*skate

The New York vampire murders hound my thoughts. I can't get over Lord Iverson's Millenium Being theory, especially when I think of one species. Most people believe Strigoi's arch enemies are wolves; they could not be more wrong. Of supposed superior intelligence, elves are bagpipers and snake charmers who have one dancing to their tune. It took me half a century to understand their wit only served their wrongdoing. Without a visible vice, most species trusted them while we bloodsuckers and the flesh-eating wolves were disapproved. If there is a species that should remain extinct, it's theirs.

Yes, throw your stakes. I never said I vowed to be holy.

Thoughts fade like cigarette vipers as I return my focus to the living and untangible Inna. This woman captivates me. Some would say it's attraction, and the answer is yes. If you asked me why a few weeks ago, I would have told you her blood reeled me to her. Right now, I'm not sure if it's her hemoglobin holding me.

Lots of elements remain a blur concerning Inna.

I've been taking mental notes, and now it's a jigsaw puzzle of her personality.

At work, she plays refined bourgeois to cater to her customers. One would think she has seen and done it all. When outside, Inna is this country bumpkin who has never seen how the grass grows outside of the state.

As I watch her skate, she resembles a kid with all the innocence and the carelessness known to man.

I do not know how she convinced me to accompany her. Actually, she did not need to ask. I would have tagged along without much struggle. Lately, like a dog, I wag my tail and follow my master's sweet scent around.

The council members would probably choke on a few gallons of expired blood if they saw their monarch run after a mortal. None would smile; the elders would strip all titles and scatter me across the seven seas.

It's not that vampires do not get intimate with humans. On the contrary, but for a First and Royal, it's considered a weakness to have any affection towards humans stepping out of the boundaries of viewing them as food, beverage, or eventual followers.

I do not see Inna or any other human that way. As long as I can live without harming them, I put them on the same foot of equality. To think humans are vulnerable by their mortality is an absurdity.

The human's ephemeral nature is something I have come to envy with time, and I guess I shall never say it enough while the longing lingers. To have so much time at hand can make one lose their mind. Also, there is nothing more terrible than watching your loved one die while you stay behind. I have had human friends in the past, and it saddened me to see them pass away.

Their lives are so fragile, yet they live it to the fullest like Inna now.

Oh, no, my eyelids close to avoid seeing the impact as Inna falls.

Within a second, I am at her side. Of course, she had to wear jeans with rips at the knees, and that's where she bleeds.

Something in my mind knocks like a heartbeat, and I feel the rush of blood and the build-up of saliva as my teeth tickle and threaten to pierce the gum. I bite my bottom lip to refrain myself as the smell of her blood floats in the air like a freshly baked cake put outside to cool.

The aura of the few Seconds in the skate park grows strong as the blood draws them to where we are, but they run off when they see me. It's in moments like this that my status comes in handy.

I cannot speak, or touch her, and I realize I am just making a fuss with my hands without really helping her like a Looney Tune.

"Hey, Søren, it's okay, it's only a little scratch. Trust me; this body has seen worse," Inna says as she tries to get up.

I take a handkerchief. It's only when I stretch my hand out that I realize what I'm doing, and once again, I can not do anything to help or relieve her.

"Sørㅡ," Inna frowns, and I understand she expected my intervention and touch.

Instead, I hand her the handkerchief and stand up. Inna's bewildered stare is beyond any polite commentary. She wipes the blood and gets up, "I'll wash your hanky and give it back to you."

If I could speak, I would reply, no worries, give it to me stained. I'll keep it and suck on it as if it were a dummy. Then Inna would run for her life while screaming, help, there's a psychopath after me.

"I think I should go home," she says and signs. Her hand gestures are sharp, and I can't help thinking I offended her somehow.

"Ok-ei."

She puts on her backpack and straps her skateboard on it quicker than one can charge a riffle.

"See you around, Søren."

Inna leaves me stranded in the middle of the skatepark. This odd sensation of regret bethrows me as though I went on a first date that went wrong.

Despite this, I follow her. Inna is injured, which makes her an easy target and a charming bite-sized snack.

She walks fast, stops, and mutters, "you fool, Inna."

I'm twenty-three meters away, which is nothing for my hyper-sensitive ears. Like bats, my ears cover a thirty-meter radar when accompanied by my caldron; the range is extended to miles as they relay the sounds to me like antennas. Inna picks up her steps only to stop again, "arrgh, stop thinking of him."

Who on earth is she talking about?

I hope it's not Jesus.

No, Inna, he does not deserve your pure sentiments. My brother is trash, I tell you. Jesus's face pops up in my mind like one of those silly memes. Gosh, I hate him. Just knowing he is on Inna's mind makes me want to send a few of my bats to pee on his head. And I would do it if I did not fear Tarnish would gobble them up.

Half an hour later, petty me shuts the door to my fridge and faces Mephisto.

"What is it, boss?"

I want to know how to skate, can you teach me?

"Skate? You mean like on ice?"

No, I mean like Inna on rollers and skateboards.

My desire to connect with Inna has kept growing since I've met her; she escapes her worldly troubles through her street art and runs free on her skateboard.

The fact that her mind is inaccessible accentuates this desire. She seems so balanced. Still, I feel she hides something, or Inna has some issue.

There are the pricks; I thought it was a one-off situation where she accidentally pricked herself, but sometimes she has a multitude of them with deeper cuts on different fingers. I do not want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like OCD. I prefer to think it's that than a genuine will to harm herself.

Even so, I can not stay away; it's funny how the untouchable is compelling.

Her pendant repels me. It doesn't allow one to lay a finger on her or even breathe a few inches from her neck. The phenomenon is something else. It's as though she has an invisible barrier, not the round bubble type but one that envelops her body and pushes away any unearthly contact.

Inna likes food, outdoor activities, music. I wish to do these things with her and act like an average guy when I'm around her. Above all, I want to express myself with audible words.

"Okay, boss, I got you. You want to bag this girl who has zero interest in you. The living x dead romance novel might trend soon. I can help with the activities. As for your speech, perhaps you should see a specialist."

Did you hear?

Mephisto nods.

Did I expel thoughts out loud?

He nods once more and lifts his hands in a halt motion, "boss, calm down. I swear, I didn't mean to listen. The thoughts were flowing out like Drake's Fountain. Please, boss, I genuinely love my limbs. I can't make them grow back like strigoi.

Poor kid, it must be stressful to live in the constant fear of being ripped to pieces by your insecure vampire Prince employer.

Mephisto is helpful, especially when he has all his body parts.

I take out a pot of ben&Jerry's cookies'N'dough add ten spoons of sugar. Hmm, that is not enough. I count five more tablespoons of sugar and begin to munch my way through like someone in a breakup phase.

I've seen the trend in many movies for the last few decades. So I guess it's a typical human thing to do when sad and flustered.

"Do you want some caramel on that, boss?"

Bring it on, and Mephisto.

"Yes, boss."

Call me Søren.

"Yes, boss."

"Arghh, that kid."