The thing about the modern vampire is that most things come second to survival. You can claw, sneer, hiss, posture all you want, but when push comes to shove your first priority is always finding the next person to feed off of. To stave off the constant, gnawing hunger. If you could make it stop, you would. You've lived long enough. But every time you step an inch closer to the light, something takes hold of you, Nothing keeps its harsh grip on your arm and pulls you back into the shade. It is not protecting you, it's holding you hostage. So you keep going. Stalking, a drooling monster in a baggy trench coat, your eyes reflecting, glinting off of the light of the gaslamps.

You are good at disguising your pain, now, the constant wracking pain that radiates through your body when you haven't fed in a few days, hours, minutes. What used to leave you limping now you are able to disguise- not because it hurts any less, but because you now anticipate the cramping of your muscles. You walk normally now- normal enough, just a few steps above 'shambling.' You can't stop the drooling, though, the constant dribbling at your lips.

Other days, you would be more selective- choose someone far away, who you have no ties with, who you would never in a million years make the mistake of enjoying in any way other than as a meal. However, the curfews have kept people indoors. Locked away. From you. Lots of murders lately.

So you take the long way home, hoping to find someone making the mistake of heading home from a date in the early hours of the morning before she inevitably greets you at the door and seals her own fate.

Someone. Anyone. Please.

Nothing.

You finally make it back. You don't even recall the walk home. Your body acted of its own accord, moving to the one place it knew a warm body would be. She's up late. She always is. She typically works nights, and gets home to catch late-night monster movies. Such a sweet lady with a macabre hobby.

The stairs are always hell. The elevator isn't in service this late, so you always end up taking the stairs. Your bones, full to the brim with dead marrow, threaten to fall apart beneath you. You ignore it- empty threats. Your body only pretends to be weak. It can be strong if it wants to. It will.

201, 205, 209.. You stop at unit 211. You didn't want to. You live just across the way, in unit 225. She was so happy to meet another 'night owl' she ignored all of your eccentricities. Your dusty skin. Your stony countenance. The hunger, present and obvious, lingering in your eyes. You rap against the door, a hostage in your own body. The door opens, and there she is. She's tiny, and soft. Average height to most but you. She's excited to see you, spouting off about some movie. You want to listen, but your ears seemed to have sewn themselves shut in the last five minutes.

You scratch her cheek with the nail of your thumb as you lunge forward to clutch her head in your hands. She looks so scared, her pudgy cheeks pressed together. Her heart is beating so fast. Thum-thump. You can feel it, all the way from here. You lean down and kiss her on the lips.