Sydney choked on her tears. "Wha-what?"
He chuckled coldy. "I don't expect you to believe me," he grimaced, showing his teeth. "But it's the truth." His accent was getting thick, he was upset. He didn't know why, he didn't want to be. What the fuck? There were feelings that weren't supposed to be there. He'd never felt them for any of his other victims, for the women he'd bedded, or the women he bedded and let live. What could he do? He wanted her, but if he killed her... He'd be desolate. She's going to die within 60 or 70 years anyway. He cursed himself. 60 or 70 years to him seemed, give or take, like 4 years at the most. It went by quickly, the world evolving changing, people coming, going, rather.. dying. People came and went, and he remembered some, quite a few actually, but tried never to think of them. That was the one emotion he could feel strongly: Hurt. Loss. Anything connected to those. But he rarely felt them anymore. He was learning to hide them, to get rid of those sharp pangs. But now every time he looked at Sydney, this beautiful girl who he could tell was so very intelligent, and sexy, he felt the pangs again. Of everything. But he could never have her, nor could he ever love her.
That was more forbiden than anything.
It was like being a small child and being told you couldn't have ice cream for the rest of your life.
He was desperate for her.
Isaac began thinking of the time he first saw her....
He was walking down the sidewalk, wearing all black, and it was near 1 in the morning. He had just had his "meal", and left his black Mercedes down the block to walk off the sick feeling he had every time he fed. He was wearing a black turtleneck and jeans in mid-summer, although he was still freezing, and he heard a sharp click of a gate opening and closing. He looked to the right, and on the other side of the street a low stone wall covered with ivy with an archway gate in the middle had someone coming out of it. He watched as a girl in a modest tank top and a low skirt, with a black messanger bag, come out of the gate. She locked it, and then looked around and folded her arms and began to walk. For some reason, he was compelled to follow her. He was amazed every time she passed under a streetlight. Lucious skin over a slim, but muscular, body, her hair was up and shiny, and he could tell even from where he followed she was absolutely beautiful.
She had an intelligent look to her face, and he saw that she had crossed her arms over a book called Leaves of Graa by Walt Whitman. She liked poetry...
What a romantic girl, he had thought.
She he followed her, every night at 1 in the morning when she would leave for home. He would watch her through windows one in a while when she was eating, and he became obsessed. She was perfect in so many ways. She had friends over, guys friends too, but never had she done anything that would make him disrespect her. She was so... so pure, way too good for him, Isaac's imagination ran while. He wondered if she was a virgin.
Why he was having these thoughts, he had no idea. But he knew he was amazed by her. She was unpredictable, some nights she would stay up reading, others she would take a shower and examine her body in different clothes, others she would be on the phone talking the night away. She didn't have a schedual, and she was very comfortable in her surroundings, he noted. In the morning she got up around 6, got dressed and wandered around before she went to work. It was a repeated cycle, the day was. But he would never see her in the daylight, or else that would be the true end of him. The painful, but true end.
"Are you alright?" Sydney's question broke his line of thought. She looked more worried than anything, and from the tight feeling in his face he guessed he looked anxious.
"Yes, sorry." Isaac got up from the floor and began pacing.
Sydney watched as Isaac's abs worked under the tight black shirt. He had a rather nice butt, too. In those black Levi's... She watched his 6'1, lean figure pace back and forth. He was graceful, even in the heavy black boots he was wearing. He was pulling at the tiny hairs above his mouth. He suddenly looked at her, and then moved behind her to the fireplace. He checked the clock on the wall, and it read 9 o'clock. He had to go. Grabbing his coat, he came over and kissed her forehead and left.
He chuckled coldy. "I don't expect you to believe me," he grimaced, showing his teeth. "But it's the truth." His accent was getting thick, he was upset. He didn't know why, he didn't want to be. What the fuck? There were feelings that weren't supposed to be there. He'd never felt them for any of his other victims, for the women he'd bedded, or the women he bedded and let live. What could he do? He wanted her, but if he killed her... He'd be desolate. She's going to die within 60 or 70 years anyway. He cursed himself. 60 or 70 years to him seemed, give or take, like 4 years at the most. It went by quickly, the world evolving changing, people coming, going, rather.. dying. People came and went, and he remembered some, quite a few actually, but tried never to think of them. That was the one emotion he could feel strongly: Hurt. Loss. Anything connected to those. But he rarely felt them anymore. He was learning to hide them, to get rid of those sharp pangs. But now every time he looked at Sydney, this beautiful girl who he could tell was so very intelligent, and sexy, he felt the pangs again. Of everything. But he could never have her, nor could he ever love her.
That was more forbiden than anything.
It was like being a small child and being told you couldn't have ice cream for the rest of your life.
He was desperate for her.
Isaac began thinking of the time he first saw her....
He was walking down the sidewalk, wearing all black, and it was near 1 in the morning. He had just had his "meal", and left his black Mercedes down the block to walk off the sick feeling he had every time he fed. He was wearing a black turtleneck and jeans in mid-summer, although he was still freezing, and he heard a sharp click of a gate opening and closing. He looked to the right, and on the other side of the street a low stone wall covered with ivy with an archway gate in the middle had someone coming out of it. He watched as a girl in a modest tank top and a low skirt, with a black messanger bag, come out of the gate. She locked it, and then looked around and folded her arms and began to walk. For some reason, he was compelled to follow her. He was amazed every time she passed under a streetlight. Lucious skin over a slim, but muscular, body, her hair was up and shiny, and he could tell even from where he followed she was absolutely beautiful.
She had an intelligent look to her face, and he saw that she had crossed her arms over a book called Leaves of Graa by Walt Whitman. She liked poetry...
What a romantic girl, he had thought.
She he followed her, every night at 1 in the morning when she would leave for home. He would watch her through windows one in a while when she was eating, and he became obsessed. She was perfect in so many ways. She had friends over, guys friends too, but never had she done anything that would make him disrespect her. She was so... so pure, way too good for him, Isaac's imagination ran while. He wondered if she was a virgin.
Why he was having these thoughts, he had no idea. But he knew he was amazed by her. She was unpredictable, some nights she would stay up reading, others she would take a shower and examine her body in different clothes, others she would be on the phone talking the night away. She didn't have a schedual, and she was very comfortable in her surroundings, he noted. In the morning she got up around 6, got dressed and wandered around before she went to work. It was a repeated cycle, the day was. But he would never see her in the daylight, or else that would be the true end of him. The painful, but true end.
"Are you alright?" Sydney's question broke his line of thought. She looked more worried than anything, and from the tight feeling in his face he guessed he looked anxious.
"Yes, sorry." Isaac got up from the floor and began pacing.
Sydney watched as Isaac's abs worked under the tight black shirt. He had a rather nice butt, too. In those black Levi's... She watched his 6'1, lean figure pace back and forth. He was graceful, even in the heavy black boots he was wearing. He was pulling at the tiny hairs above his mouth. He suddenly looked at her, and then moved behind her to the fireplace. He checked the clock on the wall, and it read 9 o'clock. He had to go. Grabbing his coat, he came over and kissed her forehead and left.