Life goes on. And then you die.
Wish I could be that lucky.
23 days 10 hours and 4,5,6,7 seconds since I last fed. 10,11,12. I shake my head. I hate this song. 15,16,17. Stop it. Stop it all. I hate it. 20,21,22.
"You look really pale, Bells. Go home," Mike said to me. Don't eat him. Don't eat him. Don't-
"Shut up, Mike. I can take care of myself."
Don't eat him. Don't eat him. Don't eat—
"Ok, what ever."
Count. Count, Bella! Count!
1 car. 4 doors. 6 windows. 1 monster. 1 Mike…1 meal…
STOP! Stop counting, Bella!
I'm always like this after time. Time with no food. No new hunts. No blood. Fidgety. Self-conflicted. Thirsty. Parched.
But I actually liked Mike. Weird—because he honestly wasn't all that great—but I liked him, nonetheless. Of course, it was highly unsafe to be with me, but, honestly, I liked him. But did I like him enough not to eat his insides?
I sighed. I felt so human. So pale and ordinary and…thirsty…hungry…
UGGGH! BELLA, STOP!
I hadn't felt human since that night in the woods.
I hadn't felt human since they left. Since he left.
But I surely feel human now.
And I hated the feeling.
"Drive me home, Mike."
"But, you said—"
"Drive. Me. Home. Mike."
He sighed and pulled out of the driveway. His sigh mixed the scent of his sweet blood in the already perfumed air. I don't care how much I liked him. I liked blood more.
"Pull over, Mike."
He looked over, smiled, and pulled over.
"I really like you, Mike," I whispered as I leaned in. He followed my example.
"I like you, too, Bells. I see no one when I'm with you. Only you."
I smiled and sniffed the air. Mouthwatering.
"Well, you're going to be seeing God real soon, Babes."
"Wait…what are you—"
Mike's questions cut off with a gurgle and a rip.