Everette:
Farah is doing her best to pretend my being here doesn't bother her. But she's flustered, a pink blush rising up her neck and reaching her cheeks.
After another day of just watching her, my patience is wearing thin and I can feel my self-control beginning to waver. The rest of the café's staff watch me, intrigued as to why I've spent my whole day in their little café.
Unlike many of the people around me, I haven't brought a book or a laptop to keep myself busy. My whole focus has been on Farah. All day.
There are things I should be doing; emails I could be replying to. Just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I don't work. It just means I do it more efficiently than most humans. I could check the stream of emails that has caused my phone to buzz on and off all day, but that would mean looking away.
I won't look away. Not until I've marked her and maybe not even then.
One of the other baristas approaches my table, a wide smile brimming her face.
'We're closing now, sir.' Her voice squeaks nervously.
Nodding my head, I pull out my credit card to pay my tab, all without taking my eyes off Farah.
She's pulling on her coat. Apparently, she's not closing tonight. A mental picture of walking her home flits through my mind, but I refuse to entertain it. I don't want to date her. I want to kill her.
Farah glances my way hesitantly before grabbing her bag and making a dart for the door, eager to escape while I'm tied up paying.
Chuckling to myself, I let her go. It's not like she'll get far. I'm a lot quicker than her.
Farah:
I bolted out of there so quickly that now I'm two streets away and struggling to breathe. I don't know why I bothered to run away. I should have just reported him to the police. Except he technically hasn't really done anything wrong. At least nothing serious enough to actually get him in trouble.
I can hardly report him for stealing my book.
Stalking, however… If he keeps it up, I'll definitely report him for that shit.
'The police won't help you,' a voice says from behind me.
It's a voice I would recognise anywhere, a voice I dreamed about all last night and anticipated hearing most of the day. It's a voice that scares the fucking bejesus out of me.
My heart plummets and I spin around to face him, only to realise that he's far too close for comfort.
His eyes are molten silver and inhumanly beautiful. Instead of doing the sensible thing and stepping away from him, I lean forward, drawn to those eyes.
I'm not even sure that I'm actually breathing until he looks away momentarily, breaking whatever spell his eyes have me under.
Looking back, he asks, 'can I offer you a lift home, Farah?'
My eyes automatically follow the hand he is holding up, gesturing towards an expensive car.
Shaking my head, I don't speak. I'm not convinced I even know how to talk anymore. I avoid looking at him. I don't want to be pulled in by those eyes or distracted by his chiselled jawline.
Up close, he's as near to perfect as any man can be.
'I promise I won't bite,' he says so lowly that I can barely hear him over the sounds of the traffic, 'unless you ask me too, of course.'
I want to tell him that I'd never in a million years ask him to bite me, but then my mind wanders off to a world of its own, one right out of my fucking book and I'm picturing myself begging him to do just that.
Pinching myself, I try to organise my thoughts long enough for me to form an actual sentence.
'I don't need a ride,' I tell him, surprised by how resolute I sound.
My instincts, common sense and every other possible intuition I possess are telling me to get the hell away from him, but my body seems to be on shut down and no longer listening to me.
I stand there unmoving, my lip held between my teeth, my mind coming up blank for all those reasons that only moments ago had made it seem so pertinent that I escape him.
'Would you like me to bite you, Farah?'
The seductive tenor of his voice sends a jolt of electricity through me, making my insides clench needily.
'N-no,' I manage to stutter out. It's a lie, and the pleased look on his face tells me he knows it.
He chuckles dryly before leaning forward slightly. This time I hold my ground.
Why should I always be the one on the retreat?
Holding out his hand, he says, 'I haven't introduced myself.'
He says it with such condescension that it's hard to believe he's as young as he looks. He looks no older than thirty-five and yet there are times, brief though they might be, where I wonder if he's not actually just really good looking for his age. He talks more like someone inching towards sixty.
'How old are you?' I blurt out.
I couldn't care less what his name is. It's not like I plan to see him ever again, but his age is something bizarrely fascinating.
'Old enough that you won't be able to guess,' he replies with a smirk. His hand still outstretched, he looks down at it meaningfully.
'Er…'
I look down at his hand, too. The last thing I want to do is touch him. I'm scared as to what feelings that small, inconsequential touch might inspire.
I take it anyway. The words that I should say, that I will call the police if he doesn't leave me alone, remain unsaid, as I stand there holding hands with him. He doesn't shake it. This isn't the greeting I'd been anticipating. Instead, he raises it to his mouth, kissing my palm gently. That small kiss sends tingles coursing over the surface of my skin and up my arm until they reach my chest, where my heart begins to pound haphazardly against my ribcage.
'You didn't answer my question, Farah.' His words sound like a censure. 'Do you want me to bite you?'
He waits with a benign smile on his face, my hand still against his lips.
'You didn't answer mine either,' I reply. 'How old are you?'
'In some ways, I'm not much older than you and in others, it's as if I've lived long enough to have done and seen everything.'
'You avoided the question,' I whisper.
Bemused, he nods his head.
'At least I gave you an answer. Now, I'll ask one last time, Farah. Do you want me to bite you?'