Me:thank u
Dang, this woman responded to every text immediately, no matter what time of day. No wonder she was so popular.
I couldn’t get those drugs fast enough.
With a wave goodbye, Tyrone and I followed the exit signs out of the hospital. The automatic doors opened to the parking lot with a robotic, calmingwhooshand we stepped into the Hallmark movie gone wrong that was my life.
Tyrone opened the passenger side door to his Christmas tree truck. He gave me a hand up into the passenger seat and waited to make sure I was buckled in. His neck bandage was bright white against his dark skin.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I knew Jessica would argue if I didn’t let her clean me up.” He traced the edge of the bandage with his index finger, the same one he’d touched me with so intimately just moments ago. I shut my eyes, my emotions warring between desire and guilt. I shouldn’t have bitten him.
After he’d sat in the driver’s seat, he turned to me. “Want to go back to my place?”
Half an hour ago I would have screamed yes, consumed by passion and thirst, not just for Tyrone but for the vision I’d had of our life together. Now, everything was off-kilter. The mark I’d left on Tyrone should have been sacred. Instead, it was under a perfect square of white gauze, a little picket fence of medical tape holding it down. My mark wasn’t acceptable, and neither was I.
When we got back to his house, he helped me out of the truck. “You sure you want to go home?”
I nodded. “I think I need some sleep.”
“Okay, babe. Call me if you need anything.”
He wrapped me in a warm embrace, resting his hand possessively on the small of my back, grazing the top of my ass.
“You sure you don’t want to come in?” he asked. His hardness was pressed into me and I realized I was leaving the poor man with the worst case of blue balls ever.
“Yes. I should go home.”
I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my face against his neck, letting my eyelids drift shut. He might not have been a saint, but I had to avoid him like one or else I’d drain him dry.
Describe what happened before you blacked out.” Dr. Rosetti sat back in her rich leather armchair like she had all the time in the world. Today, she looked ready to share a glass of wine with some professors in a pair of forest-green corduroy pants and a white turtleneck. If she could just prescribe me a little antidepressant, something that would curb my appetite and deaden my desires, we could both be on our way.
“Jessica, the nurse at the emergency department, said I had a panic attack.”
“That may be,” she said in a dispassionate voice.
Did she care? I had passed out from overwhelming bloodlust, and she looked almost bored.
“It’s important to talk about what happened. I can’t hand out prescription medicine like candy.”
Fine, if she wanted to play ball, I’d let her have it. “I wanted to bite Tyrone, to drink his blood, preferably while he fucked me senseless. He thought I was scared of the gun he was carrying, of the coyote he had just shot. But no, it was the violence inside myself. That’s what scares me. How am I going to have a nice hometown boyfriend if I want to bite him? A vampire can’t have a happily ever after. It’s not a thing.” I sagged into the chair. “I think I’ve been starving myself.”
“Ahh.” She nodded her head like I hadn’t shocked her at all. “So youwere scared of your own desires, for food and for sex?”
“I guess.” My desire for blood, my propensity for violence, wanting to fuck the Christmas tree farmer. None of these desires were acceptable. Look what had happened last time I let myself lose control. I had nearly killed Heaven.
“Why are you scared to act on your desire for Tyrone?”
“Because I’m a vampire.” Simple human desire would be great. If only I neededBDSM for Beginners.
Ignoring my reminder that I was a vampire, she said, “You’re both adults. He presumably invited you over. You were on what sounds like a nice evening walk. Why did you think it was wrong to act on your attraction?”
“Eleanor,” I said with frustration, “I’m trying not to bite people.” How many times did I have to tell her I was a vampire? I focused on the picture of the owl. “Tyrone’s a Christmas tree farmer and, by all accounts, a saint. I shouldn’t be biting him while fucking like a raging vampire slut.”
She let my words hang in the air and then said, “Tiffany, just so you know, it’s okay for you to have a relationship with Tyrone. He’s an adult and your desires are natural. A consensual relationship between the two of you would be fine.”
She wasn’t listening.
