She smiled.
It was subtle. Crooked. Like her face wasn't used to smiling anymore. Her lips were stained with her own blood—my doing but then she looked at me as if I'd just kissed her, not torn into her like an animal.
"Hey," she whispered, voice hoarse.
I backed away like she'd struck me. My hands were shaking, my breath shallow.
"You… I—" I looked at her neck. The puncture wounds were still there, deep and raw, but the bleeding had stopped. No first aid, no stitches. It just sealed on its own.
"Don't freak out," she added, slowly sitting up.
"Don't freak out?" My voice cracked. "I almost killed you."
She tilted her head, blinking like she was seeing me for the first time. "You didn't. You saved me."
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
She glanced around, as if suddenly realizing we were still in the park. Night had fallen completely now. No one was around. The darkness seemed to press in tighter.
Then she said it.
"I felt myself dying, babe. I was slipping away. I could feel everything—my heartbeat slowing, my body going cold. Then… something changed. I felt you inside me. Not just your bite. You. Your energy. Your power... Everything"
I stared at her like she'd lost her mind.
But then again, what excuse did I have? I was the one who bit her. Who drained her. Who was still tasting her on my tongue.
"I think I'm like you now," she said softly.
I laughed. It wasn't funny, but I laughed anyway. That kind of dry, broken sound that echoed too loud in an empty park.
"You don't want to be like me," I muttered, standing up.
She looked down at her hands, turning them over slowly. "But I am."
Her fingernails had darkened. Not painted—blackened, like they were dipped in ink. Her skin had gone pale, like mine. Her lips were darker too. She didn't look weak. If anything… she looked stronger. Sharper. More alive than she ever had before.
I took a step back.
She took a step forward.
I held up a hand. "Stay away."
She stopped. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
"That's not the point," I whispered. "I already hurt you. I ruined you."
She frowned. "I don't feel ruined."
"That's because it hasn't started yet." I pointed at her chest. "There's something in there now. Something hollow. And it's going to grow. It's going to start whispering to you. You'll feel the hunger. You'll start seeing people as food. You'll—"
"Then we'll figure it out. Together."
I froze.
Her voice was calm. Clear. Like this was just another problem we could talk through—like exam stress or a family fight. Not bloodlust. Not death.
But maybe that's what scared me the most: how okay she was with it.
"You don't get it," I muttered, turning away. "This thing in me… it's not human. It wants things I don't. And I can't stop it."
I expected her to beg. To cry. To scream and call me a monster.
But all she said was, "Then let it want."
I turned back sharply.
She smiled again, stepping toward me. Her red eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
"We don't have to be afraid of it. We can embrace it. Together. Isn't that what couples do?"
A chill ran down my spine.
This wasn't her talking. Not really. It was the thing in her. The thing I put there. The same thing in me. And she was giving in.
The wind picked up. The trees creaked around us.
I didn't say anything else. I couldn't. All I knew was this: I'd created something. Changed her. I'd thought the worst part would be watching her die.
I was wrong.
The worst part was actually seeing her enjoy it.
After that, I left.
We didn't talk for two days straight.
She texted. I didn't reply. She called. I ignored it. I needed space. I needed time. But neither existed for someone like me anymore. Not with this… thing crawling under my skin.
The thirst hadn't gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse.
And then came the dream.
We were in the park again, but everything was dead — trees like skeletal hands, grass like ash. She was there, wearing the same clothes from that night, her red eyes glowing like dying embers.
She wasn't walking.
She was floating.
Let it in, she whispered. Let it take over.
When I woke up, I was sweating. Heart racing. And hungry.
That same night, she found me.
I was in the alley behind an old convenience store, crouched on a crate, shaking, trying to calm my body down. My eyes were burning, and my hands wouldn't stop twitching.
She walked up like it was any other night. Hoodie on. Hair tied back. Calm.
"I found someone," she said, like she was talking about a lost pet.
I blinked at her. "What?"
"A man. Mid-thirties. Creepy. Tried to follow me on the way here." She smiled thinly. "Thought he was hunting me. Turns out, I was hunting him."
She grabbed my hand. Her touch felt colder now. Like mine.
"Come on. You said it would get worse. I'm starving."
I didn't remember saying that. But it was true.
I followed her down the alley, around a corner, into a crumbling parking garage that reeked of rust and gasoline.
He was there.
Tied up with a belt around his wrists. Mouth gagged. Still breathing. Barely.
She looked at me like a child showing off a science project. "He's not dead. Not yet."
My stomach twisted. "You… did this?"
She grinned. "It was easier than I thought. I just lured him in. He thought I was weak. Cute."
She turned to the man and crouched beside him. "He was gonna hurt me, y'know. But now? Look at me."
She tilted his chin toward her face. "I'm the monster."
I couldn't move.
She bared her fangs and leaned in.
And tore into him.
No hesitation. No mercy. Just blood — spraying, pooling, soaking her face. She fed like a starved animal, letting it run down her neck. The man thrashed once. Twice. Then stopped.
I stared in horror. I didn't even feel the hunger anymore.
Not because I wasn't hungry.
But because I was afraid.
This wasn't the girl I knew.
This wasn't the sweet, soft-spoken person who used to cry over injured animals and hug me when I had nightmares.
This was something else entirely.
She turned to me, blood smeared across her lips, eyes glowing like fire.
"Your turn," she said, motioning to what was left of the man.
"I… I can't," I whispered.
"You've done it before."
"That was an accident."
She stood up, slowly, walking toward me. "Then think of this as practice. You said it yourself, right? We'll need to feed. Regularly. We'll need to survive. Better to do it together than alone."
I looked at the man's body — torn open, lifeless.
"I didn't want this," I said. "I didn't want you to become this."
She tilted her head. "Too late."
There was no guilt in her voice.
No fear.
Just hunger.
And at this point, I just knew that something must be done.
Real fast too.