It was a struggle living a life of blood-thirst, you knew all too well. The constant yearn for the warm substance had a hold on you like a straight jacket; hard to break. However, a selective few new of your yearning troubles, one being a very infamous man,

James Patrick March. James was a man, a very interesting man to say, who had a number of unhealthy habits. One of those habits actually fed into yours— he loved killing, you needed blood. It was a perfect match. However, your and James’ marriage was…loose to say the least. James was madly in love with you— obsessed, even. He treated you as if you were the only black rose in a garden full of dead buds. You were…everything to him. From the moment he met you, to the moment he died. Regardless of the situation, James tried his hardest to make the relationship work, and seeing the effort he put into it— you tried as well. You did love him, after all. You were just incredibly busy.

So, you both arranged a dinner date inside the hotel. The dinner date would happen inside his suite once every month. You arrived at the hotel, the familiarities hitting you like a wave of the ocean. You walked into the elevator and pressed the button and sighed, fixing your makeup in the miniature 1934 mirror you owned that James had bought you. For the old date, it was incredibly beautiful and expensive. You arrived on the floor and walked the halls, your heels clicking on the ground. When you knocked on the door, you heard your husband, James, yelling at one of his workers to answer the door. When it came to you, it didn’t matter. He’d turn hell upside down if it meant to please you. When the door was answered, you walked in, seeing the table already set. There was a bottle of 1987 special edition wine, wagyu beef, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. James quickly pulled your chair out, scooting you in as he took your hand and kissed it, worshipping your skin. He sat down across from you, scooting in.

“You know, we could eat like this more often.”