of humanity calling out.
My eyes gaze over, lips pursing with the envisionment of violence. She'll go for his neck, we all go for the throat our first time.
I blink, cocking my head as she discredits my prediction, throwing herself on the asphalt a few paces behind the pumps. I was right about one thing, she has no intention of being a killer. My brows pull together in pity as she twitches and jerks with the craving. That's what makes this so much worse, we can't defy our nature.
I stand back, useless like I always seem to be as the girl loses her inner-brawl. She makes another dash for him. Hand so close to the handle yet he won't have the chance to get it open.
Another surprise, and concern. She purposely directs her charge into the back of the fuel pump, still fighting it. My eyes flash over to the startled man as I head to flank the girl in my pre-planned position. I focus beyond the elevated heartbeat, listening to be sure no one else heard the commotion – she slammed into that machine pretty hard.
'Yep, that's going to leave a mark...'
"Hey!" the attendant yelps like a lapdog.
No unusual activity by the storefront, if the one outside is idiotic enough to investigate the slaughter will be concealed, tying up the loose ends couldn't be simpler.
'Alright, buddy, are you a coward or a moron?' As he stands petrified, I find myself having a faint interest in how this will unravel. But if he makes a break for the quick mart I'll have to cut him off.
The seconds tick before he's spurred into the smart but cowardly route – he's going to flee without reporting anything. I check on the girl and feel my face crumble. She seems to know how to pull these dead feelings from my chest, kick starting that old well of empathy I thought had dried up years ago. Seeing her clearly suffering and writhing against the metal barrier actually pains me.
I furrow my brows, determined. A fragment of my old self ignites. Like a match in a windowless cellar, it illuminates all the lost and forgotten, kindling a desire to grant another solace.
Her stark yellow eyes roll upward beaming with monstrous intent and total hopelessness. Tears stream down the round cheeks, dissolving the last clinging shred of human virtue. My still heart pangs for her despair.
Unsure of what I am doing, I rush to her side. I'm done impassively speculating from the sidelines.
The beastly emanation swallows her up, eyes closed tight. Lips parting as teeth shift into points. The energy is contagious and I find myself wanting the man too. My eyes light, sensing prey. Fangs responding to the promise of blood. I push that need down, intent on aiding not participating in the carnage. I grab her by the wrists as she turns to lunge, keeping her there all too easily. Let's just say I have more than a few decades of experience on her.
Eyes bright as the moon, open wide, furious. A growl spills behind bared teeth, directed at me. It doesn't take a genius to know it's a bad idea to get in between a vampire and their game. New vampires, especially, are known to be exceptionally aggressive when losing control. Regardless, I hold my ground and let my aura dominate. A silent yet clear message that I will overpower any attempts to fight me off.
Self realization sparks in her expression, utter bewilderment. That is, before the sound of the car turning over sends her back into a frenzy. The girl attempts another escape, lurching with more force than the last. It'll take more than that to buck me, she doesn't have a prayer of slipping away.
In her craze she snaps at me. I reposition the woman harshly as new fangs come biting at my face. I bare mine in return, growling low on instinct.
Just like before, she looks up at me stunned. Then her face melts, quivering lips susurrating a plea: "Help me."
Once again, the foreign feeling of empathy clocks me. I...want to help, but I don't know how. I take in those heartbreaking tear-filled eyes and contemplate using "suggestion" to ease her suffering, but I'm well aware that's a bandage – not a permanent fix. It may do more harm than good in the long run. That tortured gaze drifts in the direction of the fleeing car. The lucky son of a bitch will remain forever ignorant of his near death experience.
She pulls at my hold a third time but it's different than before, more anguished rather than an uncontrollable reflex.
"Let go of me, I need him!" she cries as if she's going to die.
I nod internally, 'I know, I know you "need" him.' I breathe out through my nose. God knows what I would give to dine on him, too.
"Is that really what you want?" I ask, rhetorical of course.
"Yes...No! Arrgh!"
'Mmhmm.' I almost make the sound but keep it to myself.
She closes those pitiful eyes, that face sloping further as crude reality settles in. I loosen my grip, she's back in her mind for now. If that's for better or worse I can't really say.
Doubts begin to weasel in, I wonder if getting involved was the best call. Maybe I am making this experience that much worse. Perhaps ripping her unavoidable fate off like a band-aid is how it should've been handled. We all kill eventually.
The girl takes me off guard, throwing herself at me and curling into my chest. I freeze up like an idiot as she weeps into my shirt. This was the last thing I expected as I was running through all the possibilities earlier.
Evidently, she doesn't recognize me. There's no chance she'd seek comfort from the bastard who participated in turning her life upside down. I feel the familiar tinge of regret. I may have not been directly responsible but was I an unintentional catalyst? I don't have any right to offer comfort, but I lightly hold her despite it. I question if it's an act of selfishness, consoling her to ease my own guilt.
She doesn't squirm like I half expected. The girl may have transformed from a fragile human into a perfect predator just yesterday, yet she looks so frail and delicate in my arms. I shift my fingers in a lock of her hair, the other, thumbing light circles on her shoulder.
She keeps her face buried in my chest for a while so I continue to hold her gently, taking in that magical fragrance emitting from her skin. That bizarre urge rises, a swell of protective impulse. I want to hold her tighter, having her in my arms is just right. Somewhere deep and primal, it declares from within, 'Mine.'
I let go abruptly, feeling like a stranger in my own shoes. Some alone time to collect myself will do me good. She shyly removes herself, looking down at the ground. This woman is too innocent for this life.
"Thanks…" she says sheepishly.
'A thank you?' I wince, she shouldn't be thanking me. As soon as she gets a good look at who I am I'll get the repugnance I've rightly earned.
"Sure," I lamely acknowledge back.
As her eyes drift upward I finally get the reaction I expected and deserve.
"You!"
I flatly take in the resentment and disgust, waiting for her next move. Whether that be yelling or getting violent, I'll let her get it out of her system.
"Wha...were you following me?"
Taken aback, I glance over her shoulder then focus back on the appalled face. 'That's seriously the first thing she's going to say to me?'
"I recognized your scent," I confess, "I didn't think it was possible, you should have been dead. So yeah, I followed you."
"You...could smell me?" she asks dumbfounded.
This woman is not reacting at all how I envisioned. She should be telling me what a piece of shit I am or inflicting pain as payback...and she should be, right?
"Yes...you carry a distinct scent."
"Is it a good scent?" she softens a little, raising one brow.
Now I'm the one who's baffled and I'm sure the expression I'm wearing is completely stupid. Seeing my confusion, she shakes her head, putting an angry face back on.
"Well, why did you help me just now? Were you even trying to help?"
Why *did* I help? I look down at the worn road, thinking through my motivations before meeting her scowl again.
"It appeared you didn't want to kill him, so I stepped in."
"But *why*?"
I gaze up at a buzzing street lamp with insects swarming the yellowed light and reflect.
I'm well acquainted with my inner devil and am frequently at its mercy – is it sympathy then? Perhaps I'm tired of witnessing innocence tarnish. Because for some unknown reason I actually care about her well being?
"I don't know," I say.
And I truly didn't know.