Your family hunts monsters.

You've been raised to know what a monster looks like, no matter what kind, from a very young age.

But somehow, you still didn't see the signs.

Your boyfriend, as you've just found out, is a zombie.

How do you know? His blood.

Blackened, coagulated blood. Dripping from the small cut on his soft, cocoa-colored hand.

He had been chopping onions, you right next to him.

And he missed. Cut himself. And black blood came from the wound.

You, the child of monster hunters, is dating a monster.

He's standing there, large, 380 pound frame backed up against the wall out of fear, cradling his hand in his arm. His long, wavy auburn hair is rustling gently as his heavy breathing causes it to rub against the wall.

His russet eyes are wide with fear, and it's obvious that you sure as hell weren't supposed to know.

He's trembling. Shaking like a leaf.

Out of his lips, you hear a soft whisper, shaky as he is.

"...I...I'm sorry...i-if you want me to go, I can-"