Blood and Bruises

by Thirst Contest

Taking her would be easy. There would be no fight, no strength to fend me off. I was almost disappointed.

Contest entry for the Thirst Vampfic Contest

Title: Blood and Bruises

Summary: Taking her would be easy. There would be no fight, no strength to fend me off. I was almost disappointed.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Blood and Bruises

Some people believe there is one person out there in the world made just for them.

Carved out of flesh and bone with the sole purpose of being intertwined with the flesh and bone they are made of.

Fate.

Destiny.

A soulmate.

And that's fine, if you're human.

But for a vampire, a soulmate is a completely different thing.

I've known the person made for me was out there since a young age. Felt it in every fiber of my being, knew it in the deep crevices of my mind. Yearned for it with every bloodless cell in my body.

My soulmate, the one I've been searching a century for, was the one to finally quench my infernal thirst.

~~b&b~~

The neon diner sign blinked monotonously, casting a harsh pink glow across the chipped Formica table.

On. Off. On. Off.

Each time it dimmed, my eyes sighed in relief, and each time it awakened, I felt the strain of having counted the specs in the pattern embedded in the table over a hundred times this hour alone.

It was another truckstop, another greasy spoon in the endless road trip that had become my life. A life made of one single quest, leading to years and years of mind-numbing travel searching every corner of every continent only to be disappointed time and time again.

The welcome bell over the door chimed, and I didn't need to look up to know two truckers had entered, their work boots clomping and sloshing rainwater across the linoleum while their tired bodies sighed and ached against the cheap vinyl benches. I laughed silently. My body felt like theirs. Old, worn out. Tired of long days traveling thousands of miles with no real end to the journey in sight.

Desperation to find the one person whose blood was made for me ruled me for years. I searched and searched as I fed, killing hundreds, knowing deep inside that their blood was a momentary satiation. A mere charging of my body to give me the strength to keep going.

Entire villages were devastated by my wrath, the blood dripping from my mouth in violent red streams as I stood over the dead, still unsatisfied. Wandering bands of gypsies met their untimely end while I tried to fill the void that grew larger inside me every day.

Endless decades stretched out in this manner, as failure grew noxious inside me, mocking me.

Mocking me like the old, canvas backpack at my feet on the sticky diner floor containing the one bit of hope I'd found.

I'd landed on a remote island in the Caribbean. I had been there for days, standing in one spot, cursing myself and giving in to my habit of self-loathing. The salty ocean air fell over me in a light breeze, and I inhaled just as the scent shifted.

An overwhelming feeling of joy rushed through me like a soul-crushing orgasm as I caught the barest whiff of the most intoxicating scent by the coastline.

Running furiously towards whoever it was, I didn't care if it was a man or woman, a frail senior citizen or a child. I ran and ran, sure I'd finally be relieved of my burden once and for all only to find a bottle washed ashore. A weather-beaten piece of faint pink paper lay within. I held it in my hands and experienced the most fleeting moment of euphoria. I dug the paper out, inhaling it thoroughly, hoping to discover a clue of the one I searched for, the person who had written the note and thrown it into the ocean, only to be disappointed to find the years hadn't been kind to the ink that ghosted illegible across the page.

Paper returned to the glass vessel, cork returned to the mouth, and inside my bag it went.

I never picked up the scent again.

I kicked that bag under the table, hating the one measly item that reminded me time and time again that I led a loathsome life. It was once a bag filled with expectation, but now only held resentment.

I was trapped in an endless, savage hell.

It was getting unbearable, the thirst. Burned my gullet, made me insane. The sole focus of my brutally long, immortal life was killing me.

For the millionth time, I ached for the ability to lay my head down one night and experience the blissful relief of never waking again. I longed for a death I would never have the joy of meeting.

I inhaled and exhaled to the beat of the neon reflection on the table just for something to do. In. Out. In. Out. Watching the oily surface of my cold coffee ripple with each breath. Every once in a while, the scent from the crippling souvenir in my bag would tickle my nose, scratch my throat. Tease me and torment me as it liked to do until the fragrance would disappear again.

My throat raged at me. I could take those truckers and satiate myself. I could drain one and feel that heaviness that comes with a good meal and then gorge myself on the other until my eyes bled.

It would be so easy.

But the masochist in me, the one Carlisle agonized over and tried to fix in the years we'd spent together, stayed hungry with the hope that maybe this night was the night. The masochist would do this over and over again, until the emptiness became unbearable and he drank from anyone, only to turn on himself in self-loathing for giving up so easily.

The torture I inflicted in myself to wait for the blood of "the one" was once the most intoxicating game ever invented. I'd run through forests, swum across oceans, crawled over the world's deserts in anticipation of turning a corner to finally find the person with the most enticing aroma ever created.

But now, it was just pure agony. It no longer made me rise each day with the most intense motive.

It was quite simply, exhausting.

Three, two, one… The bell over the door rang out again. Cigarette break number five for Sally the waitress. It occurred to me I'd been still for too long, so I moved my arm and slumped it over the table with my head laid against it, my hand absently playing with the sugar container. It wasn't hard to feign boredom. Through the window, I watched the rain on the asphalt outside sparkle and glitter, the trucks zooming by spraying the parking lot like bursts of Florida showers as I waited for the ding of Sally's return.

When it came, so did a rush of air so potent I nearly passed out.

My body went rigid, motionless. The sugar jar in my hand positioned itself on its edge as I stopped the circle I'd been absent-mindedly drawing. My foot stopped tapping against the satchel that held my life's work. There was nothing to tell anyone watching that my entire life had changed in a mere two and a half seconds–unless they'd seen my eyes.

Staring back at me from my reflection in the dirty window, my lifeless, obsidian eyes widened, awakening from their lethargy. The life I thought I'd never feel again surged through me, bringing a glint to those dead eyes like the glistening raindrops that fell from the sky.

I inhaled heavily, letting the scent coat my tongue and dance down my throat. My mind thrashed and screamed, while the thirst beat its fists against the innards of my skull. Despite its violent protests, I stayed where I was, unmoving, reveling in the idea that my long, arduous, painful wait was over.

Finally, mercifully, utterly over.

Straining to sense what kind of unfortunate human woke up this morning to their last day, I trained my ears to listen for footfalls or a jingle of keys. A baby's cry or a few words cursing the weather. Something to tell me just who I was about to joyfully drain. Nothing came to me, just a soft whisper of movement I couldn't quite size up.

I began to fantasize about the how of it all. The delicious way I would finally ease my suffering. Despite the fire consuming me from the inside out, I knew I wanted to take my time. All these years would not be lost on a mere slaying in a crappy diner that would be over before anyone knew what was happening.

No. This was going to have to be exquisitely executed. Like a seven course meal, drawn out for the oral and spiritual pleasure I'd been anticipating for a century. An amuse-bouche of a lone finger, perhaps. A consommé from the inside skin of the sweetest wrist. A satisfying entree of the most savory jugular.

"Coffee, please."

The words were spoken so softly I barely heard them, but when my ears caught the sound, I knew it came from the person carrying the scent. My long search was to end with the blood of a female.

My lips stretched over my gums, baring my teeth as my head rose and my arm slid to my side. My body curled into a striking pose, despite the fact attacking was not what I wanted to do.

Turning my head slowly, knowing I was leeching the last moments of suspense from myself, I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent one more time.

Heaven. Pure paradise. The most divine scent ever existed made just for me.

The clink of a ceramic saucer sounded against the counter, followed by a whispered thank you. Even the voice tickled my insides like nothing ever had. I wondered if that was the way it worked–everything about the person was made to entice all my senses. Perhaps so there was no missing it. I had the fleeting desire to ask Carlisle about it.

I could not hold off the anticipation any longer.

My eyes opened slowly, expecting the most beautiful creature that ever lived to be sitting not fifteen feet from my venom-soaked teeth.

Instead, I found the tiniest waif of a girl, ghostly pale, collapsed upon herself. Her dark hair hung limply across her shoulders and down her back like a blackened cobweb. Her frail hand stirred a spoon around her cup, and I questioned if she could barely manage that.

Taking her would be easy. There would be no fight, no strength to fend me off.

I was almost disappointed.

Venom ran down my throat and I swallowed, wondering just how long I would be able to hold out. How long would it take her to have her coffee and leave? I would have to wait to follow her, I supposed, and hoped that she wasn't going to order food as well.

I watched her sip, her delicate fingers with chipped black polish clutching the cup as if to warm them. I looked her over more thoroughly as I relaxed into my booth once again.

Her hair was hanging so slack because it was damp, as were her clothes. Her body was shivering slightly, her knees knocking against each other under the counter. Her black jeans had holes in them, but they didn't look like the fashionable, expensive style. Her sweatshirt was also black, the pilled material hung off her like she had borrowed it from someone larger. She wore no socks, exposing her ankles, which held the slightest tinge of blue.

I needed to get nearer, I wanted to inhale her as much as I possibly could before I took her.

As I slid my bag out from under the table, the whiff from the bottle inside rose up, and it was unmistakable.

That scent matched the exact scent I was now surrounded by.

I stood slowly, marveling at the detail that had escaped me as I was drowning in her scent after all these years.

I was finally about to meet the owner of my precious trophy. Meet my destiny, if you will.

But what did that mean for her? If it was her destiny to be the one to finally satisfy me, did that mean that I was her destiny as well? In what way could I possibly be?

The thought confused me, and I wondered why it never crossed my mind before.

My body followed the direction my brain instructed, and I snaked unhurriedly across the checkered floor towards the girl. Cautiously sitting two stools away, I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent that grew denser and sweeter with its closeness.

She hadn't even turned to look when I sat. Her hair hid most of her face from me, but it didn't matter what she looked like. It wasn't her beauty or her plainness that pulled me to her all these years. Her appearance had no bearing on the outcome of the night at all.

Sally walked over and asked if I wanted anything. I'd left my cold coffee on the table in the booth, so I ordered another. I gave Sally my pleasant, coaxing smile, the one humans were unaware they were bewitched by. Her eyes glazed over minutely before she replied a little too brightly, saying, 'Sure thing, honey' as she swung her hips invitingly while fetching the pot. She looked back at me with a teasing smile.

It wasn't just my inhuman ability to disarm or entice people that caused this reaction. I knew humans found me beautiful, irresistible. I was made to attract, made to draw them in and lose their defenses. I was made to make them desire me, to make them want to come nearer, even though they had a creeping feeling of unease around me. My features were flawlessly symmetrical, not a blemish or scar to be found.

I was perfect. She would fall easily.

I watched the girl sip, never letting the warm cup leave her hands. She had no coat, no umbrella, just a small worn-out backpack. It was raining especially hard tonight, and there were few houses nearby. It bothered me that I was interested to know just how she came to be here. Had she walked? Been dropped off? Why did it matter? Her life wasn't going to matter in a very short time, but still, I was intrigued.

"Terrible night, yes?" I surprised myself with the question, but sloughed that off as strategy.

Her head turned slightly but not fully my way. "Yes."

Sally placed the hot cup in front of me. I made a show of adding milk and sugar, just to give the girl another moment to say something else. She didn't.

I feigned a sip. "Terrible coffee, too."

"It's fine." So, she wasn't the sort to politely smile in agreement like you would with a stranger. Interesting.

The truckers were being served their meal so I watched them dig in for a moment, to gain myself a thought of what to do next. I could just sit here, pretending to drink while I waited for her to pay her meager check and venture back out into the night.

I could.

"Supposed to rain for days, I hear."

"Is it?" She answered politely but still didn't look my way.

"Yes," I trailed off, feeling slightly moronic for trying to make small talk when she wasn't a person to me, but a prize.

We went back to sipping. Someone dropped some money into the jukebox, and I was grateful for the noise that filled the awkward silence between our two stools.

Her hand moved some of the damp hair away from her mouth as she drank and the motion sent her aroma my way. I had to clench my fist under the counter to stop the urge to splay her over the stools and steal her of every last breath.

Trying not to leer at her, I straightened my back and attempted to block out the fantasies that kept playing over and over in my head.

Side of the road, start with the blue ankle and bite my way up her thigh.

The backseat of a random car in the parking lot, a lick to the side of her neck before sinking my teeth in.

Far out into the drenched wheat fields where I could undress her slowly and drink from every vein she had.

"I don't like the rain."

Her unexpected comment took me from my daydreams. "No?"

She shook her head, which sent new waves of thirst through me. "No. It's depressing."

"I suppose it is." My throat constricted, and I eased it with a deep swallow. "But it can also be beautiful."

She turned her head. "How so?"

Her eyes finally met mine and the depths of them curled my fingers. I felt a shift within me–like a broken connection I'd been hunting a fix for had mended. It was an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Her red lips against her pale skin stood out like a bloodstain, and I couldn't help myself from staring.

The venom coated my throat once again.

Curiously, she maintained eye contact when most humans would feel unease and look away after too long. There was a deep sadness, a tiredness in her brown eyes, one that I'd seen reflected back at me on the rare occasion I took in my own visage.

Gathering my thoughts, I said the only thing I could come up with. "Well, the rain tonight is making your hair a very interesting shade of almost-ink, but not quite."

Her body turned slightly away from me, and I was confused. Humans liked compliments, didn't they? "I don't know that ink is a beautiful color."

"Why not?"

"No one says ink is their favorite color."

I thought about it for a moment. The black of night. The darkness of my eyes. The soft waves of her hair and sable clothing. "I'm very fond of black."

She laughed softly, and I was happy to see she turned her face slightly towards me. "Me too." She waved a hand down her body and the motion nearly sent me lunging across the stools. Maybe sitting near her was NOT a good idea if I was going to savor this moment.

We lapsed into silence once more, and her body relaxed slightly. She moved her neck back and forth as if to crack the bones there and sighed.

"Long day?"

She huffed. "Long life, more like it."

"Tell me about it." My eyebrows rose in amusement at just how downplayed my truth was. I smiled towards her and her eyes darted to me again behind her hair. I was eager to see her face fully so I could better flesh out the fantasies of my attack.

Searching my brain for something that would cause further conversation, I tapped my foot to the sounds of some country band. "Do you like country music?" That felt lame, but I couldn't ask straight out when she planned to leave.

"Not really. My–" She paused. "Not really."

Hmmm. Her what? Mother? Boyfriend? Or maybe she was about to say something else entirely.

"What would you prefer to hear? I have some quarters I wouldn't mind donating."

"I doubt they have anything I'd be interested in listening to."

"Well, I'd be happy to check. Let me guess," I said, leaning back a bit in an exaggerated show of sizing her up. What was that band that wore all the black eye makeup? "The Cure?"

She choked a bit on the coffee she'd just sucked into her mouth. "Well, that was a very unimaginative guess."

I blinked. She was insulting me? Mocking me? Why wasn't she falling under my spell quickly like all the rest? My eyes narrowed, annoyed. I wasn't good at games, not this type, anyway. "Why don't you just tell me, then?"

She didn't answer right away, just placed her cup down and spun it in a circle on the saucer. The friction of cheap china on china caused a grating sound. "I like jazz."

"Why is that so strange? I love jazz."

"You do? It's not a very popular genre in these parts." A small snort escaped her mouth. "Whiskey and girls dancing on tractors is more the speed here." She thumbed towards the jukebox.

"I'm not from these parts."

She shook her head slightly. "I didn't think so."

Huh. Was she more observant than she seemed? She hadn't really looked at me yet to draw a conclusion. "Why is that?"

"No southern drawl, no cowboy boots, and you're… polite. Soft-spoken."

"That's it? That's all it took to give me away?"

She shrugged. "That's it. Oh, and maybe the fact that you have the slightest of British accents."

"Ah, well… yes, I suppose that cements it."

"What is it you Brits say? Pip pip and cheerio." She raised her cup in a salute I found myself mimicking.

"We also say wanker, a lot. And bollocks."

"I like 'bloody hell.'"

I was surprised I was amused by her. Her thoughts shouldn't matter any more than her looks. I reconsidered my plan of following her out, and contemplated ways to drink from her sooner, just to put an end to unnecessarily finding out anything more about her.

Sally came over and asked the girl if she would like to order some food. The girl stuck her hand in her pocket and glanced down. I could see the few bills she pulled out under the counter and stuffed back inside quickly.

"No, thank you. Just more coffee, please?" She put her cup down while Sally turned to get the pot. She'd shifted again so her hair covered what little of her face I'd seen up until now.

Was she hungry but embarrassed she had no money? The masochist in me cheered, for the sooner it would be she would walk out and he could follow. But the narcissist in me wanted her red blood pumping warm and fast when he drained her. Some red meat would increase her iron levels which I assumed were deficient by the tone of her skin. Not to mention if she were nice and full, her defenses would lower. I could coax her into a long, faraway walk and languidly enjoy the feast owed to me for a hundred years.

"Can I get a burger? Rare?" I asked Sally before turning to the girl. "Do you want cheese?"

Her face turned quickly, and I saw her fully for the first time. Her features were slight; there was nothing really remarkable about her at all yet I found her pretty. Like the subject of a pale, sad seventeenth-century portrait.

But what really caught my eye was the purple bruise, tinged yellow with age. It marred her cheek like a cancer, turning the beauty of her paleness into a furious flaw. What had happened to her? Did someone do that to her or had an accident befallen her?

"What are you doing?" she hissed, cutting me off from my thoughts. There was fire in her eyes, making her question rhetorical because it was obvious she knew exactly what I was doing and didn't appreciate my gesture one bit.

"I'm ordering myself a burger. They seem to be on the large side here," I tilted my head towards the truckers' plates. "I don't want to eat a whole one myself."

Her shoulders relaxed the slightest bit, even though she fidgeted like she was warring with herself. At that moment, her stomach growled, and she clasped her arms around her middle.

"Is that a yes to the cheese?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, as if against her will.

"Extra fries, Sally. Thank you."

We watched Sally go to the pass and shout the order to the short order cook.

"Thank you," the girl whispered after a moment.

Her eyes were soulful and sad, looking at me fully again. I had the queerest desire to brush my knuckles across that angry bruise and imagined her head lolling into my palm. The ache in my throat the image conjured was exquisite. I'd have to remember to do that as I drained her.

"It's really no trouble. I hate to eat alone."

We went back to silence, listening to the twang of country still emanating from the juke. If she only ate half, that would be quick enough. I could fake my way through mine and be enjoying her blood in no time flat. Frowning, I crossed my arms in front of me. Even though I'd been waiting for this moment my entire life, and not one hour ago was thrilled it was finally upon me, I lamented at how quickly time was leaking away. Soon, very soon, I would be full of her. My life's passion would be a fading memory while my body dissolved the blood it took.

It was the first time I pondered what came next. What would happen once I finally drank the one elixir that taunted me for centuries?

What was I supposed to do after that? Continue to feed on others, their unsatisfying blood burying me in anticlimactic despair?

Before I could lapse into a self-imposed bout of depression, a hand reached towards me. "My name is Bella, by the way." Her pale, translucent hand was held out towards me.

It hung there between us. I wasn't sure I could touch her without pulling her towards me and sinking my teeth into the slim wrist inches away from my scorching throat.

Gingerly, I presented my right hand. When she took it, I was surprised at the strength in which her fingers closed over mine. She didn't seem to mind the chill of my skin, and she didn't seem to have the subconscious sense of warning like others did when touching me. She shook my hand twice, before letting go.

My hand immediately missed the vibrant warmth of her blood on my skin.

"Edward. Nice to meet you, Bella."

She squirmed a little. "Are you really British?"

"Why, do you think I'm faking it?"

"People can be whoever they want to be in places like this." Her eyes scoped out the interior of the restaurant, giving it, then me, a contemptuous glare.

"I'm not faking it. I was born in London." I had a sudden twinge of homesickness. "It's been… a long time since I've been there."

"I've always wanted to go there. See Buckingham Palace. There are so many places I want to see." She paused. "Hell, I'll be happy when I'm in the next state. Anywhere away from here."

"Is that what you're doing? Traveling?"

"Bus station is a mile away. They stopped running for the night, though."

Guilt struck me then, knowing that I would be the reason she would never, ever reach her next destination or travel to her heart's content. It strangely didn't sit well.

"Have you traveled a lot?" she asked, and I was pleasantly surprised to see her swiveling her stool so she faced me. One arm leaned on the counter so her hand could cradle her chin. She winced slightly, and I wondered just how new that bruise was.

"I have. I've been to… most parts of the world, I believe."

"Are you an explorer or something?"

"Something like that." What I am is a hunter. A cold-blooded killer who's stalking his next prey.

"What's one of your favorite places?"

I thought of the contents in my bag with a renewed excitement. "There's an island in the Caribbean I like."

"Sounds exotic. I've only ever been to one place my whole life. Florida." Her eyes ghosted over with unmistakable sadness. "My father took me there when I was a little kid."

"I take it it's not a happy memory?"

Her whole demeanor darkened as she turned away. I could almost see her curling in on herself, about to shut down, and I was surprised I wanted to continue our conversation. "It's okay; you don't have to talk," I said. "But it's a well-known fact strangers you meet in crappy diners are almost as good as bartenders. You can say whatever you want because you'll never see them again."

She gave a little half-hearted whisper of a laugh. "That's the story of my life, actually."

"Talking to strangers in crappy diners?"

She turned towards me again, and the bruise seemed to pulse in time with the hatred coming from her eyes. "Never seeing people again. Everyone I've ever loved, ever gave a bit of myself to, has left me. Or hurt me." She laid a soft touch to her tarnished face.

Staring at her, it was on the tip of my venom-laden tongue that I would stay here with her, that I'd never hurt her. But neither was true.

She turned away abruptly. "Sorry, I… that was a lot. Never mind." She picked up her cup and blew over the rim.

Surprisingly, my arm reached out so my fingers could faintly touch the sleeve of her ill-fitting sweatshirt. "It was what you needed to say, apparently. There's nothing wrong with that."

She looked at my fingers like they might bite and jerked away from me as if I had been the one to inflict that bruise.

"Sorry," I said, and retreated quickly. She stayed silent, but nodded in forgiveness.

The jukebox had stopped its incessant noise and at some point, the truckers had left, so the only sound in the joint was the pounding rain on the metal roof as we sat quietly.

I thought of the bruise. Someone had done that to her, someone had added to the hurt in her life she seemed crushed by.

Fury raged through me at the thought of someone hitting her, disfiguring her sad but strangely beautiful face.

She was mine.

The feeling of intense possession surged through my skin, coating every bone and fiber of my being.

I knew I wanted to kill whoever had done this to her.

Brutally.

There were a million things I could say. Or not say. I could go on with my evening, biding my time, waiting for her to eat the meal I'd bought her. But oddly, I yearned to reconnect what little bond I'd gained.

I sat with my elbows on the counter, mulling over what to do next.

I wanted to show her the bottle, wanted to know if Florida was where she'd thrown it from so it found its way to me. Wanted to know if she remembered what she'd written on that little piece of paper, but knew I couldn't. To what end? The joy it brought me would bring her nothing but confusion, then fear.

"I've been to Florida," I said. "It was… humid."

Her face relaxed, the wall she'd put up breaking down brick by brick, and I exhaled an unnecessary breath when she smiled. "Insanely humid."

Sally chose that moment to deliver our food. "Ketchup?" I asked, holding out the bottle to Bella.

"Nuh uh. I'm a mayo gal."

"Blasphemy." I grinned, sliding my packets of mayo across the counter to her.

We fixed our burgers and spread our napkins on our laps. I waited for her to take a bite, knowing her distraction at being fed would make my non-eating less conspicuous.

She hummed loudly and closed her eyes as she took her first mouthful. Still chewing, she took two more quick bites before glancing at me, a look of shame in her eyes. She put the burger down and reached for the glass of water Sally had placed in front of her. "Sorry," she said between sips.

"Whatever for? I'm hungry too." The irony of that statement was not lost on me as I put it to my lips and pretended to bite, making a show of gnashing my teeth and humming in return. I carefully put the burger down with my untouched side facing away from her.

She nodded and poised three fries to her mouth. "You call these 'chips,' don't you?"

"Yes. And what you would think of as a chip is a 'crisp.'" I picked up a disgustingly limp fry and swam it in the blood-like tomato product. The vision made the ache in my throat flare and scald anew.

I glanced at her as she took another large bite. Soon, my torment would be over. I'd feel her blood oozing down my throat, smothering the pain.

Envisioning draining her neck as I cradled her head, my smile turned to a frown as I imagined her sad eyes growing sadder because of my actions.

She looked happy enough now, though. Her foot was swinging back and forth, her hair had dried into a silky swath down her back, and her face held a little more color as she ate with enthusiasm. Warmth filled me as I realized that perhaps I had made this poor, miserable girl happy for just a few minutes.

Fleetingly, I considered feeding. If I fed on someone else now, I could stave off the overwhelming want of her for just a little while longer. Besides extending the few last minutes she had to feel joy, I could draw out my anticipation, making my end game that much more satisfying. I could play with my food.

We ate and made small talk. I was pleased that after the initial onslaught of hunger she'd slowed her pace, now just eating a fry at a time with less gusto. Unknowingly stretching out the end of a meal that would also be her last.

Eventually, she pushed her plate away and laid her napkin over the empty dish. "That was really good." She dipped her head a bit, hiding her eyes from me. "Thank you again for the meal. I…" She didn't finish her thought, just shrugged and shook her head.

"It was my pleasure." I searched for more words as I balled up the disgusting meal into my napkin, trying not to think about the fact the clock that was creeping toward the end of all of this was tick tick ticking away.

I pretended to sip my coffee. Why was I suddenly saddened that the moment my entire life had been waiting for was upon me? The desperate and desolate entity my life had become could be reborn the sooner I took what was rightfully mine. The boredom I'd come to know, the achingly painful dreariness of it all had ended in a shitty diner in the middle of nowhere. Sitting two stools away.

It should be cause for celebration! The greatest party ever thrown in the form of the most wonderful bloodbath!

Instead, I ordered her a slice of pie.

"So," she said, seemingly wanting to continue the transient friendship we'd begun. "Where are you going after this? Somewhere exotic?"

My plans never included any kind of plan at all. Every day I went somewhere new I hadn't searched, and on and on it went. "I think I'll go to a remote desert island somewhere. Reflect on my life." Relive the most joyous moment that will cause all else after it to wither in comparison.

"That sounds nice."

"I suppose." I tried to imagine myself anywhere once this was over–and couldn't.

"You'll go to your desert island and I'll go… somewhere else."

"You don't have family here?"

"Never said that."

"Oh."

She stuck a piece of apple pie in her mouth and hummed. She swallowed and turned to me, her back relaxing against the backrest of the stool. "You're very easy to talk to, Edward. I don't open up to many people."

"Like I said, people in crappy diners… " I smiled, pleased with her statement.

"I suppose that's true. Well, I'm happy I found this one on my way to someplace better. Wherever twenty bucks will take me."

Remorse reared its ugly head again at the knowledge she would go nowhere else ever again.

I pictured her lifeless body lying cold in a ditch. It made me queasy. I couldn't just dump her body in a hole when I was through draining her. She was a prize, my greatest reward. I decided I would find somewhere nice. Somewhere pleasant.

The strangest idea occurred to me then. What if I took her somewhere pleasant? Took her somewhere nice and warm and beautiful.

And then sucked the life out of her.

The chime rang out as the door opened, sending a burst of chilly air through the diner. Bella shivered, pulling her still damp sweatshirt away from her body. Her unique perfume washed over me again, but this time, I was more concerned for her, not my blazing thirst.

Grabbing my bag, I carefully sifted around the bottle until I found what I was looking for on the bottom. "This is dry." Holding it out to her, she took the gray sweater after only a moment's hesitation.

I was wholly unprepared when she removed her hoodie, revealing a worn t-shirt underneath. The aroma that flowed from her with no barrier of clothing bowled me over to where I almost lost my balance, still perched over my bag. The sight of her milky white skin peppered with the blue hint of veins on top of the pleasing swell of her breasts caused part of my body to harden in ways it hadn't in decades.

Pity, her looming death. She would've made an exquisite vampire.

I let my eyes rake over her body in a new light. She was slender, but that didn't mean she was without feminine curves. The hole-filled jeans fit her legs snugly, outlining the delicious slope of her calves. As I was perusing her form, her head popped out from the neck of my sweater. Her hair got caught in the fabric and pulled tightly, displaying the technicolor bruise that made me feel hatred in my gut for whoever did that to her.

"Can I ask you a question, Bella, seeing as how we're never going to cross paths again?" One side of my mouth tilted in a sad smile at that question.

"I guess." She eyed me warily but turned to face me.

"Who did that to you?" I inclined my head, my eyes telling her exactly what I was asking about.

Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned back. "My brother."

Surprised, my eyes widened. Not an abusive lover, as I'd thought. "Why?"

"He's always been mean, but when he's drunk, well…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"But why would he do that to you?"

"I had the nerve to be born."

"I don't understand."

"I've had a total of three family members in my life. One dead father, one absentee mother, and a mean drunk for a brother." She looked away. "It's really a very uninteresting or remarkable story."

"I've got time." Pointing at myself, I smiled encouragingly. "Crappy diner therapist."

"I don't need your pity."

"I don't feel pity towards you." Not for that reason.

She looked at me for a long time. More time than most humans felt comfortable doing. It appeared she was sizing me up, deciding if I was worth the words she'd have to spend telling me. Or maybe she wasn't sure I was worthy of the pain she'd have to relive.

Eventually, she decided.

She told me about a mother who abandoned her and her older brother shortly after her birth. A woman who felt that a lone birthday card could replace a longed-for visit which was always promised but never fulfilled. She told me about an alcoholic father that was left to care for two children he never wanted in the first place.

She tried to be a good little girl, one that a father would put on his knee and read a bedtime story to. She yearned for his love and forgave every cruel word that escaped his mouth out of hope that one day he would see her–really see her–and love her like she loved him.

He died letting her think she was nothing.

The death of her father shifted the responsibility to her brother. For the few years she'd stayed loyally by his side, she watched him slip into the same alcohol infused pattern as her father, laying blame and directing all his hate and anger towards her for the abandonment by the mother that would've stayed if Bella never showed up.

When he lost his job and she worried aloud about how they'd make ends meet, his answer was a swift backhand to her right cheek. Ungrateful bitch.

Her story ended with one solitary tear that slid down that hateful bruise. "That's about it, and here I am. Trying to get as far away as possible."

I was not one to feel empathy for humans, or most vampires, for that matter, but something about this poor girl's tragic life had me dripping in sadness for her. I barely remembered my natural born family, but Carlisle and Esme had been the closest thing I'd had to one. I couldn't imagine someone never having felt that they were important. Or loved.

Even I'd had that.

But I was no stranger to the intense rage that filled me right now, thinking about the people who had destroyed this girl, my girl, so thoroughly.

I could end her brother's life in a matter of seconds. In an excuse for a restroom visit, I could find this wretched fiend's home and plunge my teeth into his neck, pulling out every blood cell that ever made him hate or hurt my Bella. I'd leave him lying in a grotesque array on the floor, his eyes still wide from the fear I'd instilled in him with four small innocent words.

That was for Bella.

"Say something, please." She looked at me, her eyes big and worried.

My anger turned to concern. "I'm so sorry that all happened to you, Bella. You didn't deserve any of that." My fingers tentatively reached out to her, hoping she'd welcome the gesture. "For what it's worth, I think you're wonderful, and you have no idea how happy I am to be in your presence tonight."

She took my hand and brushed her tears away with the other. "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"How I believe you." She laughed. "I just met you, but somehow, I believe you."

"Good."

She leaned her head against her hand as she looked at me, and I mirrored the pose. We sat like that for a while, our hands intertwined between us. "I feel like I've known you a long time," she whispered, so as not to break the moment.

"It's the same for me."

"I wonder what that means." Her face was hope.

I couldn't bear to tell her the truth. She'd find out soon enough, anyway. "Me, too."

"Destiny?" She smiled warmly and tightened her fingers around mine. It was a nice feeling, being touched by someone that wasn't clawing at you, trying to get away.

"If you believe in that."

Destiny.

My thoughts turned to my time in Madagascar.

Carlisle was the best tutor I knew. Was one of the best men I'd ever known. There was no real thing as destiny, he'd believed. It was merely what we wanted it to be.

The idea was ludicrous. I argued that my destiny in life was to find the blood of the one that sang to me. It would fill the void, quench every desire I had, and I would be satisfied for eternity.

He pulled his wife, Esme, towards him, and called her his destiny. I laughed at that, the idea that destiny could be a person and not an event that altered your life.

But what if meeting that singer was the destiny in itself? What if I drank from this poor, unfortunate girl that was made to be mine and then made her into a destiny I could live with forever?

No, that couldn't be right. There was no way this girl, this little thing was made to be mine forever. What would I do with a mate? Would finally drinking her blood and making her like me be the answer to what is supposed to come after my arduous quest is over?

"I believe that you were put here in this diner for a reason, tonight," she said, pulling me from my confusing thoughts. Her eyes were soft as they looked at me, almost loving. Her red bloodstained lips parted slightly as she sighed.

I had the urge to kiss her.

I could do that, I reasoned. Kiss her and get the sweetest taste of her blood as I nipped her lips. Kiss her hungrily right before I bit into the soft flesh of her neck.

Be another monster in her hellish life. The final monster.

"What if… what if my being here tonight is not the best thing for you?"

She laughed, the sound ringing out in the empty diner. "Well, at least I got a meal out of it."

I wouldn't let it drop. "What if I'm the bad guy?"

Her eyes narrowed. She surprised me by moving to the stool next to mine, and I could barely control the venom pouring down my throat. Her closeness was heady, thrilling, and I stayed as still as I could so I wouldn't hurt her. "I've met bad guys, Edward from London. You are not one of them."

"You don't know that."

"So, tell me. Tell me something bad about you."

The obsession with my agonizing thirst. The way I wanted to drink from her until her body sagged and her bones collapsed. Which would be the lesser of two evils?

Time was trickling by. Oozing through the night and cutting short my time here with her. Pulling my bag out from under my stool, I held my precious bottle in my hand carefully as I brought it out.

She looked at it curiously until I saw the moment she realized what the object was. "I did that once, threw a bottle in the ocean in Florida."

"I know. I believe this is yours."

Her eyes snapped from the bottle to me. "Why would you think that?" she asked, disbelief in her voice.

"It washed ashore on an island I was on in the Caribbean."

"I'm sure there are many little girls throwing wishes into the ocean every day. What are the odds? That can't be the one…"

I held it out to her, and she examined it carefully. She glanced up at me again before pulling the cork from the top. "I don't believe this," she said, a bit of excitement in her voice. "This is mine." She pulled the little note out, but was quickly deflated when she saw her writing was gone.

Years and years, I'd been aching to know exactly who and where the person was that threw it in the water. "I always wanted to know who wrote it."

She met my gaze and smiled sadly. "She wasn't anything special." She shook her head as if to rid it of haze. "But how…"

I knew what she was going to ask. The most obvious thing.

How did I know it was hers?

Again, she surprised me. "How is finding my bottle something bad about you?"

Inhaling heavily, letting her scent wash over me, I answered honestly. "I've been searching for the author of that note for a long time. But more specifically, I've been searching for you since before you were born."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

It didn't really matter what I told her. How I'd been chasing her for years, craving the very thing only she possessed. If she ran screaming, I could easily catch her.

"I'm a vampire. I've been a vampire since 1907. There is no blood in me, I have no heartbeat. Here." I cautiously took her hand still clutching the note and put it to my chest. Her fingers brushed against my shirt, and she placed her palm flat against me.

She sucked in a startled breath. I could feel her heartbeat quicken through the hand on my still torso. Surely, she could feel the absence of mine. She looked up at me, shaking her head. "No, you're not. That's…"

"I am," I barked, cutting her off. "I kill people, Bella. Drink their blood. Hunt them down and drain them of all of it."

Her eyes widened. I could see the depths of them shifting, changing. But not in fear, still. "Why were you searching for me? Why would a bottle make you want to find me? How did you know it was mine?"

I pressed her hand tighter against me and loomed over her. "The scent in that bottle, on that note, is the most delectable scent I've ever come across. It was made for me. Your scent is extraordinary." I swallowed. "Your blood is going to be extraordinary."

She looked apprehensive, but not terribly frightened. Perhaps I wasn't the worst nightmare in her life. "You're going to drink my blood?"

I could feel the demon inside me unfurling, getting ready to pounce. "You have no idea."

"Vampire," she murmured, shaking her head, but with the smallest hint of wonder in her eyes.

"Would you like me to show you?" My throat burned like a bonfire, anticipating the moment it would get its sweet relief.

"Yes," she said softly. I couldn't tell if she was still in disbelief, or maybe accepting more readily than she should. Lord knows she hadn't been predictable all evening.

I let go of her hands, just in case. She folded them in her lap and sat straighter.

It didn't take long for me to let the demon surface.

My lips withdrew, baring my sharp, poisonous teeth. I could feel my eyes changing, growing darker with hunger. I allowed my body to tighten, curling in on itself, preparing to lunge.

I knew what I looked like to her, I could see it reflected in the darkness of her own eyes. This is the moment when humans paled as they realized they were not with someone made of the same material as them.

This is the moment she should begin to shake, break out in a cold sweat.

And run for her fucking life.

She did none of those things.

Miraculously, I saw her hand rising, reaching out to touch me.

"NO!" I growled viciously as I sprang across the room, away from her. "Do you have any idea the danger you're in right now?" I hissed, pressed against the booth in the corner.

I could see her swallow. "I don't feel in danger."

My feet moved stealthily towards her, stalking her. My voice was low, ominous.

Warning.

"I am here, Bella, because I have waited for the scent of your blood to find me for a century. My entire inhuman life, all I've wanted is your blood. Your blood is the only blood I will ever crave."

"Why mine?" Such an innocent question.

I snarled. "I wish I knew. I've gone to every corner of the earth looking for you. Not because we are soulmates, not because I wanted to run away with you and make you my mate." I spat, thinking of Carlisle and what he would say to me right now. A life of impossibility. "No, it's because I want to kill you. Drain you of every drop running through your veins. I want to take my time, drinking from you. I want to enjoy it."

"Do you have to kill me to do that? Can't you just… taste me?"

"Once I start, I will not stop."

She looked down at her folded hands. The thought of taking her life saddened me. I didn't want to kill her, I just wanted the blood that kept her alive.

Could I stop? Could I have the strength Carlisle had? Was it possible my desire for her to stay by my side was stronger than the thirst?

"Or…"

Her head snapped up. "Or?"

Sighing, the weariness I'd thought escaped me when she walked into this godforsaken diner came back with a vengeance. "I could try. I could make you like me."

What she said next was almost as surprising as how easily she took in what I was. "Would you stay with me? If you did?"

"I would never leave you. You would be mine."

"And you would be mine," she said with such hope, such yearning.

I wasn't sure I could take away the happiness the idea of staying with me seemed to bring her. It wasn't something I ever thought I'd have to decide.

Destiny.

"Can I ask you what it said?" I asked instead. "The note in the bottle?"

"I wished for someone to come find me. To take me away and make it so I'd never have to go home again." A tear fell from her eye as if she wrote it yesterday.

I could return to Carlisle and Esme. We could all live together as a family. She could have the family she deserved.

As could I.

She got off the stool and took a step towards me as I backed away. She didn't stop approaching, coming closer than any sane person should be comfortable with. "Make me yours, Edward. Take me away from a life I hate. Take me and make me safe forever."

I watched my hand rise, slowly approaching then cupping the bruised cheek as I'd fantasized about doing not long ago. Her head lolled against my palm just as I had imagined. She fit perfectly there, and she closed her eyes and sighed.

Her lips were a bright red beacon, taunting me. I leaned in slowly, keeping my demon in check.

When my cold, dead lips touched the vibrant life of her own, she sighed again and pressed her body to mine. I kissed her slowly, testing my strength. She had no qualms about kissing me fully, and when she opened her mouth her arms snaked around my neck.

I've had women in my arms before. Over the years there have been a few that warmed my bed. But kissing Bella was unlike any of those women. The taste of her lips and tongue were as divine to me as the smell of her blood.

I gingerly wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her towards me even more. Our mouths moved against each other hungrily while our hands explored.

The fire in my burning throat paled in comparison to the inferno burning through my whole body. I'd never felt like this before, so feverish but so peaceful at the same time.

The banging of a tray coming from the kitchen reminded us of where we were, and Bella pulled me towards the door.

It should've felt wrong, kissing her passionately outside this crappy diner, but the heat from her body rubbing against mine made me throw what little decency I had out the window. My hands moved under her borrowed sweater as she pulled it up and over her head. The threadbare t-shirt was no match for my savage hands, and I ripped the material from her like it didn't exist.

"Will you make me yours?" she sighed, as my mouth clamped down on one rosy nipple.

My head was swimming, lustful for her blood and her body. My own body was at war with itself, fighting the craving that fueled me for so long and wanting to sink like a lover into this girl who offered herself to me completely.

It would be so easy to say yes, to agree to anything she wanted as I took her, and then take it back as I drank every bit of her without stopping. She wouldn't have time to know that I'd gone back on my word, wouldn't fathom that another person had let her down.

But I wanted to say yes to her and mean it.

What I wanted and what the demon wanted fought violently as I continued to taste her delectable skin, my mouth moving down her stomach as my knees sank to the damp cement. Her hands fisted my hair and the sensation of her wanting me was more thrilling than I would've thought.

She unbuttoned her jeans, inviting me to taste the most secret part of her. My teeth made quick work of the flimsy material that covered her. I inhaled deeply as the aroma that haunted me for years intensified, and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

She was a goddess.

She stroked my cheeks with her thumbs, her eyes boring into mine as she waited for me to speak. "Will you make me yours?" she asked again.

I closed my eyes and wished I didn't have to fight the part of me that would make her a meal instead. I answered her with a truth I wanted to believe.

"Say you want it, Bella. Say you want me, and I will own you for the rest of time."

She held my face tightly in her hands. "I want it. I want to be owned by you. And I want to own you, in return."

Her words were so foreign to me but pleasing in every way. A completeness came over me, followed by a new thirst I wasn't familiar with. I couldn't deny my lust any longer, and I finally gave in to the animalistic hunger waiting to taste her.

Euphoria filled me as I licked her thoroughly. The sweetest nectar coated my tongue and I knew that when I finally tasted her blood, there would be no words sufficient to explain the power of it.

It was all I could do not to bite into the vein that pulsed against my cheek as I kept my tongue pressed to her as she came quickly, flooding my mouth with her essence.

My nose skimmed the length of her body as I stood, and I marveled at how her scent lost no power over me, even as it surrounded me and wrapped me from head to toe.

Her eyes were glassy, stoned on the pleasure that still shook through her.

I was wrong when I said she'd make an exquisite vampire.

She would be the most exquisite.

I tucked her head under my chin as I stroked her hair, knowing the time was now upon me. My never-ending quest was about to take its final bow.

My hands cupped her cheeks, mindful of the bruise while my fingers guided her mouth to mine once again.

When she sighed, I purred.

When she moaned, I growled.

When she hummed and presented her neck to me, I snarled.

Pressing one final kiss to her throat, my teeth sank into her silky skin like she was made of air.

Rapture washed over me as I drank from the vessel that had delivered itself to me after a lifetime of waiting.

Vaguely, like it was another time or place, I felt her hands tightening around my waist, clinging to me as I bent down and lowered her to the asphalt, my mouth continuing to quench my thirst.

My entire body warmed as her blood filled my mouth, my throat, my insides. The endless story of my search played behind my eyes as I drank from her, the thirst that drove me finally getting its reward as her intoxicating blood washed over every organ. Thrashing my teeth and gnawing against her beautifully pale neck, I took what was mine.

Earth and sea. Love and hate. Heaven and hell.

Paradise and the deepest reaches of the universe.

Bliss. Exultation. Elation.

I was everything.

The welcome bell over the door chimed, dragging me from my delusion. The harsh pink glow from the neon diner sign blinked monotonously across the table.

On. Off. On. Off.

Cigarette break number six for Sally the waitress.

I sighed.

THE END