We Won't Give Up On Love [Romance/ Slice-of-Life]

[February 12, 2043]

"Who are you?"

Bridget's voice was harsh and direct, cutting through the silent evening. The woman, who was peering through the fence that led to Otter Manor, jumped up and spun around with a surprised squeak. She was a small, mousy sort of woman, either in her late 30s or early 40s, with shoulder-length dark curly hair that was beginning to gray in a few strands.

"Oh, um, hi!" The woman straightened the curve of her back and held her hands up apologetically in front of her. She was dressed in jeans, a brown turtleneck, and a dark overcoat appropriate for the chilly evening. "I promise I'm not anyone suspicious!"

Strangely enough, Bridget believed the woman, who seemed harmless enough. The woman had tired brown eyes behind a pair of round spectacles, which were glinting slightly in the light of the high moon. She had dark brown skin, smooth for her age, though there were clear dark circles around the eyes and wrinkles created from an apparent lack of sleep. The woman reminded Bridget of the time she and Aina had shadowed Cal during a day at his university (an idea birthed by the princess' boredom) — the strange woman had the same sort of clothes and slightly twitchy energy as many of the professors that Bridget had observed.

However, that didn't change the fact that it was nearly eleven in the evening, long past any appropriate visiting hours. Bridget had already brushed her lady's hair and sent her to bed, and the rest of the house had retired to their rooms over an hour ago. Bridget herself was only outside for the sake of recreation. She had, as she did many nights, decided to take a long walk outdoors to pass the time until dawn. It was rather cold this time of year, but it was peaceful, and Bridget was confident that nobody she could run into would actually put her in any real danger. She was an attendant trained by the finest sword instructors employed by the Cormac royal family, and gifted the ancestral greatsword Honor by the Dornlathe clan, which could be summoned with a thought and was capable of slaying monsters, mortal and immortal. But no sooner had Bridget exited the main gate and begun walking down the outer perimeter of the property than she had run into this unknown person.

All the same, the woman's presence put Bridget slightly on edge for a reason she couldn't adequately explain, and so she repeated her initial question.

"Of course, sorry." The woman blinked and rubbed her nose anxiously. She kept looking over her shoulder like there was something there. "This is Otter Manor, right? I don't have the address wrong? I swear, this city does area codes so inconveniently."

"It is," Bridget said, keeping her tone polite. "I'm sorry, but all the residents have gone to bed already, if you were hoping to meet someone."

"Ah, no, don't worry about that. I'm going to pop in tomorrow, I just wanted to be sure the place is right. In the meantime…" The woman peered at Bridget carefully, then at the uniform the attendant was wearing. "You wouldn't happen to know of any close hotels or hostels open this late? Just anything would be fine. I have-"

The woman pulled out a frayed wallet from the pocket of her overcoat and checked the contents, which appeared to Bridget to be empty, no money or credit cards. "Well, I probably have some money somewhere. Enough always turns up eventually, doesn't it?"

"Um," Bridget was beginning to feel slightly off-guard with the way the conversation was progressing. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't know."

"I suppose I can always find somewhere to sleep under a bridge or awning if it comes down to it, but I try not to do that too often now since that spider laid its egg in my ear-"

"Sorry, ma'am," Bridget said a little more insistently, trying to recapture the woman's attention. "But just one second, can you explain who you are? It's just for safety's sake, since it's a private establishment, after all."

"Yes, that's right, I keep forgetting. There are so many balls in the air." The woman still seemed preoccupied with where she would sleep tonight, but she nodded, as if acknowledging the fact that she kept avoiding the question. "You might have guessed already, but I'm Kalvakuntla Delilah. Just call me Delilah, sweetheart, no 'miss' or anything."

The wind whistled in the empty silence. For a second, Bridget thought that she must know the name because the woman had said it with such confidence, but after racking her brain, she found that it was completely unfamiliar. Apparently, the look on Bridget's face tipped the woman off to this fact, and she raised an eyebrow, suddenly more serious.

"Kalvakuntla Delilah," she repeated, emphasizing the syllables. "Pascal has mentioned me to you, right? Right?"

Bridget froze, not knowing what to say. "Um…"

"That fucking kid!" Delillah's reaction was instant, her face lighting up with frustration, and her hands running frantically through her curly hair. The change from her previously meek demeanor couldn't be more dramatic. "Oh fuck, that fucking… aaaah!"

She let out this last word more as a growl of emotion, then cupped her own cheeks, trying to calm down. "I can't with this child," Delilah muttered, more to herself than to Bridget. "I can't do it. Why did I ever take on his case? I should've just punted him over the fence like a football."

"Ma'am?" said Bridget, approaching cautiously. "Is everything alright?"

Delilah shook her head. "No, it's not, Bridget. But that's not your fault. The person whom I need to talk to about this, however, should be prepared for a long telling off tomorrow." She seemed to realize what she had said. "You are Bridget, aren't you? Bridget Abigail Dornlathe? I could tell from the uniform. I've been in contact with Lord Cormac."

"You have?" Bridget's eyes widened. "He never…"

"Never mentioned me?" Delilah shrugged. "Well, he's not the most open person, but to be fair, it was never a face-to-face thing. He coordinated with my company when arranging accommodations for you and the princess, and when they saw Pascal was already involved, they pushed the whole thing onto me, because I'm his representative. We just talked practical details over the phone and via text — it wasn't very personable."

Delilah hung her head back in a defeated manner, then clicked her tongue. "Pascal has really not said anything about me? Not once?"

"No, Ms. Kalvakuntla."

"Just Delilah, sweetheart." Then Delilah's eyes darkened, and she adjusted her glasses that were sliding down her nose. "That kid will be the death of me. I'll be swinging back around at around four tomorrow, Bridget. From what I know, his classes should be done by then. And don't you dare warn him I'm coming. He'll try to skip town. It's possible you might never see him again, so really, keep your mouth shut. Ahh, and I still need a place to stay tonight."

She began to head off into the night, and Bridget exclaimed a loud sort of noise in order to stop her. She had too many questions, and information was being revealed too fast for her to react. Delilah looked back at this sound, and she seemed to realize that she had put the attendant into a difficult position, but she only shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, I'm dead on my feet, Bridget. Let's touch base tomorrow, I'll be happy to say what I can then."

Then she pointed a finger at Bridget. "And I want to meet everyone else too, if they're there. I need to see firsthand the kind of environment he's been germinating in since everything happened. Adelaide told me that you're all nice girls, but I'll be the final judge on that."

"A-Adelaide?" stuttered Bridget, "you mean his sister?"

"Of course, who else?" Delilah tucked her overcoat around herself, but then seemed to register Bridger's expression. "She visited, didn't she? You didn't know? Jesus, you kids really need to work on your communication skills. It would make my job easier, that's for sure."

Then, with a casual wave of her brown hand, she turned and headed down the street, but then stopped once more. "By the way, have you run into any vampires, Bridget? In truth, that's my primary reason for being here at all. I've been receiving reports of a whole cluster."

Bridget met Delilah's eyes. "Yes, I have."

Delilah's brown eyes were cold behind her rounded spectacles. "Really? Any information where they might be coming from, or hiding out?"

Bridget paused. "No," she replied, truthfully. "I have no idea."

The older woman regarded the younger for a few seconds, then nodded. "As you were, then. Don't let me ruin your evening."

She departed, eventually blending into the glow of the distant streetlamps.

Bridget had been walking absent-mindedly through the evening, her head full of half-baked theories and ideas, when she found herself in a moonlit park. Without being directly conscious of it, Bridget had been walking in the direction of the city center, where the low industrial buildings common around Otter Manor had begun to transform into wide avenues and high-rises, probably offices or apartment buildings. Here, LED billboards were affixed to the building edifices, all several stories tall, casting neon light across the park's grass and thin asphalt paths.

The vampire was there, as if waiting, casually sitting on a wooden bench, sipping a can of some fruity energy drink. She was dressed in the same outfit as before: a dark green raincoat far too large for her, which she wore ridiculously with the buttons wide open, allowing full view of her tight black shirt and skirt, black and torn fishnet stockings, and black chunky boots. Her eyes were pure red, the glint of her smirking teeth sharp, and the color of her skin pale — never kissed by the sun.

"What's up, bootlicker?" Roxy called out to Bridget. "Tortured any orphans for the sake of the great royal house recently?"

Bridget looked up. Lost in thought, she had almost walked past Roxy without even realizing the other woman was there. At first, she considered rising to the provocation, to restart the battle she had begun with this monster back in November, but she found the fire was gone — she was too nonplussed from the prior events of the evening. Besides, Cal would be angry at her if she attacked Roxy, and she didn't want to have another fight with him, as she was sure reclaiming his good graces a second time would be far more difficult than the first.

So, instead of hurling out some insult, Bridget regarded the vampire sullenly and then said only: "Doesn't that belong to Ms. Ellie?"

"Huh?" Roxy's eyes widened, and she looked down at the dark green raincoat she was wearing.

"Yes, I'm sure it's the same one. I saw her wearing it in September — I remember the particular lining."

"Oh, yeah, shit," Roxy made a small snort, and tugged at the water-resistant material. "I did borrow it from her forever ago, and totally forgot about it. Whoops. Well, she has never asked for it back, so finders-keepers, right? Besides, I think she's got a new yellow one, now."

"So you two are friends?" remarked Bridget, dispassionately.

"Eh, good acquaintances at the very least. I've run into a fair number of times at night. And unlike you, I didn't avoid her when I had the chance." Roxy's red eyes were taking on a mocking quality, as if she had heard the defeat in Bridget's question. "Yes, that's right. If we're keeping track, that's two of your cohabitants who are charmed and gracious towards yours truly. I guess your hateful rhetoric is for your own sake."

"That's because they don't know what your kind is capable of," said Bridget, glaring. "They are inexperienced. But you'll reveal what you are soon enough. And then they won't be able to stand the sight of you. They'll join the rest of the world in disgust of you."

Roxy ran a hand through her long white hair, as if trying to style it. "Pot meets kettle. My friend Lizzie is from your world, Maiden of Dornlathe. She came through a rift centuries ago. And she's told me all about the Cormacs and the Dornlathes. The stories are enough to make a person sick." For one instant, Roxy's voice became an animalistic hiss. "A whole society of monsters. Why do you always hold yourself like you're some noble hero? The instincts your masters serve are far uglier than my own."

Bridget didn't respond, the thorned comment had touched a nerve. Instead, she allowed her face to relax, the corner of her lip to curl derisively. "A woman is looking for you."

She got great satisfaction from the fact that Roxy's body immediately tensed, and a hint of nervousness entered her voice. "A woman? What woman?"

"Her name was Ms. Delilah. She was asking me if I had seen some vampires recently."

"And what did you tell her?"

"The truth." Bridget's smirk became slightly larger. "I told her that I've such creatures around, but I could provide no other info."

Roxy's body relaxed, and her voice even seemed jovial — as if congratulating Bridget for a well-done joke. "Not bad, Ms. Prim-and-Proper. You made my balls clench for a moment. Lizzie has been warning us about a woman snooping around recently, one of those types that come around every now and again, hunters, fixers, what have you."

"Who is she?" wondered Bridget aloud.

"Oh," Roxy blinked. "I forgot you're new to this world. People like her aren't so uncommon. I can't tell you anything specific because Lizzie is still digging around for information. But no doubt she represents some organization which doesn't appreciate when things like me get too noisy."

"She knew Cal. She was looking for him," said Bridget, despite herself.

"Did she? She mentioned cutie?" Roxy nodded to herself, as if this was all expected information. "Man, he's just perfect, isn't he? It figures that he would be involved in something convoluted like this with a lot of sketchy characters, yours truly included. Not that it matters too much to me."

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"You were willing to fight me for someone you don't care about?" Bridget said, wiping some raindrops off the back of her hand. "You're quite flexible in your emotions."

"You attacked me first, if you're willing to remember that," Roxy said, tucking the now-empty energy drink can into the depths of her coat. "Besides, I'm in this situation of the love of the game, so to speak. You're right, I'm flexible. I was only there that night because I was restless and I wanted to possess something. Although…"

Her eyes roamed the curve of Bridget's large chest, which was exasperated by her wet uniform. "You know… you're cute too. I guess if you're into uptight chicks. Want to go halvesies? Or better yet, how about we two kiss and make up?"

Bridget took an instinctive step backward, crossing her arms over her chest. "There's no limit to your hedonism, is there?"

"No," remarked Roxy, somewhat dryly. "The denial of pleasure is the denial of self. I can't deny myself when my life is this long. But you're right, maybe it would be best to focus on Cal for a moment, and make things square between us. Yes, that's for the best. I don't want my head cut off if I happen to run into you when you're in a sour mood. Let's talk about our shared lover."

In an instant, Bridget's anger towards this creature returned, and she would have gladly dismembered the monster at that very moment, but she made herself calm down by pinching the end of her nose painfully. "Why do you try to antagonize me?"

Roxy shrugged. "It's a fun but reckless hobby. But I do think we need to get this straight, woman-to-woman. You'll be a little less angry when you hear what I have to say, I hope. But first… What do you think of him?"

Bridget was quiet for an entire minute, staring into the neon reflections dancing in the vibrating puddles of water — it had begun to rain, slightly. Then she said, at last: "I think very highly of him."

"Do you?" Roxy smirked, clicking her tongue. "So we're opposite in this regard."

"You called him good just a moment ago."

"Wrong!" Roxy exclaimed, jutting out a sharp nail, red like her eyes. "I called him perfect. That has nothing to do with goodness."

Bridget took a deep breath to calm the rage building in her head. "Why don't you stop being so performative and just explain what you mean?"

"I mean just that: preformativeness." Roxy's voice was still flippant, but her red eyes were fixed with concentration. "That's why my cutie is perfect. Because he is a performist. He has no ambition, no tenderness, no yearnings, but he shrouds it all within the ceremony of politeness and good behavior. Sincerity gets so boring, doesn't it? Insincerity… when you can't tell what a man is thinking… well, it really gets my juices pumping."

Roxy bared her teeth, imagining acts that stirred her blood. "I like a man with a great capacity for cruelty, but without the egotism that often accompanies those sorts of tiresome personalities. When a man has been scooped clean and is capable of anything, that is what is truly erotic. Did you see him the other night? He had no idea what was going on, but still jumped in front of your blade to protect a monster like me, with absolutely no thought for his own preservation! Oh, what a goddamn lunatic! It was all I could do to prevent myself from pulling off his pants right there. Whoops! There's my reckless hobby again! But it's the truth, all the same."

Bridget was speechless. Finally, she collected herself and muttered: "You're a perverse masochist."

"Guilty as charged." Roxy held up her pale arms in a pantomime gesture, like she was chained to an invisible wall by her wrists. "I savor being spat on, bitten, torn apart, being used up and forgotten. An orgasm is ecstasy because the sensation contains within it a sliver of nonexistence. You get me?"

Roxy scooted a little closer, her hair swaying back and forth in the moonlight. Her eyes were lustful as she gazed at Bridget, not in a manner like she wanted to undress the other women, but like she wanted to bite into her skull. "Come on… you know what I mean. Just a little bit, right? You've seen him, talked with him. That distance in his body, that apathetic sheen that comes into his eyes on occasion — like suddenly he can't stand you but is too polite to withdraw himself. Yeah… you do, behind that primp-and-proper guise. It's okay to admit it to me, I'm as iron-lipped as a therapist. You like it too, don't you?"

"Enough," Bridget snapped. "You speak inappropriately of Mr. Cal. Don't presume to know him as well as I do."

"'Mr. Cal, Mr. Cal!'" Roxy repeated mockingly, a tinge of irritation in her voice. "Like a fucking parrot, all the night long. God, you're obstinate. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, using your decency as an excuse to ignore the reality of the situation."

Bridget could feel her jaw tightening.

"You don't know him as well as I do," she repeated.

"And what do you know?" Roxy raised an eyebrow. "I've got my own theories, but someone as fastidious as yourself ought to know about the guy who is courting her precious princess. Come on, then. Let's compare information."

"Fine," Bridget stated firmly, recentering her mood. There was a strength of feeling contained within her that insisted that this was a rare opportunity to speak with some honesty about the situation. "Fine, you monster. Let's share our notes. We won't get anywhere otherwise. I can't be bothered to talk in circles with you endlessly."

Bridget sighed and sat down on the bench beside Roxy. Roxy looked surprised at this casual movement, but then seemed to internalize that it represented a temporary truce. This made the white-haired girl smile, like she had won some secret victory. "You've been pent up, sister," Roxy giggled. "Fine then. So, when did you notice something was up with that cutie?"

"Almost immediately."

Bridget was not looking at Roxy. She had her head leaned downward, staring pointedly at the asphalt path as she talked, speaking plainly and calmly, like she was reading a receipt from memory — or rather, a series of events she had long internalized and was just now only getting to describe audibly. "The first clue was the resident spirit of our home, Ms. Frost. Mr. Cal could see her and interact with her, which, of course, was impossible from what I knew about humans from this world. The exception would be humans who have already had their material nature altered by some 'supernatural' force. Therefore, Mr. Cal was anything but a normal human."

Bridget closed her eyes for a moment, overcome with the particular form of tiredness that comes from knowing you are not able to ever truly rest. "I wasn't sure about my hypothesis — after all, I was a newcomer to this world and its rules. That doubt didn't last long. About a month after I met Mr. Cal, in the first week of October, Lord Cormac, that is, my lady's grandfather, came for what could be broadly described as a wellness visit. He wanted to see if my lady had broken down from stress or committed some idiotic act — that's likely how he would have explained it in his indelicate manner. I took the opportunity to ask him about Mr. Cal. He confirmed that such an individual was certainly the product of some extraordinary circumstances, and that I should proceed with extreme caution regarding him."

Advice which I ignored, Bridget added silently to herself. I didn't even know why or what I was feeling at the time, not in the way I do now. All I had at that time was an impression, a guttural instinct, that a person like Cal couldn't mean me or Aina any harm.

"This was around the time I completed my background check on all the tenants of Otter Manor for the sake of my lady's safety, with mixed results, using the remarkable digital record-keeping available in this world," Bridget continued. "Ms. Frost claimed that when she was alive to be the child of a certain Albert and Siobhan Frost: wealthy socialites and philanthropists who owned and lived in the property about twenty-five years ago, the parents of the current owner Isaac Frost. Using Ms. Ram's personal computer, I searched for this couple, and indeed, they did exist and were everything Ms. Frost claimed them to be, with a single wrinkle. As far as I could tell, Albert and Siobhan Frost, according to every source I consulted, did not ever have a daughter. I concluded that Ms. Frost was either lying — which seemed very unlikely considering her personality — or something unexpected had occurred, perhaps a spirit confusing memories of someone else for her own."

Bridget took a breath. "Next were Ms. Ram and Ms. Ellie. Both complete mysteries-"

Roxy whistled. "I knew there was something different about that Ellie girl-"

"-both complete mysteries in their own right. I could find no information about them, nor directly confirm anything about the nature of their lives. However, during the last few months, Mr. Cal has more or less brought me up to speed on their various circumstances, as unusual as they are. I followed this up by confiding in them myself, and while they were both rather guarded, they confirmed with me everything that I wanted to know. I evaluated Ms. Ram as not a direct threat by the start of November, and Ms. Ellie only very recently, and then sent those reports back to Lord Cormac, whom I have been in communication with repeatedly."

Bridget paused. "Oh, that last part is a secret from my lady. Lord Cormac prefers a light touch when looking out for her well-being. Don't repeat that, or anything else we're talking about. I will hunt you down properly if you do."

"My, my…" Roxy's tone seemed to indicate she was delighted about something. "I may have underestimated your capacity, Ms. Prim-and-Proper, which is remarkable to say considering our first meeting. You did all this without letting your intentions slip to anyone? I see. You played the role of the kind, dutiful maid, but in reality, you were the most manipulative in your behavior out of anyone. You encouraged an atmosphere of pleasantness while actually using it to maneuver more freely in order to ascertain the threat level of each member of that manor."

When Bridget didn't respond to this accusation immediately, it made Roxy's voice rise to an even higher register in glee. "Alright, then, spill it. What about the cutie? What did you 'ascertain?'"

Bridget winced. "Nothing much. I had to rely on Lord Cormac's resources, as the Internet was not giving me anything useful. At the very least, Mr. Cal is who he says he is. A normal university student. His parents, Henri and Lilianne Bourdet, are both deceased — automobile accident, Lord Cormac showed me the police report — and so he got adopted by the Clermont family, distant relatives. One adoptive older sister, Adelaide Clermont, is six years older. Completed his middle school and high school education remotely online, which I thought was strange, but apparently isn't unheard of for this world in this day and age. Beyond that…"

She raised her hands in defeat. "No anecdotes, no academic awards, no prior friends I could track down… I couldn't even find photos of Mr. Cal after the accident that killed his parents, nor a digital presence — that seems particularly unusual for children of this world. Mr. Cal certainly exists in this world, but finding traces of his active participation proved to be an impossible task."

As much a ghost as Ms. Frost, Bridget thought to herself. He seemed completely uninterested in providing anything about himself to me, as if there was nothing to show. Even his name: Pascal. I had already learned it, and yet pretended not to, because I wanted him to give it to me of his own free will. It was a way to get him to slowly open up. I needed to know who I was dealing with, for my lady's sake… but it wasn't only that… I thought… It was a handsome name that suited him well. That suited his demeanor and way of expressing emotions. That's what I thought… sincerely, even if my reaction when he told me was premeditated. I needed him to trust me… and I also wanted to be friends… That part at least wasn't a pretext.

She blinked, suddenly emotional with the memory. She could hear the exact words that they had exchanged at that time, as if they were being whispered into her ear.

"It's Pascal. My full name is Pascal Clermont. You have to promise not to tell any of the other girls."

"Whatever for? It's a fine name."

'It's a little much for me."

How had he said that last part? Bridget flexed her fingers, trying to recall. It's a little much for me. It hadn't been in an embarrassed tone necessarily, like he had been self-conscious about its aristocratic connotation. It had been more plainly stated, more literal. It was too much for him. Too much to have a full name and surname, to exist as anything beyond simply "Cal." To have his existence acknowledged too directly.

Roxy interrupted Bridget's silent pondering with a pronounced giggle. Bridget watched the other girl practically cackle to herself with a stunned expression, then licked her lips in irritation.

"What?" she stated. "Was there something funny in what I said? Did I miss a joke?"

No, no," Roxy was clutching at her ribcage, regaining her composure, her hands gripping the bone underneath her pale and exposed midriff. "It's just… he's just perfect, you know? A lot of superficial girls dream about a guy who was created especially for them — with no thoughts or feelings or past — just a collection of characteristics that they find convenient to eroticize… but us two… we actually got one, huh?"

The vampire doubled over again, and her laugh rang throughout the empty park.

"Are you actually going to add anything useful?" Bridget asked, after a sufficient amount of time had passed and Roxy had tired herself out.

"What?" The corner of Roxy's mouth was still twitching. "Oh… I can tell you that he's a horrible kisser and a delightful bore and definitely a virgin. Seriously, it was like trying to make out with a dead fish. But that's fine — just a matter of practice. But!-"

Roxy held up a hand as Bridget had begun to move her arm to draw her sword from non-existence. "...But, I can tell you a little bit more regarding his nature. I'm a creature of the night, you know, so I've got an eye for this sort of thing. And that man… has something detestable clinging to him."

Bridget felt her mouth become slightly dry, her anger forgotten for a moment. "What? What do you mean by that?"

Roxy shrugged casually, though her voice was slightly more serious. "I don't know. It's an impression, a gut feeling. There's something just hovering behind him — over him, whatever — a dark shadow that hides itself. I sensed it the first time I saw him… and it made me want him all the more."

Roxy said the last sentence almost dispassionately. Her red eyes seemed a little distracted. "I wonder if that's part of it. Why he didn't seem scared. Because something like that was already part of him. It made me feel comfortable in pursuing him. He didn't seem… breakable."

"And that attracted you?" Bridget said icily.

"I already said to stop pretending like you don't know what I'm talking about," Roxy muttered, kicking the tips of her large boots against the grass. "But yes. It did. A lot of my sisters get a kick out of 'corrupting the innocent' or 'staining a white cloth.' Because of our insatiable nature, we vampires have a tendency to seek contrast — the attractive nature of difference. It's a pretty important principle in a life as long as ours. Eventually, you start seeking contrast for the sake of contrast. Experiencing things… and doing things… not because it gives pleasure, but simply because it's novel."

Roxy narrowed her eyes, thinking hard, like she was having trouble putting into words a long-held thought she had never had the chance to vocalize. "I don't like that urge. I like things and people that are familiar, that I can see myself in. I don't want to drag anybody down into the abyss, I'm not so heartless. But if someone wants to join me there and we can give each other a little comfort… well, that's really not so bad, is it?"

"Mr. Cal… isn't in the abyss," Bridget said roughly.

"Isn't he?"

The vampire then let out a sigh, dragging a nail across her pale throat in a strange sort of expression of feeling. "You won't believe me, but the first time I talked with Cal… I was really trying to save his life. My sisters were circling, and I had to tell them to back off. Then I walked up to him and said plainly that if he kept going the way he was, well, nothing could guarantee his safety…" Roxy grimaced, her expression halfway between amused and annoyed. "He told me off. He wasn't interested. That man wouldn't move a finger to save his own life. Wouldn't even kiss me, the prude. Oh, but he did make me pick up a can that I threw on the ground. Priorities, huh?"

Roxy looked up, noticing for the first time that Bridget was watching her intently, hanging on every word. Then she smiled to herself. "It's a little bit intoxicating: that idea. Trying to save someone whom you know you can't. I bet that appeals a lot to a loyal lapdog like you. Trust me. I understand how it feels."

Bridget stood abruptly, the posture of her body tense with anger, subconsciously adjusting the collar of her uniform. "I've listened to enough. If you're not going to say anything useful, I'm just going to leave."

"Oh? I thought I was giving pretty good advice." Roxy said in a mock hurt tone. "Look, I've got no skin in the game, either way. I don't live with him, I don't know him as he is, day by day. He's just a little treat whose presence I get to sample now and again. I can't feel love, so I only desire lust. I want his tongue and I want his blood, but that's mostly as far as things go. But you, sister-"

"I'm not your sister, monster-"

"But you, sister… If I were you, I would take a step back and focus on protecting that naïve princess you've been bound to. Don't get too invested. And keep her away from him, too, your little lady. I don't think it's worth it for either of you to try to get a guy that stubborn and twisted on the straight-and-narrow. That's my opinion, of course, but I like to think I understand others rather intuitively."

Bridget took a deep breath.

"Yes, that is just your opinion," she said cooly, brushing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "And that opinion is misanthropy. You have given up on indulging your better instincts and now rely on the comfort of the feeling that others ought to do the same."

Roxy didn't say anything for a moment before biting her lip in seemingly sincere irritation. "And here I was trying to show my good side to you, Ms. Prim-and-Proper. Whatever. Don't let me keep you from your nighttime brooding." Roxy's red eyes flashed with strong emotion. "But don't ever get it wrong. You're not in a romance, playing the role of a knight in shining armour. You're just caught up in a farce. Just like me. And from what was said earlier, it'll be a farce soon over."

Roxy showed her sharp teeth, grinning patronizingly. "That's why Cal likes me, you know, even though he can't stand my haughtiness or libido. Why he stood up for me, back then. Because I don't want anything from him, aside from his body. Not honestly, not sincerity, not even a lack of disgust. I take him as he is. And when he leaves, I won't try to stop him."

Bridget seemed quite pale, her fingers constantly tugging at the sleeves of her uniform, like she needed them to keep moving at all times. Finally, the only thing she managed to say was an already-used phrase. "You're a masochist."

Roxy lounged on the bench, stretching out her barely hidden body over the expanse of the seat — arms extended and legs open — allowing the moonlight to catch her pale skin. "Takes one to know one, sister."

Without another word, Bridget spun around in the direction she had come from and vanished into the night.