“Do you love him?” He asked. “No.” I stood motionless, still staring at my reflection, looking at him somewhat vaguely in the window. “Then why do I sense so much hurt in you?” There was a long pause. It felt as though an eternity had passed, but he calmly waited for my reply. I took a deep breath, trying my hardest not to let my voice crack, or my eyes tear, but my eyes already felt as if wrapped in cellophane. “Attachment.” I said coldly, slamming the phone on the table, tensing up, fists clenched at my sides, and walking down the small corridor down to the bedroom to grab my denim jacket. Completely disregarding whatever it was he’d said to me afterwards.

“I’m going out. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” I strolled down the stairs, past the living room, and literally slammed the door on his face. I got in my car, and headed out the gate, into the highway. Not once did I look at him on my way out. I didn’t know where the hell I was going, nor did I care. I’d immediately turned off my phone the second I slowed down at the first stoplight. No interruptions, no distractions, no pity party— just some time to think on what had just happened, some time to meditate.

I drove for hours all the way to only God knows where, and stopped at the highest point in town, where I could get out the car, sit down on the ground, and simply stare at the tiny illuminated town, hundreds of miles below me. The ground was wet still from the storm earlier, and it still drizzled slightly. The humidity in the air, and the cold temperature made me thankful for the fact that I’d brought my jacket with me, and in an odd way, brought me comfort. I loved the rain. I simply adored cloudy skies for some reason.

It was the stupidest thing, really. I’d only known the guy for three months, and dated him for two and a half. I didn’t love him. I knew that. The only reason I’d gone out with him in the first place was because I knew nobody, and he’d been the one with the interest since the beginning. And he didn’t love me either. Not the way he’d said he did when we first met each other, anyway. I liked… the attention, the little pleasant details— the company. It was a nice feeling, being ‘loved’, and needed. I’d never even been close to experiencing anything like that when I was in middle school, or high school. I was an outcast. I’d always been. I was still an outcast even now, and I was angry at myself for even considering my need of someone to care about my feelings.

I’d been in love before, and had my heart broken many times silently, indirectly, buy guys who wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence. And I was fine with it, because it simply wasn’t their fault. Now I felt horrible, useless. I felt as though I’d never be good enough for anyone, and wished I’d had my heart beaten to a pulp a hundred times before when I was younger, if only it would make things less painful as I sat there, contemplating the tiny cars speeding down the streets below.

I sighed a long, mournful sigh, full of hurt and regret. Heartbreak. So stupid… I repeated those words over and over. The whole situation was stupid. No, you did not love him. No, it wasn’t your fault. You can start crying now. But I couldn’t. Regardless of the effort I was putting into it, and the fact that the tears were there, waiting to leak out, I simply could not cry— get it over with. Just cry. Cry, let it go, and it’ll all be over before you even know it. It was all a useless struggle.

“You think you can ignore me, and slam the door on my face as if I were just anyone?” I felt a horrible chill run down my spine, and through every square inch of my body as my senses caught notice of that melodic preternatural voice. So familiar. “You” I whispered, glaring behind me at the nothing, then at the sudden materialization of wild blue eyes so dangerously near me, invading my personal space. “I told you to stay away!” I attempted to hit that meddlesome immortal, but just as expected, his movements were too fast for me, and just as the thought of punching him had slithered its way into my mind, he already held me captive; hands imprisoned tightly behind my back, fangs precariously close to my neck, grazing my throat ever so slightly. Gasp. Fear. Silence. Shudder. Panic. “Foolish little ingrate” He laughed.