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"Tamed vampires like me have to fight to find things that give us purpose, but in another two centuries, the memory will be somewhat painful that I'm still here when all these people are gone."
I didn’t respond, or rather, I had no response for Isaac’s words, none that I could come up with. His words were laced with pain. His existence was a constant fight.
So which would I choose if I had to, I asked myself, a short life that was lived as well as I could make it or centuries of struggling to find meaning in an endless existence?
When we heard a loud crash and the shattering of glass, followed by a woman's scream, I jumped to my feet. Across the courtyard, a little boy, at least five years old, I assumed, was sitting amid scattered shards of glass.
There was a cut on his right knee that he was holding to his chest, and a woman ran out of the cafe the boy was in front of.
It was a small coffee shop, and it looked like the child had picked up a glass cup that slipped from him.
When Isaac rose to his feet, and his eyes flashed red for a second, I went still. His eyes were glued to the child, and there was a rigid set to his jaw. My lips parted to suggest we leave when suddenly Isaac vanished.
I spun around as he appeared before the child on the ground and the woman kneeling beside him, his eyes blood red.
A man standing a few steps away ran forward, clearly about to tackle Isaac and my legs started moving.
"Isaac!" I called, but he bent down and placed a napkin over the child's wound.
I stopped running, as did the man and the woman clutching the weeping boy to her chest while staring at Isaac in horror.
"When I was your age, I fell cut myself just like this," Isaac said to the boy while wiping the wound gently. "It was pretty painful, but I wanted to show my mom that I was strong."
He dabbed at the boy's wound until it stopped bleeding. "When my mom dressed my wound, I clenched my fist and fought the tears," he clenched his fist, and the boy stopped crying, intrigued by the story. "And I told her I could bear it."
“But you know what she said? She said it’s okay to cry sometimes,” he held his fist out to the child who bumped it. “It’s important to be brave but also to feel. You're a brave boy, aren't you?"
The child nodded, and Isaac smiled. “I know you are. You stopped crying without even realizing it. Sometimes it's good to cry and let it all out. It makes the pain go away.”
Isaac winked at him, and the child smiled and looked up at his mother.
"How does it feel now?" Isaac asked, and the boy's smile widened.
“Better,” the child said with an adorable little voice.
“Thank you,” the woman whispered weakly, and Isaac stood up and handed her the bloody napkin.
“Of course,” he then turned to me. “We should get going.”
The commotion had drawn a crowd, and people were already whispering. I couldn't make out what was being said, but indeed Isaac could. However, what was evident was that the hesitant stares from earlier had turned into intrigue for the charming vampire.
After collecting our things at our table and I got my lemonade, we made our way out of the mall. Neither of us spoke, and while Isaac didn't seem upset, he'd gone reticent.
"You were worried I would attack the boy?" he asked after minutes of walking in silence.
I frowned. “No, I was worried you were going to be attacked.” He looked down at me, and his eyes searched my face before he looked away again. “How do you do it? How do you stay in control?”
He stopped walking, and so did I.
“I remind myself that the people around me are worth more than the blood in their veins," he answered. "It's as simple as that, and it's not easy, but it helps. If I saw you as nothing but a food source, Marian, I wouldn't have just had a lovely lunch with you, now would I?”
I smiled and looped my arm through his. He gazed at our hands for a second before we continued walking.
“Was that story you told the little boy true?” I inquired, and he nodded as we stepped onto the escalator.
“Yes,” he answered softly. “It’s the only memory I have from my childhood, from when I was human. I can't remember my mother's face, but I can remember that day. Strange, isn't it?"
I nodded. “Yes,” I answered. “Strange.”
What was strange, though, was this man.
He was brave enough to stand up to his animalistic instincts and value kindness in a dull world when he could be a savage and find excitement. His strength was inspiring, and he reminded me that despite having a short life, I needed to make it worth living.
