I sigh, watching my feet press into the soft dirt, walking through the practically barren field. I frown when I realize I am squishing the only green little plants out here, but decide there's really nothing I can do about it.

Right now, I'm decidedly pissed at life. My sister was a bitch today, as usual, and my father was down right infantile. I stop in the middle of the field, scowling. "Jerks." I whisper. It doesn't feel good enough, so I yell it. "STUPID JERKS!" My fists are clenched, which doesn't satisfy me either. I turn to a tree next to me; it's old and dying. I savagely rip off a branch, breaking in two, and trying my hardest to throw it as far as I can. I doesn't go but five feet; the heavy winds stop it in it's path, and gently float it to the ground. Not the effect I wanted, which puts me in a worse mood.

"This day is the worst day of my life." I grumble, knowing it's probably not true, but saying it out loud only furthers my convinced state of mind. I sigh again, leaning up against the deadened tree.

Another gust of wind engulfs me, and my hair starts whipping across my face like mad. It stings my eyes, so I blink them a couple of times until the wind ceases. I put my face in my hands, knowing I'm about to cry. I can feel those damned tears, starting as little pricks, and then welling up in the corners. At first I try to hold them back, but when it comes, there's no stopping it. They trickle over the thin edge of my lower eyelid, and slid down my face. They feel very warm against my cold face, but it's no comfort to me. The only thing that comforts me is knowing that there is no one to witness this obvious sign of weakness. Or to hear the pathetic gasps of air. What is it with tears? Not only do they demean you, but they rob you of your breath as well.

My backpack is becoming uncomfortable, but it keeps my back warm, so I decide to leave it on. I start thinking vindictive thoughts, wondering how they would all feel if I simply ran away. I bet they'd realize how much I do . . . I'd bet they'd love me more, and not scream and yell at me. Then I decide I am never going to do a thing for them again. It's not as if they've done anything for me. Another series of tears and shudders overcome me.

I wipe away the tears before the wind can blow on them and make it feel like ice. I must have missed a spot though, because a moment later I can feel a shadow of where the tears were, as a slight coldness on my face. I start walking again, restless, not knowing what to do.

A few minutes later I'm walking down Oak, which seems oddly deserted. It's eerie. I cannot hear the birds anymore, and a dog from far away has started barking.

Suddenly I stop. I listen intently; did I hear someone walking behind me? I'm scared to turn around, but I have to know. Like a band-aid . . . I whirl around quickly, my heart pounding in my chest.

A few leaves scuttle across the dirt road, pulled by the breeze, but there's nothing there. I stare around for a few moments, obsessed with any slight movement, even though it's always just leaves. My breath is coming quicker, and I wonder briefly if I should head home. But then I remember how mad I'm supposed to be. So, narrowing my eyes and adjusting my backpack, I turn around and keep walking.

I reach the end of Oak, and across the street, I see a trail heading into the woods. Perfect! I can camp out close to home, but not TOO close to home. Determined, I march into the woods, momentarily taking into account that it was getting darker by the minute, and that the wind was become noticeably stronger.

But, being the idiot I am, I decide it's perfectly safe.

Observing the total lack of green, I wonder where exactly I think I'm going. It worries me a little that I have zero concern about my well-being, but this worry dissipates fairly quickly. I'm in a trance; euphoria seems to wash over me. I try to shake the feeling that this is a bad thing, but the delirium instantly obliterates this thought.

The feeling that I should be scared comes back to me increasingly often, and by now I'm not even on a trail anymore. Is that okay? Yes, yes it is, my elated feeling tells me. It's perfectly okay to be lost. Something else is trying to tell me that I'm in serious danger. I try to concentrate on this feeling, wondering why my mind would tell me two different things.

When I hear the twig snap, reality hits me, and the euphoric feeling is gone.

Fear rushes into me, so powerful I feel sick. There is someone following me, I can tell. I know it. I grip my backpack, still walking. Don't let them know you know. I tell myself. I try to pretend the euphoric feeling is still there, but I hear another twig snap, and this becomes impossible.

So I run.

As I'm running I realize that I still have my backpack on. It's slamming heavily into my back with each bound I take, and my sudden epiphany tells me it would help to take it off. Quickly and successfully unhooking one arm from a strap. Now the backpack is flailing around recklessly, slamming into trees, and almost tripping me. A sob tears from my lips, a splash of tears cascading down my face. I struggle to slip the other arm off, a task that is normally so simple. I can hear soft footfalls behind me, and I'm terrified to discover how close they sound. I shove the bag down, and off of me . . .

My leg becomes entangled within the many, useless straps adorning my backpack, and I tumble to the ground. In this moment, I know my life is over. Some psycho killer is behind me, and he's either going to rape me, or stab me to death. Probably both. I prepare myself for pain, clenching my eyes shut.

Nothing happens. I don't even hear the footsteps anymore, nor any sign of life at all. I open my eyes slowly.

In front of me is a man.

I don't even have time to scream. In the blink of an eye, he's kneeling down next to me, his hand in a vise-like grip over my mouth. I'm dead. This guy is going to kill me.

"Sh-sh-sh-shh. . ." He whispers into my ear, almost seductively. His eyes stare into mine, a deep, penetrating black that entrances me. They twinkle at me, little stars of light winking at me. He picks the heavy backpack up with one hand, untangling it from my legs. He tosses it away; it hurtles into a tree. My eyes are wide, and– once again – I am crying.

He strokes my face, wiping away a tear. I shudder, closing my eyes. He stands up, letting go of my mouth but grabbing my arm. I realize why he does this; there is no one around to hear my screams.

"Let me go!" I scream, trying to wrench my arm away. He doesn't even have to try, I'm far too weak. "Please! What do you want?!"

"I want you, pretty girl." This sentence puts me into a panic. Yet a part of me is saying, Really? Me? Wow, I'm flattered. Flattered that the first male to show any attraction towards me actually wants to rape me.

"Stop it! Let me GO!" I scratch at his arm with my free hand, digging like I never have before. To my horror, this has no effect; his skin heals the instant it breaks. He only smiles, revealing perfect teeth that are oddly pointed.

And then, for the second time this day, I have an epiphany. He's a vampire.

Of course, all my logic and former beliefs tell me there is no way he is a vampire. I've read tons of vampire novels. There are so many of them out there. But after reading so many differences in all these so-called vampires, any silly belief I had in them trickled away. But as I go through the books in my head, I realize everyone agreed on the same thing.

Vampires were always, always beautiful. And this man was certainly that.

The vampire laughs."You have finally figured it out, no? The look on your face says it all." His voice purrs, numbing my senses for a moment before another wave of fear washes it away.

"No . . .please, no . . ." Oh sure, I scold myself. You said please? Well then, of course I'll let you go.

"You are such a lovely virgin." He purrs again. I blush furiously. He smiles, his eyes contracting wildly.

"Leave me alone . . . please." I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from him. He steps closer, pressing his body against mine. I try to step back, but he wraps himself around me, resting his head on mine.

"Your heart is like a little bunny's. So scared." He laughs. I can't move in his grip.

"What are you going to do to me?" I ask, my voice clogged with my tears, even though it's completely obvious what he intends to do. Sure enough, I feel his hand on my belly suddenly, sliding farther and farther down. "Stop it . . . don't do that . . ." I stammer, trying– and not succeeding– to pull away.

He un-buttons my pants, pulling them down slowly."Do I not please you?" Do you please me? What, should I WANT to get raped?!

"No, you don't." I shiver.

He stops. My heart is racing. So what now? If I'm not having fun with this, is he just going to skip to plan B? Slowly, incredibly, he buttons them again. "I see. I shall try harder."

He steps away slightly. He takes one hand and wipes the hair away from my neck, revealing the jugular. My heart races, probably making it look all the more inviting. Curses, my body was helping him kill me.

He leans in, kissing my neck softly. I quickly jerk away, but once again he shoves me against him.

"If you do not cooperate, I shall take your virginity."He says calmly.

"I'm sorry . . ." I whisper. "Please, just . . . just get it over with . . . Just kill me." If I was going to die anyway, I didn't want to be humiliated first.

"No. You will enjoy this. You will see." His voice is soothing, and amazingly, my heart slows down. I calm slightly.

"Okay," I find myself saying. He smiles.

He kisses me softly on the lips, making his way down to the base of my neck. With each kiss, my worries melt away. My first kiss is the kiss of death . . . I think sardonically He rests his lips there, softly smelling me. One hand is on my face, pressing my head back slightly, the other is on my back.

He pulls away, smiling at me. "Is this okay?"

I cannot help but to nod.

"Good. . ." He purrs.

He traces my side, and I shiver again. The wind is still blowing, and the moon is out, lighting everything up. He picks me up in one swift motion, cradling me carefully. Still holding me, he sits on the ground, leaning against a tree. My breathing is slow, and I'm trying to grasp what's happening to me. Am I enjoying this? I realize that I am.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yes . . ." I breathe.

We lock lips, and then he's kissing my neck. All over, tiny, little kisses . . . Soft. . . He licks my jugular slightly, and a soft moan escapes my lips. This was so wrong, on so many levels . . .

He hovers there, kissing one spot repeatedly, and then simply pressing his lips against it. A part of me knows that this is the end, and regret pours into me.

"Wait . . ." I breathe, desperately trying to distract him from my neck. "Wait . . . I want more . . . Please, more . . ."

I feel him smile on my neck. "No, my sweet. You were right; you are too young to lose such a valuable asset." My heart sinks.

I can barely whisper, "No . . ." His teeth prick into my neck. I feel his tongue lap up the blood quickly. My neck heals instantly. I realize he's not quite ready to finish me; he's going to taste me first. For some reason, I'm relieved. He does this several more times, and eventually the pain from each prick no longer occurs. My eyes close sleepily.

Suddenly, he's holding me fiercely, biting sharply into my neck. I gasp, convulsing and grasping at the ground, my eyes rolling back. I feel my blood pumping furiously out, hot and wet, and his mouth sucking it up greedily. He's still kissing me as he does this. The pain is horrendous. My eyes snap open, and I get a perfect view of the moon. The pain subsides into a dull ache, that somehow feels good as it hurts. Masochistically, I smile.

I try to pull away, and strangely, he lets me. I feel the blood pouring down my neck, and my vision getting blurry. He smiles at me. My blood is trickling down the corner of his mouth. I weakly raise my arm and wipe it off, observing it on my finger. My arm falls limp to the ground, and he pulls me up to him, sucking the blood from me once more. I cling onto him for a few moments, until this too becomes too tiring. I'm surprised I can still maintain my small smile.

Limp in his arms, my breathing is shallow. My heart slows dangerously. My eyes glaze over, and darkness starts to press in on me . . .

He drops me to the ground, letting the rest of my blood deplete itself onto the ground. I can barely feel it run down my neck. I don't even feel the wind anymore. A few seconds later, I know he is gone. How could he? How could he leave me here alone . . .

My heart gives one last feeble pump before faltering, and then stopping. My breath rattles out pitifully one last time. The last thing I see is the moon, looking so sad and doleful, as if asking me why I had to run away. I don't know . . .

But I was still smiling.