The first time I see you, I fall in love instantly. At the butcher's counter, ignorant to my stare at your back, you ask the clerk, “Can I get a pound and a half of ground beef? Ten percent fat, please.” I can’t pinpoint what it is about you exactly, but I can’t look away. I’m not finished shopping, nowhere near, but when you take your cart to the cashier, I can’t help but follow along. There’s two couples and their full carts between us, giving me cover so I can watch you. You’re careless with your personal information, and say your phone number out loud instead of typing it into the PIN pad. Thanks, in part, to my condition, I have a fantastic memory. This means I don’t need to scramble for a pen to write your number on the back of my hand.

I hate the way you type. Your sentences blend together and I can’t always tell where one thought ends and the next starts. When you’re mine, I’ll break you of this habit.

Lucius tries to wiggle his arm away from me, and grumps, “Ack, just leave it. Cleaning it won’t make me any better. It ain’t like the vampire's bite’s what got me sick.” “True, but it’ll make you stink less,” I tell him, biting my tongue to hold back the tears. I’ll mourn him when he’s actually dead. Not a moment before. He barks a laugh that dissolves into a violent coughing fit. I’m terrified for a full minute while he gasps and tries to get a lungful of air. I rush to the kitchen and come back with a glass of room temperature water. “Easy there, old man.” I tease once he’s gotten his breath back and I pat him on the shoulder.