The blood – oh, God, the blood was everywhere ... as I raised my hand to my face, I watched as it slowly dripped onto my jeans. I slid my fingers against my own cold lips, letting the blood leave its warm trail on my mouth, and then finally stuck out my tongue to lick my fingers clean. The taste was absolutely mesmerizing, like a drug grabbing hold of my mind, brutally forcing it into a blissful state of ecstasy.

I could feel the weight of her lifeless body in my lap, one of her arms dangling, her fingers brushing against my shoe. She seemed so heavy now that life had left her. Lifting her neck up to my lips, I closed my eyes and drew in the intoxicating scent of blood and a death that was still fresh.

I had no guilt, no remorse; in the moment of the kill there simply isn't room for any other emotions than the thirst and the adrenaline rushing through you. It had not yet occurred to me what I had done, that the corpse in my arms moments ago had been a living, breathing human being. Her hair was a tangled mess of dark brown, which I clutched in my tensed fingers. The red was everywhere, decorating her pale face, staining the thin blouse that had once been blue like forget-me-nots. Nothing mattered; not the beauty in her face or the sadness in her shallow eyes. I saw only the blood, smelled only the blood, heard only the pulse of it as it passed through me.

She was dead. As I sucked out the last drops from her neck I could feel the drug wearing off, as the last of life finally left her.

It wasn't until then that the thoughts came to me.

Looking down at her face as if seeing her for the first time, I immediately pushed her away from me, her body landing with a dull thud on the wet floor. I turned my eyes away, refusing to look at her because I couldn't bear it. A muffled voice in the back of my head was shouting her name, and I gave my all trying to ignore it. Rising from the floor, my clothes dripping with her blood, I shut my eyes hard and pressed my palms against my ears.

It wasn't happening. It hadn't happened. It had just been another daydream, or – even though I never slept – a horribly realistic nightmare. But the taste of her still lingering in my mouth argued differently and the voice in my head kept shouting louder.

I paced the room, trying to shut it all out.

The voice was screaming her name, screaming it loud, telling me to open my eyes and observe the chaos. It grew even angrier, stronger, up till the point where I collapsed, falling onto my knees, and let her name finally roll over my lips.

Bella.

I remember the tears overwhelming me in the moment of realization. The desperation with which I fought to deny it, my hands faltering through the puddle of blood on the floor. I didn't want to open my eyes, I couldn't.

My own love, murdered by these very hands of mine. I couldn't accept it. I was the protector, the one who was supposed to save her from bloodthirsty fiends. As it turned out I had only been keeping her for myself.

Her smell filled up my lungs, but its character was starting to change. The blood was turning bad. When death was no longer fresh, its scent turned foul, like meat rotting in the sun.

I had to get out of there, had to wake from this nightmare.

---

Even decades later, it's still the strongest memory I own. I will never forget the days that followed. I wanted to die. Guilt, shame, disgust – none of these words can come close to what I was feeling. I wanted to be betrayed and violated like I had violated her, I wanted to be murdered and drained the way I had murdered her. I wanted punishment, years and years of punishment that still wouldn't be enough to make up for what I had done.

I wanted to die but didn't deserve it; I deserved to wander the earth eternally, the weight of her lifeless body forever in my arms, the look in her wide frightened eyes at the moment of death, for all time etched into my mind. She would haunt me forever and I deserved no less than unending soul-scorching torture.

Such a long time of abstinence, reduced to nothing in a matter of minutes. A century of struggle, all for nothing. What had been made was so easily unmade in what seemed the blink of an eye.

Did I know the moment I first saw her that I would eventually take her life? No. Though I fantasized about it, I believed myself to be stronger than my urge to kill.

Does it feel like it was always inevitable, looking back now? Very much so. How naïve I was to believe I could overpower my very nature. After all, for how long would a cat and a mouse be able to coexist before the cat tires of toying with his victim? How long before his instincts get the best of him?

The life I had created for myself, my sense of normalcy and my 'morals' had been nothing but an illusion.

I was still a monster.

And of all the people, it had to be her. I had told myself that I was strong enough to be with her, had braced myself for so long I hardly gave it any thought any longer. Then one day, I slipped, for nothing more than a split second. And then there was nothing but darkness.

All of the things I had told her, all the promises, the reassurances. She believed them all so easily, trusted me completely even though I was nothing but a predator and she such an easy prey. It had been so effortless; just reaching out for her neck, listening for the silent snap. Almost too easy.

So much for endurance. So much for undying love.