“Kiss me beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor.” –Kiss Me –Avril Lavigne

I check myself in the mirror. My gold hair is damp, my bangs glued to my forehead. I throw a sweatshirt over my tank top and shove my legs into gray sweatpants to keep anything from getting “intense”.

I knot my hair in a side braid and paste some black ink against my eyelashes.

When I go downstairs, I enter the kitchen first so it doesn’t look like I want to see Damien.

“Can you get me something to drink?” he calls from the living room.

“No,” I say back.

“You hit me with your car,” Damien reminds. I sigh and pull out two water bottles.

I hope he doesn’t hold this over me for too long.

Damien is watching the pilot episode to Breaking Bad on Netflix, already to the part where Walter White is visiting Jesse Pinkman at his house to discuss starting a drug dealing business together.

“Here.” I shove the cold water into his hands and sit down beside him on the couch, a good few feet between us.

“I don’t want water,” he says. I glance over at him. “I’m joking.”

“You look fine. Go home.”

“Do you like this show?” Damien asks me.

“Yeah,” I answer. “But I like movies more.”

“What movies?”

“Um, ones like Practical Magic or Brendan Fraser’s The Mummy.”

Thankfully, Damien seems satisfied with my answer and we continue to watch the show in silence. But that feeling, that sensation that I fear returns and I look to see Damien gazing at me speculatively.

“What?” I hug myself.

“Nothing.”

“No, really. What were you going to say?”

“Okay. What does blood taste like?”

I choke on my tongue.

“I’m not talking about a papercut. I’m talking about actually drinking blood.”

We stare at each other, him in anticipation and me in terror.

“What does it taste like?” He asks again, leaning closer. I scoot back and glance away.

“I…”

“Have never tasted blood before?” Damien presumes.

“No!” I oppose. “I have.”

“Really?” He’s doubtful.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Then,” he starts slowly, eyes still glued to mine, “would you suck my blood?”

“What?” I scoff. Of course not. I already considered this. He would never agree to it.

I see him pull a razor-sharp knife from under the couch cushion.

“What are you doing with that?” I ask, my voice tight in fear.

“Would you suck my blood?” Damien repeats coolly.

I look at the knife then at him.

“What are you going to with the knife?”

“Cut myself.” He slides it up to his left fingers. “Obviously.”

Inside I breathe a sigh of relief. I should still be concerned, but I had imagined the worst. A slit wrist, neck, or even my own endangerment.

“Oh,” I say.

“It’s funny.” He looks down at the knife and rolls it around his palm. “Vampires usually would go crazy knowing someone is going to give them their blood. But you’re so calm about it.”

I can’t say anything.

Damien looks at me again and asks, “You’ve never tasted blood before, have you?”

“No, and I don’t want to,” I confess with no shame, snatching the knife from him.

“You don’t…want to?” Damien didn’t expect this answer.

“Not with you,” I clarify. “I believe having your first taste of blood should be from something or someone you really care about.”

Damien just stares and I wait for him to laugh, like always. But he glances at the TV screen, now just a display of more episodes to choose from, and says, “You’re a weird vampire, Page.”

I jump on my knees. “You!”

“What?”

“You called me by my first name!” I accuse, shocked.

“No I didn’t,” he lies. “You’re hearing things.”

“No I am not. You said my name!”

“Sure.” Damien sinks down the couch. For some reason, looking down at him from this angle gives me a strange sensation.

I want to touch his wet hair. I wonder if it’s as silky as it looks.

“What are you doing?” I hear him question.

“Um…” I glance at my hands, tangled in his hair without me even knowing. I yank them away and set them on my lap. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I liked it.” Then he quickly adds, “Because I hit my head there.”

“Oh. So it’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

I place my hands back in his hair and play. Izze and Payton’s float into my head like a warning bell.

Whatever. Nothing’s going to happen. I didn’t bite him and I’m definitely not going to kiss him.

“When are you going home?” I withdraw my hands.

“I don’t know,” Damien answers. “Maybe when I heal.”

I roll my eyes at how much of a drama queen he’s pretending to be. We both know he’s got at worst a few bumps and scrapes.

“Do you have a family?” I ask.

“Two sisters and a mother and father.”

“What are they like?”

“Claire is sweet and shy. Tegan's a complete tomboy. Don’t bother telling her what to do.”

“How old are they?”

“Ten and twelve.” His voice was filled with fondness. I tried to envision him as an older brother and I just couldn’t. The idea of him being responsible was outlandish.

“Cute. What about your parents?”

“Dad is,” Damien struggled for words, “strict. His intentions are good, though sometimes I don’t agree with them. Mom is patient and unbelievably kind. Too kind.”

“Sounds like a nice family,” I compliment.

“What about your family?” Damien asks. “I know Lee, but what about your parents? Will your father mind I’m wearing his clothes?”

I smile sadly. “Dad’s dead. He passed away a long time ago. We just never had the time to throw his things out.”

“I’m sorry,” Damien apologizes sincerely.

“No, it’s okay. My mom is,” I exhale and stare at the ceiling, “a roller coaster. When Lee and I were kids reserved and solid. You know, sensible.”

Damien nods, signaling me to continue.

“She travels for work. Once Dad died Lee and I began to see less and less of her. She doesn’t call when she returns home she just…appears. Like a ghost. And disappears just as fast. She never calls or emails. She doesn’t care. She dropped us like…like we are just some old shoes!”

“Whoa.” Damien pulled himself up.

“It’s true!” I assure, squeezing my fists tighter in frustration.

“No, Fare, it’s not that…”

“What?” I huff.

Damien nods down and I glance at my right hand, red liquid seeping through the cracks of my fingers.

I release the knife, revealing a nasty cut in my palm. I can’t believe I hadn’t felt such pain.

I turn to Damien and see him staring at my hand with wide eyes.

“Oh…” My memory on his fear of blood slowly dawns on me. “Oh! Sorry.”

I shove my hand under the couch cushion, wincing at the pain.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Damien replied, his voice low. “I’ll go get a rag from the kitchen. Where do you keep the first aid kit?”

“Ah, on top of the fridge,” I mumble, watching him disappear.

I’m amazed that he hasn’t disappeared.

I carefully withdraw my hand and hold it to my face. It’s disgusting but I can’t help but get the strangest urge.

I lean forward and lick the blood. My face scrunches at the metallic and copper taste.

Ugh.

Damien returns and throws me a damp rag, places the first aid kit on my side, and sits on the stairs.

I cringe as I dab the towel into my wide cuts. It’s so gross.

“Why aren’t you doing it?”

I look at Damien.

“Doing what?”

“Licking the blood off,” he says calmly.

Because I’m afraid I’ll vomit if I taste any more.

“I…”

“I can do it for you,” Damien says suddenly.

I gape at him. “You’re joking.”

“Not really. Do you want me to or not?”

“Not,” I say immediately. Obviously! What makes him think I’d let him lick my bloody hand?

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” But I’m just sitting, no longer cleaning my seeping hand.

“Then why aren’t you doing anything?”

“I…”

Suddenly, Damien is kneeling before me, eyes holding mine. I startle a little, amazed at the elegance in his speed.

“Let me.” Damien lowers his head and grabs my wounded hand. I freeze and watch him kiss the front like a man does when he courts a woman. “Please.”

I swallow. “Fine. Do it. Quickly.”

Damien gently turns my hand over and I’m scared to a pathetic degree. I’m a vampire, aren’t I? Not only was I incapable of washing off my own blood, I didn’t even like the taste of it. Obviously the thought of someone licking my hand clean freaks me out.

Yet I can’t pull away. I’m torn between desire and disgust. Thinking his mouth all over my hand is both crass and a major turn on.

If he’s a freak, then I’m clearly no better.

I feel something cold and wet and I know it’s his tongue.

Ewww.

“You aren’t a vampire,” I accuse quietly.

“I can if you want me to be,” he whispers seductively while sucking my blood. Actually sucking it.

When Damien makes his way over the wound, I’m numb to the stinging pain. The only feeling I’m not immune to is him.

When Damien finally finished, my wound didn’t look half as bad as it did before. In fact, it already looked partially healed.

Damien carefully dabs my hand with the wet rag, cleaning my skin of his saliva, and then covers the cut with a tan band-aid.

Damien’s mouth is covered with blood, sliding down his chin. I feel wretched looking down on him. Not only did I hit him with my car, I also had him confront a major phobia.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, seriously meaning it.

“I can forgive you on one condition.” He smiles, but it’s small.

I arch my eyebrows. “And that’s?”

“To kiss me.”

I almost say no, and I’m aware that’s what he expects me to say, but it’s not that I hate the idea of kissing him. I’ll be honest with myself about that.

“You aren’t kidding around?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding around?”

I reach for the wet, pink rag. “Clean your face first.”

“Page,” Damien’s voice comes out with a sigh, “just kiss me.”

Reluctantly I lean down, meeting his lips as he tilts up his head. It’s a copper, Spider Man kiss. Not at all the way I imagined how my first kiss would be.

I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore the bitter taste of his lips. Since this is my first time, I’m really hoping not to screw this up.

I pull away after a few seconds, my heart as fast as a hummingbird’s.

For a minute Damien and I look at each other. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Did I disappoint him? Does he feel like he’s about to vomit out his heart?

Damien climbs onto the couch, so close to me that I’m pulled back into the first day we met when I was so worried he was going to kiss me.

“Vampire girl?” Damien reaches out and smears the blood off my lips.

“Uh, yeah?”

My heart, oh god, my heart.

“You owe me a better kiss.”

I frown. “That wasn’t good enough?”

“That wasn’t long enough.” Damien slides his hands up my arms and rests them on my cheeks.

This second kiss is better. We’re seated more comfortably and the blood isn’t so easy to taste.

My resentment towards him, my conflicted emotions, wash away through each kiss we share. I’m not worried about screwing up, I’m not worried about anything. I’m just enjoying making out with an extremely hot guy, as any other ordinary teenage girl should.