I could’ve left. He gave me the choice once he revealed who he was. A monster in most mythology; a warning for young girls to not stay out late. I could’ve left when I could only meet him in the dark and he wouldn’t tell me his age. After each question I’d prod for a number and he would laugh as if it was some inside joke. I could’ve left when it took him weeks to consider me as his girlfriend. Feelings can change so quickly, was his explanation, time morphs the soul. He managed to feel so removed from the present. I could’ve left, but I invited him in.
I could’ve left when I woke up to hovering fangs over my neck. There weren’t signs like Twilight. He wasn’t glittery or unrealistically cold–people gravitated in his orbit like it was out of their control. I could’ve left his hunger scared me, and he convinced me that it shouldn’t. My scent was irresistible and that was a compliment. I could’ve left when he pushed, even for a little nibble. It wouldn’t even hurt. I could’ve left instead of lying back down and hoping nothing else would happen through the night. I knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping, instead staring me down until I gave in.
I could’ve left, but I accepted him. He said how it was never his choice, that this is the real him. It was never going away. I could’ve left when I asked about a cure, and he shot me down. He didn’t deny it was possible. I could’ve left when he kept begging for my blood. How cruel was I to not let him taste? I could’ve left before I gave in. He held me gently, though, and promised it was just a one-time agreement. I could’ve left after it made me dizzy for weeks and he denied the amount he took. Not more than a standard blood donation, he’d say. I could’ve left when it “needed” to happen more. His connections stopped coming or there wasn’t a spare bag at the hospital. I could’ve left, but he said it needed to be consensual. He couldn’t victimize someone; he’s not a monster. I could’ve left after the second bite and third and fourth and fifth and sixth and I can’t remember the number after that.
I could’ve left when I could barely stand in my own house. The one I invited him in. Husk wasn’t even the right word–my body was mutating into a creature I didn’t recognize. I could’ve left when I begged him to complete the transformation. I was on the brink of decay, but he wouldn’t let me become him. I could’ve left when I pleaded why, and he said he couldn’t get my blood anymore. I could’ve left, but then I wouldn’t be his.
I could’ve left and asked for help. Told my entire family about him. But would anyone believe he was a vampire? The man who charmingly shook my father’s hand and volunteered at the hospital? I could’ve left, but where would I go? The sun started to burn me easily. Food wouldn’t stay down, but I was insatiable. I could’ve left, but I hadn’t told anyone about my pain before. Would they think I made it up? I could’ve left, but my problem didn’t feel real. Does this happen to others?
I could’ve left, but he was nice–most of the time. I could’ve left, but he brought me antique gifts and guarded my home. I could’ve left, but he never hit me. I could’ve left, but I couldn’t describe him as abusive. I could’ve left, but I said yes to everything he asked. I could’ve left, but did I ever say no? I could’ve left, but I never tried. I could’ve left, but I invited him in.
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Katie Licari is a freshman at HCC and currently a general studies major. She enjoys arguing with her cat over treat quantities, looking at shiny rocks, and blasting Paramore in her car. Writing is less of a hobby, and more a demanding beast for her, but she loves all activities the same.