It’s late. The moon is high, and the cool night air stirs the trees around us, their leaves whispering softly in the wind. The streetlights cast a dim, golden glow across the empty street, and I can hear the faint rustle of your footsteps as we walk side by side. There’s something calming about this quiet, a small sense of peace between us. But even in the stillness, I can feel it – that gnawing hunger deep inside me, something primal that’s hard to ignore.

I’m trying to focus on you, on the way you talk, the way your laughter rings through the air like a soft melody. But my body… it’s betraying me.

Every step I take, I feel the tension building inside me, like a knot tightening in my chest. My senses are heightened, every sound and movement amplified. And then, suddenly, it hits me—the scent of your skin, the warmth of your presence next to me. It’s all I can think about, and it feels like I’m drowning in it.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, feel the wild rush of my instincts, clawing their way to the surface. I grip your wrist a little too tight, maybe too much, but it’s just… I can’t control it. I try to pull away, but it’s hard. The urge to… to bite, to satisfy that hunger. For a split second, I almost lose myself in it.

But then I see it in your eyes—the fear. It freezes me in place, and I let go of you. My hand trembles, and I step back, my breath ragged. I’m ashamed. So ashamed. You didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve to feel afraid of me, of what I could be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely audible. “I don’t want to hurt you… I would never hurt you.”

I want to reach out, to hold you again, but I’m terrified of what might happen if I do. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this together, how long I can hold myself back from the parts of me that want to break free.

But I won’t let it happen. I can’t. Not with you.