I Fell In Love With A Girl Who Died Before I Was Even Born

I was just grateful Shion didn't say the name of the theater out loud, because "Paul Reuben's Reels" sounds like a tongue-twister no one wants to be caught dead saying.

But they had $2.00 matinee tickets and absolutely zero shame. So did we.

I didn't call it a date.

She didn't either.

So it wasn't. Right?

Just two people who liked movies. Just two people who weren't above going to a town like Shin'yume and a theater with a name like that.

And maybe—maybe—one of those people overheard the other ranting in Literature Club about how Kill Bill is basically a ballet and The Hateful Eight is just Agatha Christie with more gore and snow.

So naturally, when Reuben's Reels announced a weekend-long Quentin Tarantino marathon, I had a moment of divine stupidity.

I asked her.

And she said yes.

Yuki was off baking cookies with Azuki and Inego or summoning demons or whatever that trio calls "bonding," so it was just us.

Just me and Shion. At noon. At a decaying, single-projector cinema that probably hadn't seen a cleaning rag since the Bubble Economy burst.

I bought the tickets. Neither of us checked what the first film was.
Just that it was going to star one of the baddest men in Hollywood.

She met me in the lobby, emerging from whatever pocket of shadows naturally follows her around. Same long black coat. Hair down. Eyes bored.

"Blondie," she said.

"Hey, Shion."

She grinned, just enough to show the tips of her fangs.

Nice. She was in a good mood.

"You gonna buy a girl some popcorn?" she asked.

That threw me off.

"Uh… what for?" I asked. "You gonna eat any?"

She rolled her eyes like I was the one being weird.

"Not directly, no," she said. Then stepped forward, her expression softening into mock innocence.

"But I was hoping you would. And then…" She grinned wider. Fangs, fully on display. "You know."

I stared at her.

"You're seriously going to suck my blood after I eat the popcorn? And what—imagine you can taste the salt and butter through me?"

She scoffed like I'd just ruined the mood.

"You make it sound awful," she said.

I clenched my hand into a fist. "You're draining my blood, Shion. It is awful."

Then she stepped in, and I tensed. She noticed, grinned.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Another step. Close. Closer.

Close enough to press against me.

And then, casually, she leaned her head on my shoulder.

She looked up at me with that evil little grin and stuck out her tongue like a brat.

"You big baby," she said, and gave me a playful shove. Like it was all a joke. Like I wasn't vibrating on a spiritual level.

I wish I knew why I let her do this to me. Something about her just rewired my brain. I never knew what move to make next. She was always five ahead.

"Come on," she said.

She slid her arm around mine, and I felt myself move without thinking—my arm around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey," she whispered as we walked down the aisle. "You wanna sit in the back row, or what?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Oh come on," she said, voice low, teasing. "I've got the goods… but do you have the guts?"

She grinned.

"It's just me and you."

We weren't even five minutes into sitting down when I saw her casually reach into her purse.

"So," she said, as if we were having the world's most normal conversation. "I asked Azuki if I could borrow a few things for the movie."

That set off about nine internal alarms.

"What kind of things?" I asked, already regretting it.

She smiled. Not sweetly. Not innocently. This was a smile that had intentions.

First, she pulled out a bottle of lotion.

"It's so dry in here," she said. "My skin gets dry."

"You're a vampire," I muttered. "You don't drink water."

She ignored me—because of course she did—and popped the cap, squeezing a little onto her hands and rubbing it in with deliberate slowness. The scent hit a second later: something warm and sugary, like vanilla or almond.

Then she grinned again. "Oh, what's this?"

She reached back into the bag and pulled out a box of tissues.

"In case the movie gets too sad for you," she teased. "I figured you might cry."

Then she bit her lower lip and looked over at me.

And that was when it hit me.

Like a baseball bat wrapped in innuendo.
Lotion.
Tissues.

I froze. I felt my soul leave my body, file a complaint, and float off to go find someone with dignity.

Shion didn't break eye contact.

"Ryu," she purred. "What are you thinking? You're awfully quiet."

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

My brain short-circuited trying to decide whether to explain myself, change the subject, or just hurl myself down the stairs and hope I reincarnated as someone who wasn't currently being dismantled cell by cell by a vampire in a discount theater seat.

She just kept rubbing her hands together.
Nice and slow.
Like she knew.
Like she'd planned this.

Like she was savoring every twitch of panic behind my eyes.

Then I felt it.

Her foot bumped mine.

Okay. Accident. No big deal.

Except… nope.

She kept it there.

She looked down—deliberately—at her combat boot now resting flush against my black Converse All-Stars.

She didn't say anything. Just smiled to herself, like she was checking something off a list.

I cleared my throat. "Is it just me, or are the coming attractions taking a damn long time to come on?"

She cocked an eyebrow like she was giving me one last chance to escape. I didn't take it.

"You wanna know what I noticed?" she asked.

I already knew I was going to regret it.

"…What?"

She leaned in and rested her chin on my shoulder.

It was light. Weightless. But it felt like someone had thrown a gravity blanket over my chest.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. Soft. Teasing. Dangerous.

"We're the only ones here."

My soul tried to file for early retirement.

Then she reached into her purse again—slowly this time, like she was retrieving something precious. Something intimate.

She didn't look at the bag. She looked straight at me.

"Oh my god," she said, suddenly flustered. "I'm so embarrassed."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"I completely forgot to put these on before I left the dorm," she said, shaking her head, her voice full of performative shame. "And I even rode my bike here! I wasn't wearing these!"

She pulled something lacy from her bag.

And for one horrifying second—

OH MY GOD.
Were those—
Were those her panties?!

I stopped breathing. I could feel my ancestors watching me from the afterlife and judging.

Then she turned the fabric in her fingers, and I saw it.

Gloves.

Lacy. Fingerless. Completely ridiculous. Absolutely deliberate.

"Oh well," she said with a shrug, tucking them back into her purse like a magician putting away a loaded pistol.

Then she turned toward me. Full-body turn. Locked eyes.

Her voice dropped low.

"Something tells me," she said, smiling slow and venom-sweet, "I'm not going to need them."

And that smile—

It wasn't a grin. It wasn't a tease.

It was biblical.

She smiled like Eve in the garden. Right after she bit the fruit. Right before she handed it over.