Chapter Text
If you’re reading this, that means that my venom got to you in time and you’re alive in your new life as a vampire.
I’m sorry, Laura. This wasn’t supposed to happen, ever. You probably remember very little of last night because that’s how the venom works, it erases things. Please read this and please don't hate me. I'm so sorry.
It was our anniversary. We made it a year. Go us. We had sex. But it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t “making love” or anything like that either because we’re already in love and we don’t need to make any more of it through nakedness and orgasm, but it was perfect and you’re perfect and everything was so great and then I fucked it up entirely.
I didn’t realize they had come out, the fangs I mean, but it happens sometimes. And so when I went to kiss your neck I bit you, and god you tasted good.
You tasted like vanilla, Laura, vanilla. You aren’t supposed to taste like fucking sugar cookies. You’re supposed to taste like gore and fear and adrenaline and blood, goddammit, blood. You aren’t supposed to taste like that. You’re supposed to be scared and you’re supposed to fight. Why didn’t you fucking fight?
The way your eyes fluttered shut wasn’t supposed to be peaceful. The way your pulse thumped and the way you tapped your heartbeat on the bed with your fingertips while I was literally killing you just wasn’t supposed to be that damn normal. It felt normal. It shouldn’t have felt fucking normal, Laura, it shouldn’t have felt that natural.
And I’m not supposed to feel things when I eat people, goddammit. With everyone else it was never like this, it was always cold and unfeeling and god, why did you have to be special?
I swear to god you may have even moaned, or maybe that was me, I don’t even know. Everything got sluggish and blurry. I know you pressed me in closer to you and I know that your legs were wrapped around me and I know that after a while you just sort of seized and then you weren’t breathing and I couldn’t find your pulse.
I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to kiss you and at first it was an accident but then it wasn’t and I knew what I was doing and I kept going and then you went limp and now you’re on the bed and you’re dead and this is not good, Laura.
Oh my god, I killed you. You weren’t supposed to trust me like that, I told you not to trust me like that, why did you trust me to not kill you? I’m not the fucking hero here.
And you were into it, or at least resigned to it, and that’s fucking weird, sweetheart.
You weren’t supposed to like it. There’s always a fight with the others. There’s always nails that scratch against my shoulder blades and there’s always crying and almost always screaming. There’s never complacency. The heartrate always accelerates to sharp and fast staccato beats but yours didn’t even do that, it just slowly sloped up in a crescendo. You didn’t even wince, just clenched your jaw a little bit and angled your face upward. You wanted this. Maybe you planned this.
And I liked it, too, that’s the worst part.
I know that when you wake up, you’ll be scared. Horrified. Angry. There’s some blood on your desk. I’ll be on top of the observatory (because you always did love the stars) until sunrise. If you don’t come to me, I’ll leave for some remote village in Russia or something and never bother you again, I swear it.
I’m sorry, Laura.
I never wanted this life for you, it’s horrible and gruesome and living forever is a torture I would never want to inflict on anyone.
I wish I could be here when you wake up.
But I can’t. I can’t live with that. I’m sorry.
I can’t.
Christ, Laura, you tasted like vanilla.