Lord Motte's Vampire Bride - Version 1

Cowardice

"I-I am..." I look down to my lap. "May I think it over after I eat?" I plead, eyeing down the burger. 

"Of course. I'm feeling patient today. After all, I do regret how we met. I greet most girls calmly at the door." He remarks casually and digs in himself. 

We eat in silence then while I desperately think of an interesting fact about myself that would make me desirable. I oddly can't think of one. I do live an interesting life, yes, but not a life that puts me in a presentable light. 

Though...I trail off in deep thought while Jasmine comes to mind. Jasmine was the perfect kind of girl. She likely had straight A's, a good family, good parents, a young youthful heart, and genuine kindness oozing out of her like sickly sweet syrup. Yet, he didn't find her to be the one. What could he possibly have found wrong with her?

Perhaps, he found her voice annoying. That's a large possibility. She isn't one for worthwhile conversation either. Or...maybe she cried and begged for her life the entire time. I could see her doing that as well. She would have been a pitiful victim, not a match for a Vampire. 

He doesn't want a good girl. That much is obvious. 

He wants a bad girl. 

I swallow the last bite of the burger and attack the fries at an appropriate pace. I discretely watch him as he finishes even slower than I. For once, he's also not paying attention to me whatsoever. I consider making a run for it but push away the foolish thought, and instead think of my words carefully. 

"Well, I have five different identities." I burst out. 

He looks up immediately, grinning in surprise. "Oh, well that's a new one too. You're surprising me in more ways than one already." He waits impatiently for my next words. "Well, why is that?" 

"I hate the system," I respond simply. "It's a terrible excuse for pulling such a risky trick, but I don't care. I detest the idea of someone searching up my name in a police station and finding everything they want about me. It never used to be that way." I frown genuinely at the end. I do hate it so, that wasn't a lie. 

"Yes, it never used to be that way." He comments and nods for me to continue. "What is your real name? The last girl called you Sarah."

"Do you even remember the last girls' name?" I interrupt. 

"No, we never got around to that through her incessant screaming and complaining." He crosses his arms and nods towards me again. 

"Oh, understandable," I swear under my breath at my stupid response. I'm not supposed to be agreeing with the monster!

He instantly grins from ear to ear, and it's nearly adorable. I'm cursing myself once again for noticing!

I drop my head and groan to myself. "My name is Cynthia. Cynthia Long." 

"Good, Cynthia. So, she wasn't really your friend at all then? How did you even know her?"

"I met her at the hotel down the road, where I'm sure they'll be noticing my absence very soon," I reply sharply. 

"Even if that useless motel does call the police, I've been doing this for centuries and the law enforcement has never caught me, Cynthia. Don't even hope for it." He replies cockily. 

I frown worriedly. "Fair enough. You are a master of your own trade." 

He smirks and lets out a small laugh. "I guess you could say that. Now, are you going to tell me more and actually open up, or will I have to pry it out of you?" 

It was a light-hearted joke, but my heart pounds nevertheless. 

"I did used to dream of you. Why?" I ask softly. 

"It is part of the curse." He responds slowly. 

"What is the curse?" 

"Stop misdirecting the conversation." He replies sternly. "Now, I'm just here to listen to you talk. So talk." 

A shiver runs up my spine again and I take a long sip of my wine. There is truly no weaselling out of this conversation is there?

"And I want every, gory detail." He adds seriously.

My eyes widen and I collect my thoughts. "Fine. I dreamt of you so much my mother lost all love for me. She couldn't stand the sight of me. She took me to therapists, group therapy, art class to "channel my imagination." I groan softly. "But it was all for nothing. She tossed me about from this idea to the next for so long, suddenly, I couldn't stand the sight of her either." 

I wait for his reaction, but there is none. 

"And my father!" I continue enthusiastically. "He's nowhere to be found because he doesn't even know I exist! My mother was too much of a coward to tell him or ask for his number even. She was too much of a coward to do much of anything except call up every psychologist in town." 

"And are you?" He murmurs, stern-faced as ever. 

"Am I what? A coward? No! I feel like it sometimes, but I always follow through. I feel fear but tend to ignore it in the end. I felt a tremendous amount of fear yesterday, warning me like a giant, red, siren telling me not to go into this mansion, but some unstoppable urge kept on telling me to save a damn girl I just met!" I growl in annoyance with myself. 

"There is a massive difference between fear and cowardice. I agree you're not a coward." He simply comments, resting his chin thoughtfully in his palm. "You know, cowardice is the most common trait I see here. Not even fear - which is a given - but just plain, pathetic cowardice reeks the second they walk into that door. Not you though, you walked right up to me in the middle of the kill." 

"Unknowing!" I instantly protest. "I didn't have a clue where you were." 

"Nonsense. You can sense my presence, deep down. That's how you knew where to go. That's how you ended up in this town." He lightly smiles. 

"I did it for Jasmine. I heard her." I retort, ignoring half of what he said.

"You don't care about Jasmine. I think you're just a curious creature." He smiles broadly as he leans back his chair and uses the table as a footrest.

I crinkle my brow but decide against making a remark. It is his mansion. He can do what he wants. I'm not about to knock his feet off the table and call him disgusting with a giant knife sticking out of his pocket. 

"Fine," I admit. "I didn't care about Jasmine. Perhaps, I would have come here with or without the excuse of saving her." 

He raises his eyebrows and leans forward in his chair. "Ah, so you admit it was just an excuse?" 

I swallow hard and think it over. 

"I just...had to know it was true. Nothing would ever make sense if none of it was real. A childhood myth didn't deserve to traumatize me and ruin my mother and I's relationship for no reason if it didn't even exist." I reply sternly. "So, yes. I had to see you."