Dear Tempting

Dear Tempting,

You appear to be too much.

You could be like my sister. Sweet and kindhearted. Strong and cunning. You could be fast like her, heartbeat slow and uneven. But you are not like her, are you?

You aren't even like the worst of her kind. I have met them myself, seen what they can do and what they appear like. They are sinister, as I am. Cruel, as I am. But you don't look like them, do you?

You aren't like the humans we hide amongst. You look fragile, nimble, breakable. But you are not breakable, are you?

You are more like me. More like what I was melted into, this mold and this body that was once frail. You are not a simple being as I have seen before, a vampire or otherwise. You act different, smell different...

And I hate myself leaning into you, for wanting to look past your hair and skin and see what about you reminds me of me.

Maybe it's your eyes, green and dark like my own. It certainly isn't your hair that stirs something inside me. Or perhaps it is on those days where it looks like a lake of blood slowly pouring down your back.

That was how I knew you were different. Your hair gave it away, told me of a story I had not heard yet, not in my many many decades.

That's why I hate you. You are more like me than anything else I have seen, more my equal then even she was. Not that I remember much of her. If it weren't for you and that damned voice, I wouldn't have even remembered she existed.

I didn't want to remember her; not when the hair running over your shoulders looks like the puddle of blood I found her in. And when I rolled her over to see her face? Her normally tanned skin like my own was as pale and milk white as yours.

I don't remember who she was. I don't remember where I came from or how I got into that lab.

But Dear Tempting,

It's not as if any of it matters now. Not when all I see is green and red. Not when all I taste is blood and salt. Not when you are always there when I open my eyes.

And I see the way you look at me. It's the same way I look at you.

We hate each other for what one another has done. But it's more than hatred, isn't it? There is something darker there, hidden under our skin.

I do not understand it yet, and maybe I never will. Maybe you are just as lost and confused as I am, as damned and ruined as I am. 

No matter. 

It's too late anyway. What's done is done and now we are stuck together, bonded by an invisible thread that I am not sure I can break. I'm not sure I even want to break it and that's the part that makes me hate you. 

-A.