And Hell Loves Heaven

Authors Note:

Thanks for clicking on `And Heaven Loves Hell'! This is part ¼ of this book. I will be submitting one a week for this novel. Each part will also appear on Inkitt a week after it has been on Nifty. Feel free to give my inkitt page a follow: https://www.inkitt.com/TaylorBullet , and Instagram, where I will be posting life and writing updates: https://www.instagram.com/taylorbullet/

I'm really excited to grow and share my work with this community and hope to see everyone along for the ride.

If you'd like to send any comments or questions, please direct them to: taylorbulleit@gmail.com

The email is spelt like the whiskey, but my name is not. Cheers!

Copyright © February 2022 Taylor R Bullet All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction and any similarities to real persons or figures is not intended.

PART 1

Present Day

Richard

New York City

I smelled him before I saw him.

The rich woody smell that his body held was different from the Axe sports spray he used to use back in college. His body's essence still smelled exactly as I remembered; almost sweet, a hint of caffeine flowing through him, the rich taste of iron in his blood that still to this day I couldn't find anywhere else on this planet.

And citrus.

Heaven.

As I stood there on the sidewalk, nearly frozen from his smell perking my senses alive like I haven't felt in years, every memory I felt from our time spent together all those long lost days ago flooded back into the forefront of my brain. It was all up until that final afternoon...

I watched him move inside the coffee shop across the quiet residential street in Brooklyn. I lived a few blocks from here in the Clinton Hill neighborhood, and my office space was still a block onward. I'd taken this walk nearly every day that it wasn't raining or snowing since I moved here about a decade ago.

Or moved back, I presume. I'd lived here in the twenties, up through when I returned from the Second World War, moving to the west coast in 49'.

The barista laughed at whatever he must have said as she handed him back his credit card. How I wished that I could hear that beautiful bell-like laughter again. He turned around, looking out the window for a moment, and my world stopped. The heartbeat thudding along in my chest skipped several beats, and my face felt cold.

His dark rimmed, ice blue eyes were as piercing as I remembered, and his hair looked soft, even with some product holding those tight brown curls in place. The sharply trimmed beard was cut close to his face and groomed into perfection with neat lines. He wore a large, muted dark brown wool overcoat and a plaid scarf that hung loosely around his neck. He was a professional now. That much was obvious, no longer the quiet gym junkie from Santa Clara Uni that I once knew. He was a man. Grown. He'd be 34. His constant tan that he had back then from bathing in the California sunshine all the time was gone, his skin a more neutral olive tone now. It wasn't long until his coffee was ready, and he turned back to the counter to retrieve it.

As he walked out of the coffee shop, he pulled out a key fob and pressed it as he approached a clean, sleek, and green Audi A7. The lights lit up as he opened the door, and his eyes scanned the surrounding area. I waited until they got to me, but he passed right over like I was just another city dweller.

For a moment, I thought that he wasn't going to see me. I did look older now, and there weren't a lot of people around. In fact, there were only eight others in sight near and far down the street with other cars and early spring flowering trees.

His eyes doubled back and froze, and then they locked on me. For a moment, a confused look was plastered over his face like he couldn't quite figure out what he was looking at. I thought for a fraction of a second, he might not recognize me, but then his eyes widened as recognition and surprise covered his face. I homed in on him and listened to his heartbeat kick up, the scent of adrenaline filling the air.

"Micah!" I called to him. His face seemed to be frozen, but his lips moved, and I watched him as he spoke so quietly the normal human ear wouldn't have registered the sounds.

"Richard." He sounded startled and surprised, like the air had been sucked from his lungs.

We stood there staring at one another for I don't even know how long, but I made the first move, taking a step into the street. His eyes stayed on me as I walked toward him, scanning me, thinking. The only move he made was to place his coffee cup on the roof of his car. I stopped on the other side of his vehicle and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. His face was more scrutinizing now that I was closer, his brows furrowed with a mix of confusion and anger.

"Hello, Micah," I said cautiously, my confidence faltering, knowing that memories were probably rushing back to him as they had for me minutes before. All of the good ones, and of course, the bad ones too. He stood up tall and squared his shoulders, filling his overcoat well.

"Richard..." he started confidently, but the strength that he gave himself deflated as his words seemed to be caught on the tip of his tongue, and he sighed. "Why are you even here?" he asked, his tone tired. It was then that I saw the sadness that had taken over his eyes. "How- how are you even here?"

"I live here," I said a little too excitedly, a little too loud. I inwardly cringed and bit back my emotions for a moment. "Three blocks over actually. I was walking to work when I smelt-" my words cut off at the anger that seemed to flair in his eyes.

My eyes widened as a jolt of fear shot through my body.

"You smelt what?" he asked through clenched teeth, slow and curt.

Shit.

I gazed down at my feet, rubbing the heel of my right shoe into the brick street. An abyss opened in my stomach as I felt his eyes boring into my head. Whenever he was angry with me back then, it managed to eat me alive inside. Now it was no different.

"... you," I said softly, barely lifting my head to look at him. It was like me saying that word had stung him judging by the way he closed his eyes, his whole face cringed in what could have been pain or disgust.

Maybe it was both.

Probably was.

My hands balled into fists with anger at myself for causing this. I shouldn't have approached him. I should have just let him be, let him go.

But I never really let go when I left.

"I'm going to be late for work," he said tightly, his eyes still closed as he spoke. He opened the car door. I panicked.

"Wait!" I nearly shouted, drawing a look from a startled woman leaving the coffee shop who nearly dropped her cup. Micah paused, the angry lines on his face smoothing a little as he looked at my desperate expression. Then the tiredness and resignation returned into his gaze.

"What, Rich? What do you want?" he sort-of groaned in a subdued frustration, seeming like he was giving in.

"To talk," I said too quickly. Micah's eye roll could be felt on a spiritual level as the blue irises spun in their sockets.

"That's about ten-ish years too late, don't you think?" he shook his head. "Goodbye, Richard."

His voice was stern, final, slamming a gavel down on my heart. He grabbed his coffee off the roof of the car and moved inside the vehicle. I took a couple steps back when the engine started up. He quickly shifted the vehicle into drive, the car jaunting forward down the street. I couldn't break my eyes away from the taillights as he drove away, only breaking my stare when he turned, disappearing behind a building. I was left standing there in the middle of the road, the day turned on its head, with the hole in my heart growing larger by the second. The core of my being slowly disintegrating where I stood.

2006, September

Santa Clara Main Campus

I was walking down the main path on campus near the Grand Gateway. Besides it just being a beautiful spot on campus, I liked watching all of the new freshmen walking around, newly liberated from their parents, taking those first few steps of freedom for the first time.

It was this year, for the first time in almost half a century, that I too was considered a freshman. However, I had been watching the students stroll the walkway since the first time I stumbled upon move-in day back in the late '60s. I hadn't even made the thought of enjoying something like this, something as simple as watching life happen, but in my nearly three-hundred years on this planet I had more preferred the fly-on-the-wall approach; just melding with day-to-day life. There were vampires I had met in my life that had lived the same as me, usually matured vampires. Others however, while they usually stayed hidden, they were rogue, aggressive from the hunt, and caused chaos throughout their lives. They had no sense of control. While we all were immortal, those whose lives were lived dangerously ended just the same.

It was some careless mistakes that usually got them killed. Sometimes it was werewolves they taunted. Sometimes it was a vampire hunter, or they got in a fight with each other over territory... like I said, something asinine. Maybe that's why I found these young adults so entrancing. They were always so happy, perhaps a little scared, but were all doe-eyed with wonder. It made me feel warm, and a different kind than the California sun brought. It was something that adults found much less often, and never in such mass.

Through the throng of people milling about, pointing and looking, talking and laughing, I saw him, and I nearly tripped on air before pulling myself together enough to stand. He was walking alone with his hands in the pockets of his silky green athletic shorts. His defined biceps and forearms were on display from the tight gray Under Armor tank top he wore, the fabric stretching over his chest. He wasn't bulky by any means, but he had more of a sturdy soccer player build than anything else. His short, brown, tightly curled hair was longer on top and flipped up some in the light breeze that blew. His eyes were a stunning shade of baby blue that knocked the wind out of me. The intense color stabbed into my soul like none other had done, nearly yanking me toward him. They held the excitement that I loved in all the kids but also had curiosity beaming from them as he looked around at his surroundings and the people.

Just like I had been doing.

Before I even realized it, I was walking over to him.

The closer I got to him, the easier it was for me to center in on his smell, and it was his alone. The sweet aroma of citrus was his natural scent, lemons, and oranges. The warm smell of saltwater seemed fresh like he had been in the ocean not too long ago, and the tangy, spicy scent of whatever Axe Body Spray he used sent me nearly spinning. By the time I was nearly drunk off of his smell, I was a few yards away. He hadn't noticed me standing there yet, and I took a moment to gain my ground. Once I did, I called out to him.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

His head turned toward me, and that was the moment that my life had tilted on its axis. I knew from that moment on that this boy was going to be someone that altered my existence for better or worse.

His eyes crinkled up as he smiled, showcasing those brilliantly white teeth. One of his K-9s was slightly more pointed than the others, making it more prominent in his smile. But it wasn't a detractor, rather it added a bit of charm. His eyes gave me a once-over, and a full shiver traveled up the length of my spine. He turned his body fully toward me. His cleanly shaven face, chiseled jaw, and perfect skin could allow the handsome guy to pass as a movie star.

"Hey-" but as he was about to wave his hand at me, his eyes darted off to the side, and all of a sudden, he was charging me. I looked over as I heard the soft breakage of air to my right as blue-eye's hand snatched a frisbee, quickly recoiling, and flinging it out to the group of people awkwardly jogging toward us. A chorus of "Sorry!" and "Thanks!" rang out as they moved back to catch the disk. Blue-eyes looked back at me and smiled guiltily.

"Sorry about that. Was quicker to react than it would have been to warn you." He said sheepishly. I scratched my head where the frisbee probably would have clobbered my skull.

"You're honestly apologizing for stopping a plastic death disk from smacking me?" I asked incredulously, laughing. He smirked awkwardly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess, but you know..." his eyes rolled lazily as his lips curled into a smile. He reached out his hand. "I'm Micah, by the way," he said casually. When I grasped his hand with mine, a spark-like tingle caressed my skin and traveled up my arm.

"Richard..."

And right there, it was over. That was all that it took. I had fallen for him.

Present Day

It was the honking of an angry car horn that had me nearly jumping out of my skin in the middle of the road.

"Get out the road, fuck-wad!" the angry middle-aged man in a black Honda cursed at me. Grimacing, I quickly moved to the sidewalk as he flipped me the bird while he drove past.

"Classy," I sighed, shaking my head at the crudeness of people in this city, and the fact that the love of my life had somehow just showed up out of the blue and had gone just as quickly. I didn't deny that I deserved his anger. Not the man on the road, but Micah. As much as I wanted him to see me and be ecstatic, that was so desperately far from reality. The fact that he didn't immediately tell me to fuck off, like Honda-man, could technically be counted as a win.

The rest of the short walk to my office was filled with thoughts and memories of the man that, for me, was only a short time ago and fresh in my head as if it had happened yesterday. All the little details that he had probably long forgotten were still vivid to me; like how he looked when he swallowed food. How he'd twirl that small chunk of hair on the right side of his head when he studied, or the one dimple he got on his left cheek when he smirked. My favorite, which was a memory I'd cherish forever, was how he'd look when I'd drink from him. Specifically, we'd been in the bathroom of his childhood home, and what had just started as a playful nibble after he'd gotten out of the shower, quickly turned to something so much more special, intimate, and private. We held hands the entire time, my other arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

I shook myself from the vision as I walked up to the stoop of my office building door, a heavy sense of emptiness consuming me. I pulled out my keycard and held it up to the scanner, the deadbolt on the door clicking. I pushed open the black wooden door and walked inside, staring down the entryway.

The building was originally a townhouse many years ago, but like many of the buildings on this block, the rooms had been converted into makerspaces, small collaborative office spaces, or just single office rooms like my own. While walls had been torn down and built back up, the wood flooring was original, refinished, and glossed up, along with the exposed brick on the left of the two-storied hallway. They were going for an old-with-new vibe, with dark walls with bright accents. The pendant light was nice, but the little square boxes on the wall were nearly worthless. The skylights were nice at least.

My office was on the second floor toward the back, and as I walked, the heels of my shoes tapping on the floor sent out a muted echo in the open space. I couldn't hear anyone talking, no typing or printing, so I assumed I was the only one in today so far. Everyone that had a room here was either a lawyer, a journalist, designer, or some other type of self-employed or remote worker.

After graduating from Santa Clara with refreshed degrees in Finance and Economics, I decided to open a small consulting firm for small and medium-sized businesses that were looking at how and where to allocate and invest capital. I had a decent retainer size and a steady stream of one-time here and their clients that would pop in and out. I never met face to face to retain my anonymity.

I could alter how I looked to be perceived anywhere from eighteen, the age of which I was turned, to early and extremely healthy sixties, but even that had its limits. Diet played a significant role in that. The age and health of the donor mattered. Going to the gym mattered. Since I moved back to the east coast, I'd preferred a late twenties, early thirties look, praying on healthy men and women of that age range. Mostly men, as they were more my speed and easier to seduce out of a club or bar.

As for how I looked day-to-day, I naturally had dark black hair, and I'd been going back and forth contemplating between adding some gray in. The body hair came and went as well. The colored contacts I wore were a mid-grade shade of hazel, which covered up the deep, bright red that my eyes were. I only feed off humans, but I didn't do it excessively, so my eyes weren't nearly black as those who fed often, or pink like some of the tamer vampires I knew.

I had been going to the gym just to keep a more toned physique, and it worked as I never gained more weight than what was typical of a fit human being of the age I was gunning for. Micah however, seemed to have gone the other route and chose size. The man looked to be nearly two of me now, a stark difference from the lithe-jock build he had in college.

Sitting at my desk, I fired up my desktop and opened the blinds on the window at the far wall, filling the room with the morning light. With the same gray paint on the walls as out in the hall, the natural light was very much welcome. I had a dark wood desk and a big, cushy, brown leather office chair. There was a matching brown fabric divan couch with some throw pillows and a blanket on it. They all sat on top of a white square carpet that went wall-to-wall widthwise, and there were two skinny bookshelves packed with literature I've collected over my years.

As I started work for the morning, it wasn't long before I found myself daydreaming about times past, specifically of time spent with a certain human, and having to snap myself back into focus. It was frustrating having him consume my thoughts like this. I couldn't help but think of how long he had been in the city, when he had moved here, what he had been doing the past several years...

... and how in the world could I even get him to talk to me again?

It was my fault.

Complete responsibility there.

I had walked away when he had begged me to stay.

I'll admit that I was afraid. I didn't know how we could have worked long term and thinking about it stressed me out more than I had ever been my whole life. He was so young and full of energy, full of possibilities, and I didn't want to be the reason for him settling or destroying the multitude of doors that were about to open for him. I had felt good about my decision for maybe one whole day.

That's a lie.

The day I did it, the day after graduation, I had gotten on a plane. As that plane started to go down the runway, guilt, pain, and regret had started to make a home inside me. By the time the flight was halfway over, I was practically sobbing in my seat.

Of course, I had tried to contact him again once I had landed, at least then it had rung when I called. But shortly after, all that came through the speaker was a dull dial tone. I had to admit to myself that I had destroyed what we had created and failed to convince myself that I had ultimately made the right choice...

And that this was the best for him.

Of course, that never actually worked.

But, as life does, it went on... just without him in it.

I had thought about him a lot at first, and even up until now I still thought about him most days, but over time it faded from a wish I could have him back, to hoping that he was succeeding in what life brought him. A hope that he was doing well.

It bothered me, more than I cared to admit, that I didn't know anything about his life now. I never looked him up on social media once that became prominent, too afraid to see him with someone else. Too afraid to see him happy without me, even though that had been what I was wishing for. I was a walking hypocrite, but I couldn't help it. Being with other men never helped, as comparing others back to my Micah had been nothing but destructive, and the half-way one-night stands where I'd get a guy, go home with him, only to bitch out, feed off of him and leave, left my stomach full but my heart empty. It was honestly pathetic, and something I needed to stop doing if I was ever going to get over Micah. But now that he was here...

I shook my head and tapped my pen angrily on the desk with a sharp tinking sound of the plastic colliding with the wood. Who was I honestly even kidding? The anger, sadness, and exhaustion in his eyes from just looking at me should have been a telltale sign that the two of us being an us again was something completely off the table. The need to talk to him, to hear his voice, it pulled me toward him. There was no way that the train-wreck reunion in the street wasn't going to happen, and it did happen, so it was time to move forward from it.

I swear I could hear my heart laughing at the obtuse lie. Huffing to myself, I minimized the excel sheet I was working on and moved my mouse over Chrome. Opening up Facebook, I logged in to the account I never used and moved over the search bar. I typed in Micah Brunski and hit enter, letting all of four results show up on the screen. Only two of them were spelled right, and only one of them had the handsome man's face from this morning. The difference being, this time it was smiling, happy, standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

God, I missed that smile.

The feeling twisted my gut like a wet rag. The need to reach out and caress the beautiful face was nearly suffocating. I clicked on his profile and became miffed when I saw that he had most of his profile hidden behind privacy walls. I grumbled to myself and bit my bottom lip as I scrolled down the page. Practically nothing showed beside his profile photo and some featured photos-

I saw my face.

My hand stopped, and my body froze, a cold wave of emotion running over my entire body as I stared at the three photos in the featured block. The one on the side seemed to be another from the hike that he was on in his profile photo, the other one with his mother... and then there was the one in the center. He was younger, on the main walkway on Santa Clara's campus where we first met. The palm tree where I first said hi to him was right off to the side. We were both in our graduation gowns and caps, our arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Our other hands each held our diplomas. His mother had taken that photo after the ceremony had concluded.

And the next day, I broke his heart.

A tear spilled over and ran down my cheek, my hand moved up to swipe it away, and my eyes closed.

Why was that there? Why did he still have that? Why was it on the forefront of his profile? Why, why, why, why? In my three-hundred-and-four years, I had never met a person like him. I had never met a person that made me feel so much. Never had I met a person who saying goodbye to cut me so deep.

I quickly closed the page and buried my face into my hands, rubbing my face against it.

"Fuck!" I cursed in a sob; my chest hurt. I huffed out a short breath and kept my eyes shut. It was a soft string of knocks on my door that caused me to look up. A set of light blue, sympathetic eyes from my office neighbor were peeking through the small opening where she had opened the door. Her blond hair that was held up in a loose bun that started to fall forward some as she leaned in.

"You okay, Richy? I heard, well..." she grimaced. I sighed and waved her in.

"Yeah, I just," I looked back at my home screen. "Come in." She slinked through the door and closed it softly behind her. She had a simple white blouse on, the first few buttons undone, tucked into a black mid-length pencil skirt and black flats. Her nails were a soft shade of pink that matched her square-framed glasses and Kate Spade handbag.

"Hey, Clarissa," I said gruffly as I sat upright in my chair.

"Hey to you too," she said, moving to the divan, crossing her legs as she sat. Clarissa and I had met in a bit of an aggressive manner, and by that, I mean she held a dagger to my throat in an alleyway as I tried to leave the club with a man. Clarissa was an interior designer by day, and an impromptu vampire hunter by night. A few years after moving here, there had been some other vampire leaving a bit of a blood trail around the city. Clarissa had been tracking me for a week before that with clues from an informant, and I still to this day don't know who that is. She says it's for their safety, which I guess is fair. Regardless, once she realized she had it wrong, I ended up helping her track down the other vampire.

A bit of me felt bad about it, destroying one of my own kind. I've done it several times before, but I don't like others making my life difficult, like nearly being decapitated in an alleyway. It ended up being a fresh, rogue newborn with a hell of a bloodlust. While he was stronger than Clarissa and me, the two of us had skill and experience on our side. The newborn was ever so sloppy and ended up lunging at Clarissa and right into her blade. He was stunned long enough for me to rip off his skull. We burned the body and dumped the ashes into the Hudson later that evening. Ever since then, we have been friends.

"I hope I didn't disrupt you," I mumbled apologetically. She shook her head.

"No, I was just getting in for the day." She smoothed her already flattened skirt. "So, what's wrong?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. His face when he saw me this morning came back to the forefront of my mind. I shook my head, and my voice was a watery whisper when I spoke. "He's here. In the city." My breathing hitched. "Micah." My voice wavered as his name passed over my lips, and I couldn't help the wrenched laugh that accompanied it. Her eyes widened, and she cocked her head slightly.

"Oh fuck," she gasped in a whisper. "Did you..." she pursed her lips for a moment, her gaze turning to question. "Did you talk to him?" She started to chew the corner of her bottom lip while she waited for my response. I closed my eyes and lowered my head back to my hand, nodding.

"He hates me," I whispered, now using my fingers to rub the tender skin around my temples. Why did saying that out loud hurt so much?

"I doubt that he actually hates you," she said hopefully, reasoning. I looked up at her with dim eyes for a moment before shaking my head slowly.

"You didn't see the way that he looked at me. He was so angry. So tired..." my words trailed off, remembering the sad, exhausted look in those usually bright baby blues. I caused that look, that pain. "I should have just let him be and watched from afar."

"Where was he?" she asked.

"That coffee shop around the corner," I told her. "Castello's."

She laid herself elegantly on the cushion, her elbow supporting her weight. "So, he's close, then," she stated. I just shrugged.

"I have no idea. I don't know why he was here this morning. I never got the chance to ask, it, uhm, I was just walking when I," I paused as the memory of his delicious smell ransacked my brain, almost as if he was right here in front of me. "Smelled him." The words fell from my lips slowly. Every bit of my being craved for him now that I had time to process the whole situation, no longer clouded by the surprise of what happened. My entire body shivered. Clarissa crossed her legs the other way, her eyes never leaving mine.

"He has to live or work near here," she reasoned. "Why else would he be in the neighborhood?"

"And what if he is here? What do I do?" I shot back with a fire in my eyes, my words harsher than I meant to. She cringed back slightly but hid it pretty well. She let her guard down around me but was still emotionally reserved. Guilt welled in me, and I dropped my gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"You're fine, Rich. I get it," she said understandingly. I got up and moved next to her on the cushion, slouching down against the wall. A moment of silence passed.

"It hurts," I murmured. "I've regretted leaving him since I moved to this city."

"I know," she sighed, nodding.

"What do I do if I see him again?" I asked. Clarissa took a deep breath in and let it out, her far-out gaze showing that she was lost in her thoughts.

"That's a tough one. You two have history, and from everything you told me before, you broke his heart into a million pieces," she said matter-of-factly. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

"No shit," I grumbled, but she held up a finger to silence me.

"But, like I said earlier, I don't think he hates you, because let's face the truth here; you never actually get over someone that you loved. You may move on, find someone else, but that person is still a part of you..."

She paused for a second, biting her bottom lip.

"For better or worse," Clarissa explained calmly, her voice sounding far away as I knew that she was thinking of her passed fiancé. It was a topic we hardly approached, and she only talked to me about twice the entire time that I knew her. "If he's found someone else, yeah, he may not want to see you again, but if he's alone and hasn't found anyone else, then, well..." she shrugged her one shoulder, cocking her head toward it for a second. "Then you may still have a shot."

I couldn't help but scoff humorlessly at that. "Gorgeous, successful guys like Micah don't stay single for a decade."

"I don't see a man on your arms," she shot back snarkily, crossing her arms under her breasts. I glared over at her.

"I'm different," I said plainly. She rolled her eyes at me and sat up.

"By-golly, you're a vampire!" she said in a sarcastic, surprised tone, but then looked at me with a knowing gaze. "But you are still a man with a heart and a lot of love to give, Richard. All because you've been hurting and brooding the past decade, doesn't mean that he hasn't as well."

I sighed and leaned over onto her, resting my head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around my side and gave me a good squeeze.

"Thanks, Clarissa," I said with a sigh.

"Side note, I also call bullshit because you're what, three-hundred-and-four now, and you've dated two or three guys the entire time?" she questioned. My eyes shot open, and I looked over at her.

"It only recently became legal," I argued cheaply.

"Like that stopped people before."

I scrunched my lips. "Fair," I grumbled, causing her to laugh.

2007, March

Santa Clara Student Dormitory

Waking up next to him was quickly becoming one of my favorite things. I loved the way that Micah was so full of life when he was awake; his dimple when he smiled, the warm look when he'd look my way, watching him sleep was the most peaceful thing I could imagine in existence. His face was completely relaxed, and his heartbeat was soft and steady. Listening to the constant beat of his heart was so calming, almost melodic.

In truth, I never slept too much. I was always restless but being next to him put me at more ease than I could ever remember. I'd sleep all through the night, something that I'd hardly ever been able to do on my own. I'd hold him sometimes, but usually, he held me in his arms as we drifted off at night in the small, dorm-provided twin bed. We'd wake next to each other, our limbs tangled, just like this morning. I couldn't wait till the next term when we'd get an apartment together, but for now, in the walls of his dorm room, the world was perfect.

I moved my arms free and wrapped one over the top of his waist, tucking my fingers between the mattress and his body to find some purchase of skin. He moved lethargically in his sleep, making little murmuring noises as his larger frame twisted and turned until he assumed the little spoon position. The feeling of his beautiful body pressed back up against mine was heavenly, and when I leaned my head in, nuzzling in the crook of his neck, breathing in...

The world was completely fuzzy from euphoria. His amazing citrusy, sea-salty aroma had my toes curling.

As I slowly came back down from my high, I realized that my fangs were dangerously close to puncturing his skin as they grazed across the side of his throat. I gulped back in restraint, my throat throbbing as I swallowed. I drank from him before, several times now, but it still felt like something that was forbidden. It was something that felt and tasted so dangerously good, surely couldn't be allowed. But there he was, every time he was able, offering me to come back for more.

My encourager, and my drug.

"Mmmm, baby boy," he murmured lazily; his voice was still heavy with sleep. I ran my hand up his stomach, feeling the dip of his abs and the slight fuzziness of his happy trail.

"Good morning," I said, kissing his shoulder lightly. He turned his head back to look at me, sucking in a quick breath as his eyes went wide for a moment before returning to normal. I knew that my fangs were still out, and if that were the case, my eyes were probably a lethal-looking mix of glowing red and deathly black. He turned himself around, his front facing mine, and I became acutely aware of our nether regions poking at each other's abdomens. He placed his hand on my side.

"Rich?" he asked carefully, his sweet breath hitting my face as I breathed in, getting the full effect of his scent.

His heartbeat was picking up.

His blood was flowing through his veins quicker, the thick smell of it caressing my senses, pulling me in. I could feel my jaw trembling as I looked into his eyes. They were slowly filling with worry.

"Yeah?" my voice sounded demonic and feral. I inwardly cringed at its sound.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked. I slammed my eyes shut and groaned.

"Four days ago," I muttered sheepishly. Even the current rough state of my voice sounded embarrassed. His hand gripped my side a little tighter as I tried to pull away.

"Richard Miller! That was me, wasn't it?" he demanded, concern and anger building up in his voice. I opened my eyes and looked at the worry-stricken face.

"You can't starve yourself like this," he said, his tone much calmer with his eyes staring directly into mine. "You can drink from me more, or I can help you hunt, or something. Just, please stop doing this to yourself." He caressed the side of my face, and I leaned into his touch.

"I love you, Richy." His voice was as sweet as he smelled. I reached out and cupped his face with my hand as well.

"I love you too."

I started to lean in, my senses kicking into overdrive the closer our faces became. Right as his lips grazed my own, he spoke.

"Go for it. You need it. Don't hold back."

My lips smashed against his in a heated passion, and my one arm wrapped around him tightly, the other arm sliding under his neck to get around him. He intertwined our legs, forcing our groins to grind together. Both of us moaned into each other's mouths at the friction between our bodies. His tongue moved into my mouth, playing a dangerous game of tango with one of my fangs. The razor-sharp tip was nearly begging to get a taste of the warm liquid hiding just under his skin.

I was breathing hard, my vision blurring when I pulled back looking at him. His face was beautifully flushed, and his lips were puffy from the deep kiss. I slid my hand up his neck and into his hair, gripping, and pulling back slightly, pulling the skin on his neck taut. His veins pumped prominently along with the accelerated beat of his heart. With each beat, the veins bulged as they pumped his blood, warm and sweet.

I was nearly drooling as I tilted his head to the side. Micah swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up and down. It was then that I realized that my whole body was nearly vibrating with lust, want, anticipation, and a rabid hunger that was quickly taking over my entire being. Everything was on fire, my skin tingling everywhere. This boy had somehow encapsulated everything that was desire and sexuality, and he was offering it all up for me to take. It was no surprise that my restraint broke.

I flipped us over on the bed, lying him prone on his back, my one hand in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder. His eyes were looking directly up into mine, and his mouth was open in a surprised O-shape. I could smell the fear and adrenaline coming off him in droves. While feeding from him was a regular occurrence, me being this... predatorial, wasn't.

"I will never hurt you," I whispered, tilting his head to the side and exposing the smooth skin on his neck. I was sure that I looked a bit of a mess in this state of my hunger, fangs fully drawn and eyes ablaze. He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Said the spider to the fly," he tried to say nonchalantly, but his voice wavered some. I smiled wickedly down at him and lowered myself until the tips of our noses met.

"If only you realized that you are the spider, and I am the fly that is trapped inside your web." I leered seductively and felt his dick flex into my abdomen. I started to kiss my way to his neck.

"For some reason, I feel like that's a lie-hiiimygod!" he moaned out at the end, his legs moving erratically for a second as my teeth sunk into his neck, the pleasure from the bite flooding into both of us in different ways.

For him, the muscle relaxant that secreted from my fangs inundated his body and numbed his nerves. For me, the sweet, sweet taste of his blood coated my mouth and my throat as I drank the first few deep, long pulls from his body. The pure satisfaction and ecstasy calmed my body into submission until I was lying next to him, cradling his spent, noodle-level relaxed body in my arms as I barely drew any blood. I was just enjoying his taste, the intimacy, and the trust that the act brought me.

When I finally withdrew from his neck and licked at the four little holes in his skin, his whole body shivered for a few seconds before his arms loosely moved around my body. I squeezed him tight to me and nuzzled the side of his head with my own.

"You are my forbidden fruit. Nothing that good should be legal... and every time you let me do that, it's a gift. You are Heaven, and I'm Hell," I whispered into his ear. I felt his fingers flex on my back, and he slowly rolled his head about the pillow, seeming to try to come back into his own body. After a few more moments, he pushed his face into my chest, closing our bodies together in an airtight embrace.

"Are you saying you're a sin?" he asked sleepily. "Heaven and Hell."

His body relaxed more as he drifted off. I kissed the side of his head.

"I am most certainly a sin. I'll make you a fallen angel yet."

Present Day

Richard's Home

I flew up from my bed, staring around the dark room, even if I could see in it perfectly fine.

My heart was pounding in my chest. The dream, or really the memory of that random morning together still fresh in my head, reminding me that he was no longer mine. His younger body so much different than what he had turned into, cruelly reminding me how long it has been since I've felt his touch on my skin. And the past two God damn weeks that I'd started my walk to work a half-hour, an hour, or even two hours early in the hopes of seeing him all coming up empty reminded me that he was actively avoiding me.

I clicked on the little metal light next to my bed on the nightstand and pulled the dark gray, silky soft sheets and duvet off of me. I reached for my phone and checked the time; 11:40 PM. I went to bed at 10:30. Annoyance, anger, and hunger filled my soul, and I flopped back on my bed in frustration. While sleeping was never my strong suit, only sleeping for two hours at max every night since I ran into Micah two weeks ago was beyond infuriating. Each night was filled with dreams of memories that left me feeling alone and empty, and they wouldn't stop!

I fisted the sheets and groaned as I stood from the bed. I was going to go hunt tomorrow, but if sleep was going to evade me tonight, then I might as well hunt now and sleep in the morning. It wasn't like I was going to have any better results later, but maybe eating before I slept would help.

And maybe, just maybe, all of that was a lie. Maybe the anger and frustration over not seeing Micah again made me want to go out, made me want to get noticed by someone, anyone!

I stood from the bed and moved to the closet door. The room itself, along with the home, was a cross of old mixed with new. Built in the 1890s, the big old brownstone home had three levels, plus an attic that had been completely renovated when I purchased it. I had done some small changes and upgrades as the years had passed as well.

I opened the closet door and walked in, quickly pulling a white button-down off the hanger that fit tightly around my chest and biceps, and a pair of flex-fit skinny jeans. I rolled up the sleeves to my elbows to expose my forearms, threw on some socks, and a pair of floral marked leather Adidas shoes. Looking in the mirror between two of the hanger rack cubbies, my hair was still in the same gelled, combed over shape I had it in from this morning. I took my fingers and manually moved over the few offenders and gave myself a full once over. It was cocky, but I knew it wasn't going to be hard to find a meal tonight. After some mouthwash and cologne, I was grabbing the keys to my Lexus GS F and heading out the door.

Natty's Longue was an upscale gay bar in Greenwich Village I liked to go to for three reasons. One, it was quiet and relatively low-key. Second, there wasn't any dancing, so there was no one that tried to grind up on you for no reason, and lastly, there were great conversations and drinks. I could strut in there and sit at the bar, stalk my prey, send a few bottles over, butter him up with some conversation, and go back to his place for the main event. The main event being making out in the entryway of wherever he lived, drinking from him, placing his passed-out body in his bed, and leaving for him to wake up the next morning and not remember anything but his current hangover. Absolutely charming. It was perfect, but it was empty, and the farthest thing from fulfilling.

I parked my car down the street, decently surprised that I was able to find a space so close and not have to park in the garage a few blocks over. Locking my car and sliding the key into my pocket, I walked the short distance to the main door of the bar. As I opened the old heavy wooden door, the familiar scent of alcohol, flowers, and men hit my nostrils.

The long oak bar was filled, with only a seat or two open on the end. The small dangling lights that hung down created the mysterious atmosphere as the frames of men with shadowed faces talked, laughed, and drank. There was a soft pop tune playing in the background as I moved in, taking in the men that seemed to be on their own as I walked up to an order station of the bar.

Leaning over the wooden surface, my eyes followed the movement of the young bartender that had taken my order many of the times that I'd been in here. The bottles he picked up and poured reflected the rainbow LED lights hidden within the shelving units. It added another layer to the seductive tone of the bar as his back was cast in shadow, but his body's outline was that of a fireworks finale. When he finished making the drink, he turned around and our eyes met. His smile perked up. I smirked with an added wink.

"Welcome back, Rich. Give me a sec," he said as he moved down the bar and placed the Moscow Mule in front of a fair-haired gentleman in a suit coat. While the dress code for the patrons was at least a collared shirt of some kind, the bartenders could go shirtless if they wanted, as long as they wore a bowtie around their neck.

Gimmicky?

Oh, hell yes.

Did it work? I know Cory, the bartender, wasn't hurting for tips every night. It was easy to see why as his biceps bulged and pecs pressed together as he leaned his handsome, bearded face over the bar. His warm brown eyes showed just enough in the dim light to dazzle anyone who looked.

"What can I get you, Rich?" he asked with his signature sexy leer on. I leaned down on the bar to get level with him, our faces getting close. His eyes lowered.

"Was that a mule you just served that gentlemen down on the end?" I asked.

"That what you're in the mood for tonight?" he asked back. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and pulled out my debit card, handing it to him.

"Start a tab for me?" I asked, winking. He started chuckling quietly as we both pushed back from the bar.

"Coming right up," he chuckled as he turned back toward the liquor bottles.

There were a few prospects that immediately caught my eye. One was a more muscularly built guy at the leftmost end of the bar. Dark hair, olive skin, and the short cut fade of his hair did something to me.

Across the aisle of the bar to the booths sat a younger-looking blond guy with a lithe build, maybe a college swimmer or something. His hair was spiked up in the front, and he was hunched over a bottle of some craft beer they had in the coolers here.

And last, but definitely not least was a regal-looking man to the right of me at the bar. He wore a full dark navy suit with an off-white button-up undershirt. His dark brown skin looked flawless and smooth, the man's muscular swells under the jacket's material filled it out nicely, and the thickness of his neck had me swallowing back a gulp.

Cory slid my drink to me, and I moved back to one of the booths behind me, sitting alone... for now. I didn't want to make a move too quickly. I wanted to enjoy my time here, have a drink or three, not like they really affected me, and maybe exchange a wink with a couple guys. Have fun. And then actually have a drink with a man that I could go home with.

At least for a bit.

I could try and forget about the blundering mess that was the past couple of weeks. It was going pretty well too, for about the first half-hour. Cory had come over to chat with me about how he and his man were doing. Apparently, they were going down to Miami for a week soon as a little surprise getaway that Andre, his long-term boyfriend, had surprised him with the other night. On my second round, I ordered another of whatever Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome was drinking and had it sent to him. When Cory gave it to him, he nodded over my way, and the man turned his head. I winked at him, he blushed, smiling shyly, and turned back towards the bar. I had a feeling that it was going to be easy tonight, that was... until someone new walked into the bar.

I could smell the same sweet, woody, citrus and ocean spray mix the second he moved into the building. My whole body tensed, and internally I began to scream.

No-no-no-no-no! He could not be here right now. He. Could not. Be here. Right. Now!

I closed my eyes, and my hand gripped around my cup. I became hyper-aware of where he was in the bar, everything else in the room fading further into the background with every step that he took. When I opened my eyes, I hated that mine were instantly on him as he approached the bar. His body was so close, just a full arms-length away, just barely out of reach. His broad shoulders filled out the white polo that he was wearing, tapering down his back to a trim waist where a light brown belt mitigated where his shirt tucked into his dark jeans. His oxfords matched his belt. Without all the extra layers from the other week covering his body, the tight-fitting fabric made the man look like one of the muscular mannequins you'd see at an Under-Armor store, except he was real.

Micah was real. He was here. Next to me. I could see him, and smell him, and ...

He was looking at me.

At some point when I was lost in my own fucking shock, he had turned around, some kind of vodka drink in hand, with a flat-faced expression boring into me. I slinked back deeper into the booth, a pit swallowing everything inside of me. I wasn't sure if he was going to talk or not, the way he just stood there menacingly. The amount I wished to have the loving, happy eyes back that haunted my dreams instead of this tired, angry stare he now had. It seemed endless.

"I should have figured," he said dryly before turning to walk away.

"Micah, wait!" I sat forward, spell broken, reaching for him, retracting my hand just as I was about to touch his unlawfully massive biceps. He looked down at my outstretched hand and then back up at me. It was now or never.

"Can we please talk?"

His brows knitted together as he frowned. "And what makes you think that my answer will have changed from last we-"

I cut him off, speaking lowly to not attract attention from other patrons.

"Because you're still standing here. Because I'm going to be extremely selfish and tell you that I haven't slept nearly at all since I saw you in front of that coffee shop. Because I've waited outside of the coffee shop for hours, showing up at different times to try and see you and talk to you since I saw you."

I swallowed hard.

"And the few hours of sleep that I have gotten have been haunted by memories of you and me together."

His eyes had gone wide as he listened to my words, but his expression had turned mute. However, he started to move and set his glass down on the table of the booth. My eyes stared at it, amazed at the simple fact that he'd put it there.

A placeholder.

He then shifted his large frame into the booth bench opposite of me and folded his forearms on the tabletop. Instead of giving the stone-faced man a chance to say anything, I continued.

"I tried to call you so many times after I got off that plane, and once you blocked me, I figured you never wanted to talk to me again."

He took a long sip of his drink, downing half of what was in the glass before putting it back down and stared down at the table. I watched his Adam's apple bob and his throat move as he swallowed, remembering all of the times I had been attached to that section of his glorious body. When his eyes found their way back up to mine, the words that came out nearly shattered me.

"So I'll ask it a different question now. Why should I talk to you now?" he asked, his tone flat and harsh. I wanted to crumble into a billion pieces right there. I looked down into the icy contents of my cup as tears started to well in my eyes. I could feel them start to stream down my cheeks when I looked up at him.

"Because when, for the first time ever, I mustered up the courage to look up your Facebook that day of the coffee shop, you still had our photo your mom took at graduation on your wall," I said, every single word that I spoke was shaky as tears streaked my face.

"And.. I never thought that I would see you again." The last part came out as a ragged whisper.

Micah's face had gone from stone to a fractured fault line as some emotion had stricken underneath the surface. He slammed the rest of his drink in a flash but kept a tight grip on the glass after nearly smashing it back on the table. He wasn't looking at me anymore.

"Mom's dead," he said curtly. I felt my body go cold as his words sank in moments later, sobering me from my own fear.

"W-what?" I sputtered, not believing the words that left his mouth. His mom would have only been in her sixties. Micah looked up for only a second before looking back down at his empty glass, frowning. He raised the glass and looked over at the bar. The other bartender, whose name I didn't know, acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. Micah reciprocated, but his smile was forced and weak.

When he faced me again, a bleak sadness had taken over his features. His eyes had gone dim and slightly scrunched. His lips quivered at the end, but just barely. He turned his face away from the light, casting half of his face in darkness as he closed his eyes. I leaned forward on the table.

"She started having kidney issues a couple years after we graduated," he whispered, spinning the ice in his glass around slowly with the little mixing straw. I bit my lower lip, already not liking how this was going. "Thankfully, her insurance from work was good, but I took a job nearby to help on days when-" he stopped talking suddenly, a far off look in his eyes stared through my for a second before he shook his head in frustration. When he looked back up at me, there was a fit of new anger mixed with the sadness.

"Why the fuck am I even telling you this?" he growled, moving to stand from the booth. His heart rate suddenly spiked as the adrenaline kicked in. "I don't owe you any of this!" The venom in the words stung almost as much as seeing the single tear fall from his eyes. A couple guys around the bar were looking in our direction as I awkwardly looked around who to see who was where.

"Micah, please! Sit back down. I cared about her too," I said, a pleading strain taking over my quiet tone. His head looked around the bar at the guys that were giving side-eyed stares and glances. As he struggled to take a breath, his cheeks flushed once he realized he was putting on a bit of a one-man show.

Cory made his entrance, putting an identical glass as the first one into Micah's hands. Cory closed his fingers around Micah's, forcing him to hold it. Wide-eyed, Micah stared at Cory, but I couldn't tell if he was shocked or angry at this point. Whatever it was, Cory didn't care.

"You should drink this," he said, winking at Micah. Cory let go of him and grabbed the empty glass on the table. "You boys doing good over here? Rich, you need another round?" he asked, addressing us both now. For the most part, most of the onlookers had their attention back on some other guy or their drink, trusting Cory to handle things, but there were one or two that still had a loose focus toward what was happening.

"Yeah, that'd be great, and put his on mine as well," I told him. Cory looked between the two of us and then nodded, giving me a sympathetic look. He didn't know anything about my history or who Micah was, but he was obviously keen on seeing a situation that was headed south fast.

As Cory walked away, Micah still stood in the aisleway with a lost expression on his face. His eyes kept darting to different parts of the room and his drink.

"Micah," I ended up saying after a few moments of watching him looking like a stranded puppy. His head turned toward mine, and I nodded my head in the direction of his spot. He didn't say anything else, but he looked down into his drink and sighed. He moved slowly back into his spot, his body seeming like it was taking on more strain than usual to support his own weight.

"Please listen to me for just a few seconds?" I asked, tired and desperate for him to agree. Again, he said nothing but waved his hand in a `be my guest' fashion before it thumped down onto the table.

"I know what I did to you was the most horrible-" I stopped when Micah picked up his drink and downed it in three quick gulps.

"What?" he asked gruffly when he saw my worried gaze. "It's just a vodka limeade."

I raised my brows at him. "And you're still a human drinking vodka on probably an empty stomach," I told him, but he just scowled at me and rolled his eyes.

"I Uber'd here," he grumbled as he slumped back in the booth and took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped down, his body loosening. "I'm sorry..." he sighed, deflated. "You, you were talking."

I pursed my lips and spun my glass on the table slowly. Sighing, I cast my gaze up at him, looking into his glossy, tear-stained eyes.

"Look, Micah, I know my word means shit right now. I know you don't have a reason to listen to me, but I think you might want to since you're still here... at least, I hope you do." I looked down again, biting my bottom lip hard before huffing out my breath.

"But please believe me when I tell you that I know I hurt you more than anything when I left, how I left, the whole thing," I swallowed hard. "I have spent the last decade regretting that decision every day of my life." I had a sudden urge to touch him. I reached my hand across the table slowly, but right before I had the chance, he jerked both of his hands below the table. The motion stung a little... a lot... and I awkwardly slunk my hand back to my drink. "And I... I don't know how to even begin saying sorry to you."

He didn't look at me. He didn't speak. He didn't even move. When Cory awkwardly came to the table to give me my drink, he eyed Micah and looked back at me with a questioning gaze. I just shook my head. He took the hint and walked away, leaving the two of us there in silence, while life around the lively bar went on by.

"Mom asked about you a lot at first," he said quietly, solemnly. A cold sweat consumed my body. My eyes shot to his hunched form, waiting desperately for him to continue.

"She wanted to understand... almost as bad as I did," he chuckled dryly after that. He looked up at me, shaking his head. The broken, angry smile was telling of what was to come. "What was I supposed to tell her, Rich? What the actual fuck was I supposed to tell her?"

While he never raised his voice louder than a low grumble, every word was like a gunshot in my ear. The intense emotional anger that made his voice waver and shake sent shivers down my spine. "How was I supposed to explain that the love of my life, the man that had been my rock practically since the first day of undergrad, was a supposed mythological creature that didn't want to hold me back from my career? What kind of bullshit excuse is that anyway?" he used his fingers for air-quotes around "hold me back", using the words that I used to him back at me.

"She loved you like her own son, man," he said sorrowfully, new tears starting to form in his eyes.

"I know," I whispered, my eyes cast down.

It was all I could muster, and I couldn't even look at him when I said it. The amount of guilt I felt then made my heart throb, like every beat was a difficult task, and my chest tightened around it, constricting it. "What..." I started to ask, but stopped short, biting the inside of my cheek as I looked back up at him. Everything in my body felt taut, and my skin felt balmy. "What happened to her?" I finally asked, my words hardly above a whisper.

"Kidney failure," he said quickly, his jaw tightening after he spoke. I swear I heard his joint crack from the pressure.

"She'd been in and out of the hospital for it, was getting better. She collapsed one day. She had one of those emergency necklaces, but... but she-" his words were stopped by a harsh sob that wracked his body. He placed his hands on the table to steady himself. I felt my eyes welling up some, remembering what a delight that woman was whenever she was around. We spent most holidays at his mother's house. His father hadn't been in the picture since he was a twelve.

Born and raised in Redding, California, it was a bit of a hike to drive back up to his mom's, but with the love that woman gave whenever we were there, to not only her son, but to me as well, it was always a warm, welcoming environment... even if my body full on rejected whatever food I ate during the day late at night, sneaking out to the brush behind the house to vomit. Micah would be there to comfort me through it.

"They said she died at the hospital, but I'm pretty sure she died in transit. I got to the hospital the same time the ambulance did. She looked so pale, fuck, Richy, I-" It was like his face froze on that last word, his eyes squinting and spilling tears, his mouth open, lips quivering.

But then, like someone turned on the heat, he slowly started to thaw out, sinking into himself, and back into the bench.

"I want to go home," he said softly, voice tired. The man looked utterly overwhelmed and exhausted as he sulked there. I couldn't help but feel partially guilty. If I had just been there, not let my fears get in the way of what we could have been... how different would things be right now? His mother would probably still have passed, but I could have helped him, helped her. Like he said, I was his rock, and he was mine.

And I just left.

"In the middle of the fucking day while we were out? Just like my dad, huh?"

Bile built in my throat, and I had to force it down, the acidic liquid burning upon its retreat.

"Micah," I started, reaching my hand across the table again. This time, when I went to grasp his hand, he didn't pull it away. He didn't return my motion, but just let me rest my hand on top of his and grip it slightly.

"I can drive you back if you want," I said the words carefully, not wanting to imply anything, especially in his current state. He didn't do anything for a few moments but nodded shallowly thereafter.

"I'll cash us out. Sit tight," I said quickly and went to the bar. It only took a second for Cory to come over. Concern was written all over his face. His lips were squished to one side, and one eyebrow was raised.

"You guys okay?" he asked, drawing out `you' some. I just shook my head.

"Old lover I never got over. There's a lot of shit to unpack. That's all I'm willing to say. I'm cashing us out," I told him, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to get into it either. Cory grimaced and shuddered.

"That sounds like a mess. I'll get your check."

As Cory went to the register to ring everything out, I looked back over at Micah. He was hunched over the table, one of his hands gripped into his curls. I frowned, sighing at the sight of him in such disarray. He was always so put together back in the day. There were really only a few times that he'd ever been like this. Sad, angry, and upset, sure, but he'd never been so completely broken before.

Cory came back with the check, and I signed it, throwing down a cash tip before turning back to Micah, where my attention needed to be. When I leaned my elbow on the table, standing in front of him, it was like he didn't even realize I was there.

His body sat there like he was made of stone. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his shoulders along with his breath, he could have passed for one fairly easily.

"Hey, let's get going," I said tenderly, reaching my hand up and resting it on his shoulder. He took a deep breath in and let it out as he sighed. He stood and followed me out of the bar as I led the way. We had a few passing looks as we walked by the barstools and booths, but I was the only one that noticed. Micah just followed behind me with empty eyes. I was relieved when we got outside, just to get Micah out of there.

"What's your address?" I asked once we were in the car. I started the engine as we both buckled our seatbelts. I pulled up the nav-screen, and looked over at him, waiting for him to reply.

"Just drop me off by the coffee shop you saw me at. I live on that street," he said. He sounded exhausted now. He reclined his seat back some and stared at the roof of the car, seemingly in a daze. "Only about a block down."

I couldn't help that my head shot over to look at him in some stupid shock.

"You live so close..." and I had no idea, remained unsaid, but what was spoken was barely a wisp of words. He chuckled, but he didn't sound amused.

"I guess so." He was slurring his words some now, and I'd assumed that the bit of alcohol that he'd had was settling in. He was silent like that for a little while, just kind of lying there, staring at the ceiling while I drove through the crowded New York City streets. It wasn't until I got onto Brooklyn Bridge that he spoke up again.

"It was a heart attack that killed her. Doctors said something about being a symptom related to acute kidney failure, or something similar to it."

I glanced over at him for a moment but turned my eyes back to the road.

"That was... that was a little over a year ago."

"And when did you move out here?" I asked.

"A couple months ago. Once the sale of mom's house was official, I started looking for jobs as far away from California as possible," he said, closing his eyes at the end.

"Same thing I did," I whispered at the same time as he mumbled, "Too many bad memories."

I didn't mean to say it out loud, and I knew he heard it too by how fast and wide his eyes flew open.

Crap.

He scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

"Did you really need to get away from me that badly?" While his words were spoken quietly, there was malice intertwined with them. I gripped the steering wheel harder.

"No, Micah, it wasn't like that," I said carefully, knowing there was a fine line I was walking on top of right now.

"Then the fuck was it?" he grumbled, sitting up in the chair. The hair started to stand up on my arms and back of my neck at the ice in his tone.

"Micah, you're drunk," I tried to pass it off, but he was having none of it.

"Fuck you! Tell me!" he was yelling now and every muscle in my body seemed to tense up as my own guilt and anger built up. When I didn't answer, he punched the dash and screamed, "Tell me!" again. I slammed on the breaks, his body hauling forward for a millisecond before getting caught by the locking seat belt. The car directly behind us blared its horn as it changed lanes quickly, nearly missing another vehicle. More horns blared as cars passed.

"Because I was afraid, okay? God dammit. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I was a fucking two-hundred-ninety-four-year old pussy who didn't know how the fuck to make things work because I didn't want to see you suffer the consequences of being with me or becoming like me. So, instead of trying, I ran. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear?" I screamed at him.

I could hear my heart pumping hard all the way up in my ear, and a vein in my forehead throbbed. As I came down from the accompanied adrenaline high, I noticed he had backed himself up against the door, his Adam's apple jumping in his throat as he swallowed hard. When he didn't look like he was going to respond, I looked back forward and slammed on the accelerator, the car lurching forward in a rush, tires squealing. I got up to forty and just started weaving between all of the other vehicles going thirty. Toward the end of the bridge, I slowed back down and let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding and twisted my now loosening hands on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry," I sighed, rolling my head around, causing several snapping and cracking sounds to ring out in the eerily quiet cabin of the car.

"Do you still love me?" he sounded like a scared child asking that question. While he seemed genuinely unsure, I wanted to burst out in laughter with how obscene it seemed to me. I started to chuckle and just shook my head, almost disappointed.

"I've regretted leaving you since the moment that plane touched down at JFK. My heart still aches for you, Micah." I looked over at him. A bead of silence passed between us. "I never stopped."

Micah became quiet after that, his hands coming together in his lap, eyes cast down. Eventually, I heard him mumble, "Okay."

I wanted him to say more, to say that he loved me back, to say that he wanted me back... the same way that I wanted him. While my insides were rotting, my face had a soft smile. Even if the man didn't want anything to do with me after tonight, I could still revel in the fact that he was here with me, and that he lived so close by. I could watch from afar, make sure that he was alright. It would hurt, but it would be better to watch him find someone else and be happy, grow old without me than to wonder what had happened to him years and years into the future.

As I pulled up to the coffee shop, I rolled slowly down the middle of the quiet road. There were streetlights, and porch lights from the brownstone homes and other buildings casting light unevenly into the street and parked cars. The coffee shop was dark, with only a security light on in the middle of the room.

"Which one is your house?" I asked, looking on the street to see if I could see his Audi.

"You can just let me out here," he said, looking out the window. I looked over at him, scrunching my brows together.

"Are you sure? How much farther is it?" I asked again. He just shook his head.

"It's fine," he said, a bit more force to his words. Sighing, not wanting to make him angry again, I stopped the car and put it in park. Stress began to build in me as I watched him unbuckle his seatbelt and reach for the door handle.

"Wait!" I said tightly. He paused and glanced back over his shoulder at me. I opened the center armrest and pulled out one of my business cards I had stored in a little stack. Handing it to him, I said, "Take it. It has all my contact info on it. Just..." I bit my lip and sighed, shoving it toward him. "Take it, please."

I was speaking way too fast, the stress I was feeling obvious in my strained voice. His eyes lowered to the card and then rose back up to meet my gaze. The soft yellow light from a streetlamp coming through the window of the car dimly lit his face. The shadow of tree buds created an ominous pattern on his skin.

He reached forward slowly and took the card between two of his fingers. His eyes stayed on mine as he placed the card in his pocket, and he continued to stare at me.

"It might be because I know what your eyes really look like, but I remember how they glow in the dark," he said evenly. His tipsy, glossy, tear-stained eyes studied my face. "I can almost see the red behind the gray." Those words were spoken in a whisper that nearly took my breath away as he opened the door of the car.

"Thanks for the ride..." he got out of the car and stood next to the door for a second before looking back at me.

"You kept your promise."

I was confused. "What promise?"

The one corner of his mouth twitched.

"Making me a fallen angel."

The sound of the car door shutting was deafening and felt like I had just been slapped across the face with a searing hot sheet of metal.

As I watched him saunter down the street slowly, step after step, each one felt like he might as well have been stepping on my heart. I knew the odds of him actually calling me were next to none, and with that, I couldn't help but feel like he was walking out of my life this time... for good.