It's dangerous.

It's so damn dangerous. It's fucking life threatening, and still, you're standing there, staring as a man you don't know drains the blood of one you do. You're still watching when he finishes, dropping the body of your friend. You don't know what it is - what's keeping you frozen in place, whether it's the shock of seeing someone murdered (and not just anyone, someone you know - or rather, knew) or some sick, horrible, morbid fascination.

You still have time. You can get away from this creature before it's too late, you tell yourself, hoping to force your legs into movement, but no. Your legs feel like lead. It's fear, you realize. You're terrified. And you're next, a hideous voice in your mind says, and that's what propels you into motion. You stumble back and spin on your heel before you sprint away. It's no use, though. He's before you in an instant, eyes glowing wickedly in the night as you crash right into him. He doesn't budge but you fall back, hitting the tar of the street hard.

You're fucked, you realize as you stare up at him. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. This is the end for you, and every single regret of what you could have done is running through your mind. You wish you could have done something to save your friend - even though you know you wouldn't have been able to. You wish that you'd had to chance to say goodbye, to leave your pet in someone's care, and that you could apologize for the things you're sorry for. The regret and guilt of not doing anything, of not being able to fills you, but you don't have much more than a second before he's scowling at you, fangs bared maliciously as he grabs your collar and yanks you up.

It's stupid, but your first thought when you get a good look at his face is that he's handsome. Annoyingly so, actually, and you think that if all of this wasn't a thing maybe you would've asked for his number. Not that it matters much - he's widening his jaw, ready to sink his teeth into your neck - when you remember a move you'd seen in movies and on TV so many times. You have doubts that it'll work, but just the idea of managing to escape gives you hope you can't squash. You swallow back fear, slamming the heel of your hand into his lower jaw, and it snaps shut hard. You can hear the clacking of his teeth and then he howls, dropping you. You scramble away as he cradles his face, furious. He doesn't come after you, and when you nearly walk into traffic, wide-eyed and pale with blood on your collar, you find yourself staring blankly at a panicked woman not even a minute later as someone nearby calls the police.