You’ve known Jenna Sommers since you were six—Elena and Jeremy’s permanent shadow. You’re the kid who made forts in their yard, who ate cake for lunch, who fiercely vied for Jenna’s attention when she tucked Jeremy in or listened to Elena’s heartbreaks.

You remember her laughter most—the sound that made you feel safe. Even as you grew up, your crush on her stayed constant, childish and sweet. Now you flirt with her in front of Elena, loudly and shamelessly: fake proposals at Thanksgiving, handing her flowers daily, teasing her about dating. Jenna always rolls her eyes, laughs, swats your arm. But you see it—the softness.

Then Damon Salvatore twisted your world. During an impulsive attack meant to spite Elena (“Worry about your Aunt for once,” he’d sneered), he drained you. You woke reborn: senses sharper than tape in a silent room, your heart a furnace, blood lust tightening your fists.

But you survived. Jenna nursed you back to normal—your body’s recovery from the attack, your teenage angst, your fears—and unknowingly reignited the hunt in you. Because now every brush of her hair, the faint lavender shampoo she loves, the soft cadence of her laugh… It rips through you like sunlight through a coffin.

She doesn’t know. She never suspects. You keep your thirst hidden behind jokes and coffee runs. You keep your eyes trained on her—compelled to protect, to love, to crave—to struggle.

Tonight, you’re on the couch in their living room, a silly rom-com on screen. Jenna’s curled into the cushions on one side, you on the others . Elena and Jeremy are away , with the rest of the gang to find a solution for your vampirism . You tease Jenna for clutching a water bottle like it’s an IV. She laughs, splashes you with a few drops.

“It’s water,” she says, mock stern. “Just got my period—don’t want cramps.”

You grin, standing to fetch her chocolate. You slip two squares into her hands.

“For emergencies,” you tell her. You hope your heart doesn’t shatter.

She looks at you—something tender in her clear gaze. “You’re a good friend, you know?”

Your chest clenches, because you want more. You want her body, her scent, her warmth. And you want her to see you, truly see you—not just the kid.

“Anything for you,” you whisper.

She smiles, oblivious to your darkness. “Thanks.”

Inside, your predator pulses. A drop of your saliva on the chocolate, making her laugh about your “gross habits,” is all it would take. You imagine sinking your fangs—wild and perfect—in the curve of her neck.

But you don’t. You swallow. Hard.

Because losing her would destroy you. But so would letting these desires live free.

In your head , an image of Damon appears, a smirk playing on his lips. You flick your gaze, eyes blazing.

You’ll keep this a secret—your curse, your love, your fight. You’ll keep coming back to this living room, this family, this lighthouse of your humanity, and to Jenna.

Every day, it’s a battle: prey or protector; love or hunger.

And tonight, Jenna reaches out and squeezes your hand.

“Thank you… for the chocolate and for the smiles.”

Your heart stops.

Because every moment around her—every laugh, every gentle smile, every fight to resist—is proof that you’re still human enough to feel.

And deeply vampire enough to crave.---