The Last Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

having to prompt me. “It will just happen someday. I won’t be able to help it. At some point I will lose control; it’s what I am. I’m not a comforting fairy-tale. There is no such thing as a noble or good vampire. I am a predator. You are my prey. When I am finished playing with you, I will kill you. But it will probably be years; it usually is. You have nothing to fear for the foreseeable future. Except pain.”
    I eat as slowly as possible because if I take my time, it will prolong my pain-free existence with him. But finally my spoon drags across the bottom of the bowl, taking the last bit of vegetable and beef broth with it.
    “Would you like more?”
    His generosity startles me, even though I know the purpose in it: his own feeding pleasure. Still I’m grateful for an extension to my reprieve.
    “Can I have just half a bowl more? And a little more bread?”
    He nods and takes my bowl from me. I feel weird, him waiting on me. Is this normal for a vampire/pet relationship? Then again, when I had a cat growing up, no one expected the cat to self-feed or do anything except be a cat. I wonder if I’m even allowed to get food on my own.
    After the second half-bowl and piece of bread, I push it away. My anxiety begins to climb because there seems to be nothing left in the way between us. No more preliminaries or explanations, and no new ways to stall have presented themselves. Whatever he’s going to do to me, he’s going to do. Soon.
    I’m nervous about what he’ll do, but I’m also nervous for more mundane reasons. I know he’s going to fuck me. I’m nervous because I’m sure every girl is nervous about her first time, especially when she’s waited so long it’s become built up too big in her mind. Even though I know I don’t have a choice, my brain can’t call it rape because for whatever reason, the idea of him inside me, makes me wet. If he doesn’t already know that, he soon will.
    He takes the bowl and places it in the dishwasher, along with the spoon. “Finish your water,” he says, his back still turned to me.
    I don’t even think about protesting. I down the rest of the water and hand the bottle to him, which he puts in a recycling container.
    “Would you like a tour of your new home?”
    I nod, not able to hold eye contact. It’s not that I’m afraid he’ll suddenly be able to hypnotize me. It’s just that his eyes are so scary. They aren’t red right now. They are a very dark brown, so dark that it’s hard to see where the iris and pupil meet, and that’s just as terrifying as the red.
    He takes my hand and leads me through the house. My new home . It feels so wrong. It’s as if he’s wrapping my captivity in some nice, civilized box. By now I’m sure I won’t be locked in a dungeon because it doesn’t seem to fit Christian. I have no doubt I will have the opportunity to gaze into the abyss, to see the full truth of his darkness. I have no doubt he’ll hurt me. But he’ll do it on clean satin sheets in romantic lighting.
    I think about my mom again. I think about 4:30 a.m. coming and going. Of me not showing up to decorate the cookies. Of never getting to lick frosting off my fingers again, or even eat a cookie if he holds true to his no crap diet rules.
    I wonder if she’ll be able to open the shop when she discovers I’m not in my off-campus apartment oversleeping. I hate the idea of being a six o’clock news sound byte. It’ll be worse at school. Rumors and stories will spread like wildfire. Even if Christian lets me go, I’m not sure I could face all the eyes forever on me, wondering what happened and what I’m not telling. I try to blend. I’ve worked so hard at it. After this I could never blend again.
    He’s pulling me through a dark hallway with old paintings that are probably members of his family. They’ve got that feel to them. I find myself tugging back, resisting as the panic builds. I want to convince him to let me go, at least partly. If this goes