Much like my mortal life, I’ll keep this brief
15
Having told my story this far already, I suppose I’m obligated to provide a little context to it. Don’t worry, much like my mortal life, I’ll keep it short.
My name is Leanne Cowitz—though I don’t hold much reverence for my family name. I was raised by a selfish mother, who never married the man whose name she gave me. It has always seemed strange that I’d keep the name of a man I’d never met when the person who raised me went by another—and yet, I am still the only Cowitz I’ve ever known. My father died before the realm of my memories—a victim of organized crime, so my mother claimed. She spoke of both his life and his death with dissidence, though she herself was guilty of all the things she hated about him. She despised the man, and yet she’d given me his name. She’d always been a hypocrite.
I couldn’t blame her for her actions. Everyone in the city of Creswell was guilty of wrongdoings and lapses in character. It was a city filled with crime and misfortune, and if you didn’t learn to roll with the punches… well, you might get knocked out. That was mostly the fault of the overwhelming mafia influence there. With the Roufe’s chokehold on Creswell’s crime system, and the many greedy factions clawing for their position—including the Fedoravs one town over and the Grioris lurking in Creswell’s gutters—it was impossible to live any sort of life in the city or the surrounding areas without entangling yourself in organized mischief.
I’d always thought it was because of that nobody had ever heard of our flourishing city despite its growing stance in the tech industry and other notable characteristics that otherwise made it a viable hotspot for fame and status in this generation. But, as it turns out, in contrast to what I’d believed my whole life, the mafia wasn’t solely at fault for that. I’d only recently found out there’d always been a heavy concentration of vampires in the tri-city area of Creswell, and it’s thanks to them and their manipulation Creswell has continued to fly under the radar.
Other cities around the world existed with a similar dynamic: places where vampires have convened throughout the ages, some hidden from the outside world like Creswell, and others well-entwined in it like Prague. Vampires thrived through this “underworld” community—sometimes referred to as the underground—where they shared information, resources, and much more. Simply being a part of this community was enough to obtain the kind of knowledge most mortals would think to be unobtainable. However, the cities run by the underground weren’t the only places where you could find immortal communities. Vampires are everywhere—sometimes focused in groups, and sometimes wandering out on their own.
Among this secret society of vampires was a social hierarchy, as well as established governments—referred to as councils. But this is something I still have limited knowledge of. Unfortunately, before a few years ago, I knew nothing of this underworld filled with vampires and fairytale creatures. Back then, I would have never believed if you’d told me that such things were far from mythical. Maybe if I’d known the truth, I’d have seen how big the world truly was and realized the many options mortality offered. Possibly, I never would have dropped out of college to date Johnny Roufe, the current head of the Roufe family. Alas, I was once young and na?ve and could only think small.
At one point in time, before Johnny, I wanted to be a nurse, and despite my upbringing by a sole drug addict who’d overdosed when I was sixteen, I was determined to get an education that could lead me out of that dreadful city. I suppose, somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that dream in the pursuit of the many shiny things that Creswell could offer, and Johnny Roufe did indeed offer me many shiny things in return for my company.
At the time, a relationship with him seemed ideal—like a celebrity picking me out of a crowd and choosing to love me over any of his other devoted fans. Johnny got every woman imaginable, and he could do with her as he pleased. That usually meant he slept with a lot of women, all the while keeping the prettiest one officially on his arm. But I was different, and that made me prideful. Johnny didn’t sleep with other women when he was with me—at least not outright. I was his one and only, which was something he hadn’t shown an interest in having since his first wife many years before me. I was proud, like I’d tamed the untamable, like being Johnny’s one and only was something I could put on my resume—something that could overrule a college degree.
I’d once sought to marry Johnny Roufe.
Looking back on it, that thought is painful in its own right. But at the time, I’d thought I loved him—in a strange, unexplainable kind of way. Yes, Johnny was so much older than I was, and he didn’t have the best looks, even for someone his age. He didn’t have the ability to make my heart race, or the butterflies in my stomach stir, but what he did have was money and power, enough of it to make the idea of sharing it with him a very addicting and alluring prospect. It was enough to make me decide that I could fall in love with a piece of shit like Johnny.
I almost married Johnny Roufe, and that, in hindsight, makes my blood boil.
Though I now can admit I hated Johnny more than I ever loved him—and I absolutely did not regret leaving his ass—there were still times I thought about my old life. I wondered what Jayleen was up to, if she was still working that same shitty job. When I thought about her, it was reflective, but not melancholy. She always was proficient at overcoming the odds; I imagined she was doing just fine.
I often speculated how easily Johnny may have forgotten about me, a consideration I brushed from my mind as soon as it surfaced. More ruminatively, I pondered if his boys ever missed me. Each time, I clung on to the image of them longer than I should. Closing my eyes, I could see all three boys’ happy little faces at the dinner table. I could feel the warmth of their hugs and smell the spiced pinecones that filled the air when they’d gather around me on Christmas morning—the Christmas mornings when they weren’t with their mother, at least.
The reminiscence from those thoughts didn’t sting because I didn’t feel somber as if I missed them, but I still felt something from it, my heart murmuring a little when I thought of them. I couldn’t say I’d cared about those boys, but I couldn’t really say I hadn’t either. My feelings for them were confusing. They were probably the closest thing I’d ever have to sons, and someday I’d probably cherish the three years I’d spent as their makeshift mother. Maybe I was starting to—maybe that’s what the feeling I felt for them was.
Other than those moments, few and far between, I had no reservations left over from leaving my old life behind. In fact, I had nothing but certitude that I’d made the right decision. Nothing could hinder my love for my new life.
Not only had I escaped from a hell I’d made for myself, but I’d been rescued by my very own devilishly handsome knight. Riftan was the hero in my fairytale story, though he adorned sharp fangs instead of the typical weapons of a knight in shining armor.
It’d been almost three years since the day I decided to become a vampire by his hand. Since then, not a moment has passed when I wasn’t thankful to him for giving me this new life. Riftan would always be special to me, and not only for the blood in my veins that we shared, but because of the bond we’d created.
Though he refused to admit that we could ever be anything but companions, Riftan was loving to a fault. He’d always had trouble disconnecting affection from romanticism, which only made me fall head over heels for him—over and over again. Though I shouldn’t have let him lead me on the way he did, I couldn’t help it. His touch was addicting, like it was the only thing I needed to survive, and I didn’t care if it never became more.
Every day provided a new opportunity to get my fix. Out in public, or in the privacy of our condo, Riftan would hold my hand so nonchalantly, interlacing our fingers the way lovers might. Sometimes, he’d cuddle up on the couch with me and play with my hair, twirling it in his fingers before he’d plop his head down on mine. He’d look for any excuse to hold me as close as he possibly could, not caring if it caused both our heartbeats to stir.
We were more than physically affectionate; we were close in so many other ways, too. There wasn’t a part of our lives we didn’t share anymore. We laughed and cried together, even if I was usually the one crying and he was the one laughing about something that was supposed to make me feel better. We ate, traveled, joked, lounged, and lived together.
We were inseparable, and we were both content that way.
In Riftan, I’d found more love and acceptance than I’d ever attained in another relationship, even if we weren’t entwined in a relationship. Not only had I grown to love him, but I’d grown to love myself in new ways, embracing my identity beyond simply enjoying my vampire existence. For the first time in maybe ever, I got to be my most natural self—a refreshing and profound change.
Growing up, I’d strived to fit in, dying my hair, wearing all the jewelry, dressing in fancy clothes, and putting on the confident act that I’d gotten used to adorning—efforts I didn’t regret but recognized weren’t true to me.
While I was adapting to my senses as a newborn vampire, all of my energy was focused on surviving, and any facades of a fancy Creswell girl became the last thing on my mind. Because of that, Riftan had seen me at my worst from the start, which made acting my normal feel like a vast improvement. He’d been the first person to see the real me, and his acceptance of that made it feel like it was okay to shed my self-imposed facade. For the first time, I could breathe freely without the weight of some fake role on my shoulders. Steadily, that act—that girl—was becoming a thing of the past. And back there is exactly where I wanted to leave her.
Even my bleached blonde hair had grown back to its natural gingery red, which I hadn’t sported since before college. Though I’d once despised the red, it now fit my vampiric glow. Luckily, immortality really seemed to speed up hair growth—Riftan’s constantly grew past his ears despite monthly cuts, turning me into a skilled stylist over the last few years. The rapid growth made ditching my blonde easy, avoiding what would have been tedious and frequent bleaching. Riftan”s persistent compliments on my natural color only sealed the deal, and always made my heart ache in the best way.
While our relationship wasn’t traditional, I was thankful to share the little life we’d formed together. I’d take all the aches and beatings Riftan put my heart through. Our time together was priceless, and I wasn’t going to let some unrequited love between us stifle it. I never would truly need more from him, even if sometimes I wanted it. I was happy with him the way we were.
If our time didn’t last forever—if it was given a deadline—I still loved Riftan. I didn’t care if that meant someday suffering a broken heart at his hand—even if it was one that lasted an eternity.