Except I don’t have human eyes anymore.
“What can I get ya? Just the coffee, or something else?” The same waitress appears beside my table, order pad in hand, that same tired smile fixed firmly in place.
Up close, she’s even more real. The fine lines around her eyes, the freckles scattered across her nose, the small scar on her chin that speaks of some long-ago accident are clearly visible to me. Her pulse pounds in her throat, visible beneath skin that seems paper-thin, the vein blue and swollen and calling to something dark inside me.
“I’m not…” My voice comes out hoarse, strained. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”
‘The lie detector test determined that was a lie.’
The words taste like ash in my mouth because I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been in my life, starving in ways that go beyond physical need into something primal and terrifying.
“Coffee then?” she offers, already reaching for the pot she carries. “You look like you could use some warmth.”
Before I can answer, she’s pouring, and the smell of it hits me so completely and utterly wrong that my stomach rebels violently.
Not appetizing.
Not even remotely palatable.
Just a bitter assault on senses that have realigned themselves around a completely different definition of sustenance.
“Thanks,” I manage, wrapping my hands around the cup even though I know I won’t drink it. I can’t drink it, because coffee isn’t what this body needs anymore.
She starts to turn away, then pauses. “You okay, honey? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.”Another lie.I’m so far from fine that the concept seems laughable. “Just tired.” Glancing at her name badge, it says, Trudy.
“Tell me about it.” Trudy shifts her weight, and I hear her knees creak, hear the liquid movement of blood through her veins and the grind of bone on worn cartilage. “Been on my feet for nine hours. Two more to go before my shift ends. My granddaughter turns six tomorrow. I’m gonna try to make it to her party if I don’t fall over first.” She winks at me. “You want anything to eat? Eggs? Toast? We make a mean stack of pancakes if you’re in the mood for something sweet.”
The mention of food makes bile rise in my throat, though there’s nothing there to bring up. Everything about her offersounds repulsive except for one thing, one terrible, undeniable thing that I can’t stop fixating on.
Her blood.
“No, I’m good.” I force the words past lips that want to form different sounds, darker promises. “Thank you.”
She nods and moves away, and I should feel relief. I should be grateful that she’s gone, that the temptation has moved to a safer distance. Instead, I track her movement across the diner with predatory focus I can’t suppress, watching the way she walks, the rhythm of her steps, the pattern of vulnerability she presents with every unguarded moment.
The hunter in me tracks her weaknesses.
Too slow to run.
Too small to fight.
Too human to survive what I’m becoming.
I grip the coffee cup harder, and the ceramic groans beneath my fingers. Cracks spiderweb across the surface, hot liquid seeping through the fractures to pool on the table. I release it quickly, staring at the damage with something approaching horror.
What the fuck am I?
The question loops through my mind, relentless and unanswerable, because I know what I am, even if I can’t accept it yet. The evidence surrounds me… the impossible strength, the heightened senses, the fangs in my mouth, the hunger that grows more insistent with every passing second.
Vampire.
I’m a vampire.
Vampires don’t exist… right?
But what else could I be?
