Shadows of Ourselves

I stumbled a little as I carried one of the heavier bags over the threshold. "Where do you want me to put everything?"

"I made some room for you in the closet." He waved a hand toward the bedroom.

I snuck a glance at him from underneath my lashes. He looked so different. What had happened in the last three months? His blue eyes darker, his skin whiter, his cheekbones more prominent, his sense of humor apparently gone the way of any color in his wardrobe.

When I'd left school for summer break, we'd been engaged, happily making plans to move in together when the new semester started. Pressure from my parents had brought me home and I'd spent the summer serving sodas and the occasional meal at the hometown buffet. Since our relationship had started out long distance, I figured the separation at that point wouldn't be an issue. Apparently, I'd been wrong.

The call came unexpectedly in July. He said he was having "trust issues" and he needed some time away. I wasn't completely innocent. I had cheated on him a few months into our relationship. The boy was a friend of a friend, conveniently close and complimentary. We hadn't slept together (I was still pure as the undriven snow in those days), but it was enough to justify the accusation of infidelity. However, I'd thought we'd worked through that in the following year and a half. Apparently, we hadn't.

I brought the last box in and stacked it on the corner of the bedroom closet. The bedroom was in an odd place. Stuck in the middle of the house, it was a large open area with no doors. You had to pass through it to get from the living room to the kitchen. It made for little privacy. I, of course, was banished to the pull-out couch in the front room. He would be sleeping only a few feet away. To me, it felt like miles.

"I'm going out. If you want something to eat, you'll have to order it. There's not a whole lot in the kitchen." He barely spared me a glance as he pulled on his brown bomber jacket and walked to the door.

I said his name.

"What?" His response was curt and he still wouldn't look at me.

"When you come back... I need to talk to you." I would not cry. I would not cry.

He sighed. It was an overly dramatic sigh of long-suffering. Like I was the world's biggest annoyance. A bother he didn't have time to be bothered with. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears in check.

"I'll be out late. We'll talk tomorrow." This really meant he'd make sure he avoided me tomorrow. But I didn't argue. I let him go without another word.

That was pretty much the exact opposite of my reaction when he'd called in July. I'd cried. I'd pleaded. I'd asked him why. His answers were vague and really didn't make a whole lot of sense. I spent the rest of the summer depressed and despondent. As the new school year drew near I finally came back to my senses enough to remember I was starting a new job. I had a part time position in the shoe department of the local mega mart. It didn't really pay very well, just enough to give me spending money. The problem was that they wanted me to start two weeks before school began.

Having planned on moving in with him that year, I didn't have a dorm room reserved or any other kind of housing available. With a secret hope for a reunion burning bright in my chest, I called to ask him if I could stay at his place for a few weeks until I could get into a dorm room. It had taken me an hour to finally convince him that it really was my only option. Still that flame of hope flared higher.

He didn't come home until dawn was a pink smear on the horizon. I pretended to sleep as I covertly watched him walk past my makeshift bed. No matter how hard I wished it, he didn't crawl under the covers with me. He didn't even pause on his way to his bed. I let the tears come and made no attempt to hide my crying. What had happened in the last three months? How had we gone from nearly wed to completely dead?

He was still sleeping when I left for work and he was gone before I got back to his house. I was angry now. If I had to stay up all night waiting for him, he was going to talk to me. At least that was the plan. I fell asleep long before he came home in the wee hours of the morning. Luckily, the turn of the lock woke me and my weariness fled in the face of my anger.

"How long are you going to avoid me?" I sat up on the couch and pulled my nightshirt over my thighs.

"As long as it takes."

"What the hell does that mean? Come on. I think I deserve some answers."

"It means that I can't deal with this right now." His darkened eyes were getting darker. "You asked me for a place to stay. You have a place to stay. I didn't want you here in the first place," he snapped.

I was going to cry again. And that just wasn't going to help anything. For a moment I stared at him, part of me wanting to beg and plead for him to love me again and part of me wanting to beat him to a bloody pulp. I did neither. I stood and crossed the room to stand before him.

I took his face, his angry, angry face, in my hands and pulled him towards me. My tongue slipped past my lips to trace his. He didn't give in, but he didn't pull away from me either. I stepped closer and pushed my breasts into his chest. They immediately tightened into hard little points, mimicking the change I felt in his body as well. I secretly smiled at this minor victory.

The kiss deepened and he gave as good as got. His hands were everywhere, in my hair, on my hips, up and down my back. I released the deep purr that was growing in the back of my throat and he gave an answering groan. It had been too long. My night shirt was up and over my head before I had time to blink. I hadn't bothered with panties since this impromptu seduction wasn't really so impromptu on my part. He seemed to be moving with inhuman speed as he divested himself of his jeans and pullover. I pulled him down with me as I lay on the carpet. The one thing that hadn't changed was his raw honey-colored hair and I slid my hands through it to pull his mouth back to mine.

That's when I noticed his teeth. They had changed. His canine teeth had suddenly grown to almost an inch, thick and sharp. My tongue slid across one, getting myself nicked in the process. There was a moment's hesitation before he pulled my tongue into his mouth, alternately sucking and stroking my tongue with his own. I squirmed beneath him, my hips pushing against his. My reaction was part arousal and part fear. He growled.

He pulled back far enough for me to look up at his face. That's when I noticed his eyes. They had changed. His normally bright blue eyes were now all pupils, dark and huge.

"You don't know what you're doing."

He was right. I didn't know what I was doing. But I was beyond caring. Regardless of the fangs and Halloween eyes, he was still the man I loved. The man I'd planned to marry. I knew he was giving me the opportunity to run away. While my mind screamed at me to take the out, my heart and body refused to listen. He saw my decision in my eyes before I even said a word.

The kisses, the romance, were gone. With a rough pull on my hips, he flipped me onto my stomach. The carpet was scratchy against my face and I struggled up onto my elbows. With one last touch of tenderness, his hands slid up and over my haunches. In the next breath, I felt him start to push inside me. His cock was hard, but strangely cool. The effect was both erotic and slightly disturbing.

I tried to scramble forward on my hands and knees, but his grip on my hips was unbreakable. He pulled out just bit and then thrust forward, his sac slapping against me. As scared as I was, it still felt so good. Regardless of what he had become, in this he was the same. The same rhythm, the same touch, the same length and width.

As he began to pick up speed, I felt my own orgasm rising. He bent low to cover me, his fingers parting my folds and stroking softly. Just as I came I felt his lips and then his teeth against my neck. The pain only intensified the pleasure and I cried out as one wave crashed into another. As my muscles milked his cock, his mouth pulled at my jugular until I could hear my heartbeat in my head. Even in that moment, I trusted his not to take too much. Not to end my life.

The only sign of his orgasm was a heavy twitching. With a low moan he disengaged from me completely and fell back onto his backside. I sat up as well, my fingers finding the twin pinpricks on my neck. Other than a slight light-headedness, I felt wonderful. My body felt more sated than it ever had. My heart was full to bursting.

When school started, I moved out and into a dorm. Although we had continued sleeping together and he continued to, quite literally, suck the life from me, the rest of our relationship never got back on course. He wouldn't talk about what had happened to him or anything else for that matter. It broke my heart and almost killed me, but I knew he would never truly be mine again.