Celine bit her knuckle softly as she waited, gnawing it between her canines. She felt miserably cold, but didn’t know whether to blame the cruel winter weather or her own lack of body heat. Normally she didn’t mind feeling chilly, but tonight seemed different. Tonight, the cold seemed to soak through her clothes and skin like icy water.
She glanced at the broken window frame spewing frigid air. How long ago had its panes been cracked, split and shattered? Broken shards of glass lay strewn about the floor covered in years of dust. Generations of cigarette butts joined them, lying between the dirty desks (still screwed down after so long). The suggestion of curses and slurs was graffitied on the chalkboard, too faded to truly read now. A crusty mirror stood next to the doorway, though Celine highly doubted she could use it.
Celine padded over to the window and looked out across a moonlit field surrounding the school. Even in winter, the overgrown grass stood tall and blackish green, washing over in waves with every gust of wind. In one of the broken shards still bound to the window frame, a shadow moved slowly. Celine smiled lightly and adjusted her view.
Peter appeared bundled up in a patchy coat and an old scarf, steadily wading through the lake of flora. His clothing seemed eager to escape in the unrelenting wind, dragging behind him and flapping about urgently. The full moon cast his shadow long and far across the field, turning it into a translucent giant. Quickly, Celine fetched her lantern and held it in front of the window. From below, Peter saw its warm light. He lifted an arm skyward and gave his broadest wave before scurrying inside.
Celine’s thoughts went to Peter. She’d miss his warmth more than anything else after tonight. He could always be counted on for a cozy hug, and his palms felt like heat pads on cold nights. Celine just wanted to be wrapped in him, their fingers interlocked and his head on her shoulder, feeling his heartbeat behind her back. Maybe she could get him to do it one last time.
Beyond the empty doorway, echoing throughout the worn linoleum halls, Peter’s footsteps rang out. Celine could hear his shoes tapping against the stairs up to the second floor. She looked down nervously at her outfit: A cheap and oversized shirt with jeans and boots. It felt strange to be out of her normal attire, which typically involved a lot more jewelry and antique coats, but tonight called for expendable clothing. Despite years of evidence to the contrary, she worried Peter may judge her for such an outfit. Peter poked his head through the empty doorframe.
“Evening,” he smiled with his lips and eyes.
Celine lifted her lantern and turned it off, placing it on the nearest desk. In its fading glow Peter saw her mouth curve upwards.
“Good evening,” she said.
Peter took a second to trace Celine, his eyes trailing up from her dusty boots to her hair, nearly blue in the moonlight. She had dressed perfectly for the occasion except, to his surprise, her lips and cheeks gleamed a bright red.
“You look lovely,” he began. “And your makeup looks so… rosy.”
Celine gave him a wide, toothy smile. “Thank you,” she nearly whispered.
“I’m a tad surprised you went for it, though,” he mentioned. “I know tonight’s probably gonna get messy.”
Celine rolled her eyes and stepped closer. “I figured you’d find it comforting,” she replied.
“Well, I appreciate the thought,” Peter finished.
An awkward pause took hold of them. Peter could normally ask about Celine’s day or bring up something fascinating he’d seen on the walk over, but his mind was virtually blank tonight. Even his body felt immobile with indecision, his usual instinct to embrace her tampered by apprehension and made worse by the pounding in his ears.
Celine, hearing the throbbing in Peter’s chest, grinned slyly.
“Are you nervous?”
Peter gave a small laugh, “Maybe a little,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Do you just want to do it now? I figured maybe we could talk a bit before, but…” he trailed off.
“We’ll have forever to talk afterwards, right?” Celine finished, stepping a bit closer to meet his eyes.
He nodded gently.
Peter shrugged off his old, patchy coat and dropped it on the nearest desk. The wind blew goosebumps up his arms and across his back. If he’d been cold before, now he felt truly frigid. He slowly withdrew a pocket knife from his trousers and flicked it open, sending a glimmer of moonlight to the chalkboard.
“Should I sit down for this?” he asked.
Celine looked down and around at the grimy tiles beneath their feet, her lips pursing with distaste. Unfortunately, this was the only place they could sit together comfortably.
“Yes. Let me just clear some of this filth away first,” She replied.
She dragged a boot across the dust and refuse, attempting to make a marginally clean sitting space. Peter joined her, shuffling his shoe through the layers of dust until he could slightly make out the once blue and white tiles.
After clearing away a patch big enough, Peter spun around and lowered himself, squatting slowly over the floor before dropping all his weight and kicking his legs out. In contrast, Celine knelt down in one steady motion, compressing herself lower and lower, before finally letting her knees descend to the tiles. Peter looked in the mirror and saw his reflection for the first time in a while. He looked ragged and tired, his eyes weighed down from his nearly nocturnal sleeping habits; his complexion appeared much paler than usual, as well. Peter forced his mouth to lift into a grin, to find comedy in his ghoulish appearance, and he felt a little better.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Peter lifted the knife to his collar and slid it between his shirt and right shoulder. With one labored motion he slashed away from his body and opened a large rip in the fabric. Celine slowly pressed herself into his back and reached over, extending an open palm. Peter clicked the knife closed and carefully placed it into her long, fine fingers. She promptly slipped the blade into her pocket, then pulled down on the tear, exposing more of his back and neck.
Celine ran her fingertips along Peter’s shoulder blade, savoring his warmth like the last embers of a hearth. Her thumb glided down his back until it felt a familiar, dreadful aberration. She softly circled the engorged growth with her finger, deep down praying it had somehow softened its unforgiving anatomy. As always, the lump held rigid like stone. Peter could sense Celine’s mood shifting as she traced that same old spot. He didn’t need a mirror to know her brows were furrowed now, as they always did when she became frustrated or worried. Her lips would soon tighten into a thin line, and she’d reach her hand around his torso for assurance, as though he would disintegrate in her grasp.
Wishing to spare her, Peter spoke up.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked. “Do you really want to go through with it?”
Celine fully wrapped her arms around Peter, squeezing him in a tight embrace.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m tired of the possibility of an eternity alone. I’m ready for our future, where we can spend every night running in the dark, side by side.” Overcome with emotion and anticipation, Celine kissed Peter beneath his ear, sending another surge of goosebumps across his upper body.
Peter relished the moment, then grinned, “You know, most people would just get married.”
Celine chuckled. “Perhaps we can talk about that later,” she smiled for just a moment, before returning to her serious demeanor. “And you? You know we can stop here and now if you’re not ready to leave it all behind. We can find some other way to go on.”
Despite Peter agreeing time and time and time again, Celine still considered the possibility of him saying “no.” Their love was certain, but human minds were complex, capable of instantaneous hesitation and discouragement.
Peter gently rested his hands atop hers and turned his head back, meeting her eyes.
“I’m more certain now than ever. Giving up this life… almost everyone I care about, will hurt,” Peter recalled the smiles of everyone who’d ever shown him love. His family and friends, his colleagues, his past lovers. After this, all he would have left of them were memories. Yet his thoughts went to the symptom stuck to his back, slowly growing its way toward his spine. He could still vividly see the tears in their eyes as his face became more gaunt with every visit. He could still hear them gasp when he took off his shirt. “But Celine, I can’t let them watch this, watch me wither away.”
Peter curled his hands around Celine’s fingers, giving them a light squeeze.
“I’m ready to be done with this. I’m ready to be more than myself,” he took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, seeing his fingers wrapped around seemingly nothing. “I want to be half now. Half of us…”
Celine took one last moment to savor the warmth radiating off his back, then sat up. Peter lowered his hands and leaned left, exposing his neck.
Now Celine noticed her pulse, usually undetectable, beginning to race. It was time. Her head felt foggy with excitement, and her mouth began to water uncontrollably, feeling a terrible hunger and thirst at once. With shaking palms, she clasped Peter’s arms and pressed them tightly to his sides.
For the sake of his nerves, she recalled her own experience, “When I begin to feed, your body will naturally want to move and shake me off, so I have to grip you as tight as I can.”
Peter let out a nervous laugh. “No complaints from me.”
Celine rolled her eyes, but Peter knew she was also cracking a smile. Scouring his neck, she found her mark — the perfect patch of skin to nestle her mouth and nose into.
“I’m going to do this as fast as possible, but it still might take around five minutes. It’ll get hazy after the first two, and before you know it, you’ll fall into a very calm sleep, okay?”
Peter gave a quick nod.
“When you wake up, you’ll be nearly dead. All you’ll want to do is go back to sleep — you’ll feel more tired than you ever have in your whole life. But you can’t do that. You’ll need to imbibe my blood until you feel strong.”
“Do I get to bite your neck?” Peter asked, half-serious.
“You’ll be just a bit too weak for that,” Celine chuckled. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it easy for you. And then… then it’s over.”
Peter took one more deep breath in preparation, and Celine opened her jaw wide. His heart pounded in her ears, thudding like the hooves of a panicked doe sprinting through a forest; as to whether it raced with excitement or anxiety, Celine could not decide.
“Ready?” she asked, hovering just above his vein. Peter could feel her breath gently blowing across his skin.
He gave a subtle nod.
Peter gasped as Celine sank her fangs into his neck, feeling like he’d been stuck with needles. He jolted in pain naturally, and his arms reflexively tried to reach up. Celine was prepared, however. With a strength Peter had never once felt or could have imagined, she restrained him. Her hands gripped into Peter’s biceps like a vice, completely immobilizing him, and his forearms uselessly flailed against his thighs. He tried to focus on anything but the aching pain in his neck slowly spreading across his chest. His breathing quickened, nearly hyperventilating, and his legs started to kick out wildly. No matter how he thrashed, however, Celine kept him held in place.
Peter glanced at the mirror and saw his panicked expression, the whites of his eyes bulging wide with horror. It felt like he was watching his body on a movie screen, trapped within his own mind and unable to do more than observe and struggle in vain. Just barely, he could make out two dark spots on his neck. From seemingly far off he could hear the sick sound of heavy breathing and wet lips ingurgitating.
Celine had forgotten this feeling of unmatched excitement, a sensation like she was drinking pure adrenaline. She was stranded in a desert kneeled before an oasis. Her body was ready to erupt with energy, ready to run down timber wolves, fly over mountaintops, tear apart trees with her dead hands. She could feel Peter’s body attempting to escape, but it was too late now. His blood was an unparalleled essence, to describe it would be asking an infant to describe mother’s milk.
Peter felt the energy draining from his struggle, his desperate kicks and flails weakening with every instinctual thrust. With no more strength to lift his arms or bend his knees, his body settled into a cold, violent shudder. The sick feeling of icy perspiration spread across Peter’s torso, soaking into his shirt until it gripped around his back and chest. After another minute he could no longer move at all, and a ringing sound emerged in his ears. It was tiny at first, but quickly grew into a loud, ceaseless drone. Peter took one last look in the mirror as the room started to whirl around like a gyre. His eyes seemed translucent, nearly one with the ghostly light of the moon and the pitch-black shadows.
Celine watched Peter’s eyelids close as his reflection faded away. He was nearly there, and she was almost finished feeding off him. A new warmth spread through her fingertips, a combination of adrenaline and love pumping through her with every heartbeat. At last, Celine unstuck her fangs from Peter’s flesh, using her shirt to wipe off her mouth. He seemed to melt further into her arms, limp as a blanket. I’ll need to be quick, she recalled. She took out the knife again and flicked the blade out. With her free hand, she pinched Peter’s nose shut between her thumb and index finger.
Peter violently jerked awake with a gasp, his eyelids just barely holding open. His head swam and waded in a thick drowsiness. He was being pulled underwater to a cold, but peaceful and enveloping slumber. As she leaned around his shoulder, Peter noticed Celine’s eyes blazing an intense, colorless hue.
“This is it,” she said, bringing the knife up to her face. “We’re nearly done.”
Celine ran the blade horizontally over the end of her tongue. From the tiny slit, a line of black crimson began to spread. She looked into Peter’s now-white eyes, and with an impatience for their approaching eternity, she whispered urgently.
“Now kiss me.”
With his last sliver of energy, Peter parted his lips and Celine closed the distance, embracing him with the desperation of a hundred years without love — and the passion of one hundred years of love to come. He was on a path now, a path in defiance of Death’s grip, but laden with new pains, curses and thirst.
Yet as Celine felt Peter’s hands wrap around her once more, imbued with new life and strength to be discovered, she was euphoric in knowing she could hold them through every opaque night they’d spend together — an eternity under the stars.
Ayden is a journalist and writer at Penn State. When he’s not writing articles or essays, he loves creating poetry and stories. In his free time, you can find him recording his podcast “Do You Make Music?,” walking around downtown State College, or browsing YouTube. His favorite works of fiction (not ranked) include “Ratatouille,” “The Raid,” ASOIAF series, “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” and Always Sunny!
Follow Ayden on Instagram: @aydensportfolio