Under The Red Moon


It’s weird, you know. Being with her. It’s like every time I touch her skin or look into her eyes I’m drawn closer and deeper in love with her. I can’t help it. I try and kiss her but she pushes me away, she doesn’t want me ... but she does, I know she does. I’m all she thinks about, when she’s not dreaming about me during the day, she fantasises about me at night. Her mind drifts off to a world where we can be together, it goes to a moment where she can have me. The moment she can finally stop longing for me and actually have me. Her sharp teeth glimmer and her mouth salivates at the thought of me. I can’t count the number of times I’ve begged her to do it. But she won’t agree.

She opens her cold, hard eyes and stares at me. A stare I know too well. A stare that says, “Contain yourself ... this is dangerous ... we mustn’t”. Her stares warn me of the perils awaiting me if either of us gives in to our desires.

It’s weird how that one stare makes the blood run cold through my veins, it seems as though my heart has stopped. All I want to do is be able to kiss her again, to have her in my arms without shivering, to walk in the street when the sun shines.

At my age, most teenagers are worried about exams and spots and peer pressure. In a way I am, my friends ask me why I haven’t ‘gone the distance’ with my girlfriend. It’s been three years, 7 months and 18 days since we began dating, but this feeling I have ... the pressure ... it never goes away.

I try to think about the walks we used to go on, when we used to go swimming, when we’d make out under the stars on the boardwalk. How it used to be. Now... she won’t let me near her. She tells me it’s dangerous. She could damage me permanently; she could remove my soul from my body without meaning to, leaving me to wander this Earth hand in hand with her until the end. Until the grounds tremble and open up, taking the buildings, the trees, and animals prisoner as it swallows them up and takes it to the burning core.

“I have to go,” she tells me. It’s 5:37 am and we’re walking along the pier. Alarm bells from the birds and the salt in the sea warn us that old Mr. Sunshine wants to make an appearance, they inform us that it’s time to leave. The shadows grow shorter. Her eyes widen when I look into them. Her lips start to shake, and she tightens her grip on my hand. Her hands are cold, in fact, her whole body is, and I can’t remember a time when I held her and felt nothing but cold. Just cold. Ice cold.

So what do I say to my friends when they ask me about her? Do I tell them she isn’t really who she says she is, or rather who she wants to be? Do I explain why we can’t do the things normal couples do anymore? If I say that, what would be the reason? I could always say she’s converted to Christianity, although the irony of it makes me want to laugh, never mind what it would do to her. Whatever excuse I give, it has to be better than, “She just doesn’t want to” or, “She’s tired”. Who am I kidding? I’m the one trying to sleep when the sun’s up, so she doesn’t end up having to watch me sleep at night.

That’s the worst part, you know. Her laying in my bed next to me, unable to touch me though I know the temptation is killing her, and me, literally. The ice travels off her body fast and strong. It seeps into mine and chills my blood. I have to sleep with three duvets to avoid death by hypotension. If only I could kiss her and warm her up, except we all know what that would lead to. But I don’t mind it. I would rather have her here with me than anywhere else. I can’t leave her, I don’t want to leave her, no matter how hard she begs or pleads or threatens. I want her. No ... I need her.

My parents want grandchildren one day, hers have given up. She’s an only child just like I am, so when it happened to her, they knew they’d never be grandparents, at least ... to a “normal” child.

My family hates me ... because of her ... because of her, my friends think I’m weird, they don’t treat me the same, or talk to me the same. They look at me funny, as if I’m weird, because we don’t have sex ... because of what she is...

Well, I know it’s not her fault, she didn’t know what was going to happen. That night at the cinema... she didn’t know a thing. She just went out with some friends; she thought she was safe. She didn’t know...

She ... she was an easy target. She was small and pretty ... defenseless. In that situation, who isn’t? Now I'm her victim, waiting for her to imprison me. Waiting to be eaten alive. She teases me. Just when I think she’s going to do it, she stops herself. She holds back. She says it’s because she loves me, really, she wants me to be safe, she wants me to be free ... free of the horrors she sees and witnesses every day she ... lives, so to speak.

Except she doesn’t understand how much I love her too! How much I want to be with her ... to be like her.

I haven’t explained myself fully, have I? All these questions and hints, it’s useless when you don’t know what they’re referring to, aren’t they? I’m just used to people knowing what she is. I suppose you don’t. My girlfriend is ... she’s a ... she’s been...

She hates me saying it, which makes it hard to.

“Make me one,” I say. “Make me like you”. Then I’ll understand. “It’s selfish,” she says. It’s not selfish if it’s what I want to do! I would leave this mortal world just to be in hers.

“Bite me!” I scream during one of our arguments. I try to grab her and force her to do it. She won’t. She fights back. She’s stronger than me. She’s faster and she’s smarter. She knows my moves before I make them. She pins me down. She holds my head. I long for her to reach down and kiss me ... and bite me. She won’t do it.

When I look at her, I see the pain. In her eyes, I can see her heartache, her longing... it’s funny, they say creatures like her don’t have a soul, but I know that without it, you can’t feel. She’s in love, she’s in pain and angst, all I want to do is make her okay with me, show her the way out.

I want to show her what life with me would be like. Without the stress, without the fear. We can do what we want. We can sleep all day and party all night. We’d never die, who would want to die when you have your past, present, and future staring you in the face.

She needs me and I need her. Maybe I should stand out at that same cinema, drop my defenses, make myself a target. Who cares about consequences and risks and dangers? Who cares what happens when the sun goes down? Who cares about sharp teeth and cold breath?

She and I will be together until we decide it’s the end. If she just bites me, all will be perfect. I will become one of them. We will hunt for blood together, we’ll fear the sunlight together, we’ll be proud to be vampires. I will say that with pride.

She opens her mouth. Her scent calls to me. Her teeth glimmer in the red moonlight.

In my chest, I can feel a pull forcing me towards her, whispering where to go and to do. She kisses my lips. The cold spreads to the rest of my face as she marks a line to my cheeks then my ears, and finally my neck.

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