Chapter 1 Part 2

Maxwell

I arrive early at the club in anticipation of watching my future bride’s body gradually start to sway to the music. My nerves start to get the best of me when she doesn’t show up at her usual time. From the conversations I intentionally overheard, I’m certain she would be showing up tonight. The once good mood that engulfed me earlier disappears when I realize I’m stuck here surrounded by drunk, conceited people for no reason.

A young woman blocks my view of the door as she places herself right in front of me. A quick lick of her lips would give any normal man the impression of how easily it would be to take advantage of her. However, I’m as far from normal as anything gets. The seductive tone in her voice makes it extremely difficult to keep my irritation to myself. “You look like you could use some company.”

Having no need for her company. I only want Charlie. “No thank you.”

“Come on, handsome, you don’t want a little fun in your night? I’ve seen you here before and you always remain alone…solo in this dark corner looking miserable. I can help you with that. I can give you quite pleasurable company if you let me.” Her fake fingernails scratch down my thigh, intentionally stroking very close to my manhood. The way she bites her bottom lip as if she were in extreme turmoil over my refusal sickens me.

Those bony fingers start to pry at the button of my jeans. A flick of my wrist propels her hand away as if disgusted by it. I wanted to remain a gentleman by being polite in my rejection of her, but her stubbornness is proving to be stronger than the desperateness that radiates off her.  “I’m fine without your company. There are many other men here who would love to have a girl such as yourself flaunted in front of them.”

As if I told her to go whore herself around somewhere else, she straightens her back with a huff and stomps away. The high heels she’s wearing slip from under one foot, causing her to buckle slightly as she spins out of view. I try to keep a smile of satisfaction from finding my face at the awful attempt of trying to make me feel bad for letting someone like her get away, but it’s useless. A sly smirk forms across my mouth from her pitiful attempt.

Finally, an hour and a half later, Charlie enters the unwholesome building. Her thick dark brown hair falls over her shoulders, occasionally blocking her from view as she bobs and weaves through the mass of bodies. Curves I’ve only daydreamed about are accentuated in the short shorts and tight top she decided to wear tonight. What should be sweaty palms grip the leather bench I chose to sit on.

In a room that’s jammed with bodies and louder than necessary, I see only her, I hear only her. The sound of her breathing and pulse are the only things that can come close to calming my anxiousness when in actuality they make what little blood I have lingering in my dead body burn.

Remaining seated in the corner, I can only observe her from afar, patiently waiting until she decides to go to the bar. She always goes to the bar. Grinding teeth and fists that clench and unclench are visible signs of my hatred of this place, of my wait. Thankfully, no other desperate women approach me.

Dishonorable man number one finds his way to Charlie within a matter of minutes. My ears perk up in the effort of listening to the conversation. Invisible shakes of my head due to confusion at the comment about lucky charms for breakfast is the least of my concerns. Unwillingly, my thoughts on how delicious she does look corrupt me. When the second man comes up to her, two sharp points protrude into my lower lip. The possessive creature slumbering inside is finding its way to the surface. Being in a dark secluded corner always works in my benefit.

By the time a third man walks away rubbing his head in confusion from her unexpected rejection of him, my fingernails leave faint red crescent moons in the palms of my hands. Opening and closing my mouth eases the ache that attacks my jaw. The pleasant sound of her disdain toward each of the strangers is like music to my ears. Pride takes over every inch of my body at the thought of my future bride and the confidence that emits off of her. Gratification at being the only one to conquer her untamed behavior, whether she likes it or not, is something I hold onto dearly.

With a quick swipe of my fingers through my hair, excitement comes over me when she finally makes her way to the bar. All I can do is stare at her back, waiting for her to turn around. If my lungs worked, I would be holding my breath with eagerness.

She always starts to her right side and works to the left. I sit to her left; I’m the last and only thing that catches her attention. Like all the other times previously, like the months prior, her deep brown eyes lock on mine. Her spine instantly straightens up. The fear that makes her become tense forces the blood in her veins to quicken.

I put pressure on the soles of my feet as if to test standing up. Nonetheless, I never do. The only thing I do is remain seated, staring her dead in the eyes. Never once have I been the first person to break the connection and I never will be. The jump of her being startled hurts my ego and my heart at the same time. She stares at me in fear, not in awe, unlike most women. Just as quickly as she appeared she quickly disappears, walking away without looking back.

Her friend Juliet downs her liquor and my love takes her time with her soda. It takes much strength to rip my eyes away from her as several more greedy men approach her, but as her body moves up against a select few, fantasies blur my vision. The dancing bodies and awful smell of sweat that fills the air are gone. All that remains is an illusion of her and me, alone. That illusion will become a reality and a simple slap won’t prolong it. One attribute I have that has gotten me in many sticky situations is determination. Sometimes it’s not the best characteristic one can have, but I’ve never regretted it.

By the looks of the men she chooses to keep her company it’s not apparent what type of man she prefers. There’s a mixture of hair color and a range of suntanned skin. However, they’re all tall…much taller than her small five foot frame.

Against my better judgment, when she decides to call it a night, I follow her. Not close, but close enough to keep her in my view. Willpower to stay away from her is fading rapidly, quicker than I hoped. Any logic I have left disappears. Without even realizing it, I find myself standing right behind her as she stands by her car door. There was no intention of me allowing my reflection to be spotted in her window, but as she scans her own image, there’s no missing mine hovering behind.

All I can do is sprint to a secluded spot across the lot to remain out of sight as she spins around horrorstuck. Her eyes wildly scan the area, searching for the prowler…searching for me.

The look of pure fear on her face that stares back at me will never leave my thoughts. Knowing that my other half, my bride who is meant to be by my side for all of eternity, is terrified of me is devastating. She’s all I live for and she fears me before even actually meeting me. From this moment on I know I have to fix this. I have to come clean and explain.

The squeal of her tires as she speeds away breaks my concentration of how I’m going to go about this. Tonight’s going to be the night that tests her mental stability. Tonight she’ll learn that she belongs to someone. Lingering scents of her perfume loiter in my nose and the glisten of the sweat on her tan skin try to replace the image of her petrified expression that’s already planted itself in my brain. Soon those pleasant images will become constant and truthfully, I can’t wait.

Gripping her shoes that she left behind, I arrive at her house before her. My feet begin to pace, wasting time until she arrives. With a few unnecessary deep breaths in efforts to remain composed, I practice my speech. “Charlie, my name is Maxwell Barnett and…and I want you as my vampire bride.” My hands pound at my skull at such absurd words. “What the hell are you thinking?” I argue with myself.

Headlights shine down the empty road, indicating her arrival. I scrunch myself into some nearby brushes to conceal myself. My body doesn’t relay any symptoms that my dead nerves cause, but my mind is racing with possible outcomes. The road ahead is going to be fairly bumpy for the both of us.

Rattling off number after number, I finally approach her house once reaching fifty. All I can do is stare at the door before ringing the doorbell. Once it sounds, the ring is deafening in the silent night. One foot follows the other and before I can stop myself, I’m making small circles on her front porch, waiting for her to answer or waiting for her to ignore me altogether.

Time seems pointless, because for people like me there’s an overabundance of it, but not tonight. I only have three hours before the sun rises. That’s three hours to convince her of the existence of my being. Of the existence of vampires.