Outside the air was cooler than I had expected. The brisk chill tickled the skin beneath my nose and my cheeks flushed pink. Part of me wanted to go back into the house, breaking every promise I made to myself, but I forced my legs to move forward. Eventually, someone would notice I was missing, and I had to make sure I wasn’t found. Covering the ground was a thick layer of frost-tipped green, blanketing the Earth.

                For the first time in my life, I finally understood the value of shoes. The grey bumpy ground scratched the bottoms of my feet, leaving them raw and bleeding. The wind went right through my thin, tattered grey dress sending shivers down my spine, and I was led by the condensation of my breath.

                As I walked farther and farther form the Grigorovs the brown trunks thinned, and all around me were tall, looming structures built in orderly lines. Some with lights peeking through the transparent glass paneling, others dark. They always talked about these things in books- houses I think. Although, I always assumed that they were all identical.

                None of these houses had the uninviting stature created by the rich, almost black plum siding and pointed windows of the Grigorov house. And these houses werent nestled lonely in the woods. Despite their lack of size and extravagant decorations, I almost wished I had lived in one of these instead.

                I wasn’t sure where exactly I was going, and how to find the Vampiresses, but nonetheless, I continued to walk, euphoric with freedom; finally getting to see the reality I had dreamed of for so long.

~***~

                The bright ball in the sky began to sink into the globe. From all the stories I had read I was almost disappointed that the chariot of Apollo was unseen dragging it into the earth. Darkness began to set around the building.

                I had traveled from the organized lined houses and into a busier area full of smaller buildings with people purchasing various goods. I had always wanted to go into a shop. I chose a door that looked pretty. A little gold bell jingled above, signaling my arrival, startling me. No one else seemed bothered, so I figured this bell was just a customary aspect of shops that didn’t make it in the books. A sweet, rich armoma wafted through the room, delighting my nose with a perfume unlike anything I had ever smelled.

                Round polished tables lined the side of the room, paired with matching leather chairs. In the center was a pair of twin loveseats with a low brown table in between. A few of the seats were occupied with happy looking people. Most of them had cups of steaming brown liquid, giving of the sweet smell, and tiny plates with decadent looking sweets. Only once had I been able to taste one of the sweets. Miss Anastasiya had smuggled me a croissant from the kitchen. She siad it was a present for listening to her vent about her uncultured traditional family.

                Towards the back, there was a counter where people were collecting their food in exchange for little plastic cards or green rectangles of paper. The little machine dinged as each person moved through the line

                I sauntered to the side of the room, humming as I went, a habit I had formed long ago to blanket the distant screams and mind-numbing silence.

                I sat down on a plush brown cushioned chair, happy to give my feet a rest. I was giddy with delight, I never thought a chair would be so comfortable. Scanning the room once more, my eyes paused on a hanging sign reading “Starbucks” positioned so it was hanging above the counter.

                My body tensed, becoming aware of another person’s hand on top of me. I shifted my eyes to look at the owner of the hand, pulling my own away. Fear that master Grigorov had found me crept into my consciousness, exploding my pulse through my veins. Breath heavy with worry, my eyes found another set glimmering blue eyes staring back a mine. I exhaled, my paranoia replaced with confusion. Whenever I read about blue eyes in books, I never imagined them as beautiful as this. The Grigorovs all had muddy brown eyes rimmed in gold that blazed through the dull lighting of my old room. And I was never given a mirror to know what mine looked like. I was almost disappointed that for my whole life I was deprived of such beautiful gems. I supposed I could add those to the list of things I missed out on in my first seventeen years of life.

                The more I looked at him, the more I lost myself in his chiseled features and curled brown hair that perfectly looped around his ears.

                “Hi”, I almost jumped out of my seat when he spoke. I was too nervous to utter out anything other than a weak smile.

                “I’m Easton”

                “Easton” I mumbled back.

                “What’s your name” Even his voice was perfect.

                The Grigorovs had always called me Rossvita; Rose in Bulgarian. Miss Vallista always said it was because I could easily be crumpled like I was a fragile petal. I had never seen a rose, but I always assumed they were beautiful based of their descriptions in books.

                “Rossvita’ I hoped the Bulgarian wouldn’t sound too foreign.

                “Wow… any nicknames” Apparently it was.

                I didn’t respond. I had read about nicknames in books, but I didn’t know one for myself.

                “You sing right.

                He must have heard me humming. I shook my head yes, my mouth still pinned shut, pressed in a striaght line, afraid to say the wrong thing.

                “I’ll call you Melody.” I didn’t know how or if it related to music, but I like how the consonants rolled effortlessly of the tongue, almost as if the name was meant to be set to music.

                “I like that.”

                “Good, cause Rossivta isn’t going to work for me,” he laughed, “Do you want any coffee?”

                “I’ve never had coffee before.”

                “You’ve never had coffee!” His face lit up and his blue eyes widened to the size of large grapes, almost buldging out of his head.  It seemed coffee was yet another thing my secluded life had deprived me of. “I’ll be right back.”

                Easton turned, shuffling back to the winding line of eager people. I sat, twisting my hands together trying to wrap my head around it all. Somehow in the past six hours, I had escaped the hell house I had been trapped in for the past seventeen years, wondered my way to some random town, and met a complete stranger- Easton, who I might possibly be on a date with currently.

                Perhaps this was all some sort of fantastical dream, and I would wake up in the morning to Miss Anastasiyas delicate fingers shaking me awake if I was lucky. If I wasn’t, it would just be Mrs. Grigorov  banging on the creaky, splintering wooden door until I got up.

                Easton returned with two steaming grey mugs in his hand filled with the same creamy brown liquid the other people sipped.

                “I wasn’t sure which one you would like more… so caramel machioto or peppermint mocha.”

                Neither of the two words sounded familiar. “Peppermint mocha,” I replied, picking the one that sounded the most appealing, and that I thought I could eastily pronounce. He handed me the cup and upon bringing the warm ceramic mug to my lips, I was overwhelmed with a flavor I had never before experienced.

                The coffee was rich and had a depth, unlike the mush the Grigorovs passed of as ample food. It tasted sweet, just like its aroma, and its heat tingled as it passed over the tip of my tongue warming my frozen insides.

                “So…?”

                I looked up from the mug. “This is the best thing have ever tasted,” I sighed breathing in all the beautifulness the coffee essence provided.

                Easton laughed and took the seat next to mine.

                “So, I have a lot of questions, but I guess I’ll start with an easy one. Where are you from?”

                I almost spit my coffee back into the cup. I swallowed deeply trying to come up with a believable story as the liquid burned my throat.

                “Well, I lived in the same house my whole life, so I decided I needed to experience more of the world. I read- a lot, and I got tired of reading other people’s adventures so I set out to make my own.”

                “I love that. I’ve lived here my whole life to. Although I'm sure we can find some sort of adventure here in Kettlebrooke.”

                “Anythings better than my old house.”

                “Where was it; your old town.”

                “I didn’t really have a town. My old house was situated up against acres of woods, no one else for miles. The only people I saw regularly was… my family.” The words family got stuck in my throat, tugging on my throat. It hurt to refer to the Grigorovs as a family. They so far formed it. But then again, it was very possible my own family lived trapped in those same walls too.

                “Did you have a farm there? Or did your family just like peace and quiet.”

                “No, no farm. I guess my family just liked to keep to themselves. They never had the need to get out and meet new people.”

                “Well, even so, I’d like to meet them someday. It sounds like they’re pretty interesting.”

                Interesting was not the word would describe them as. Ruthless or blood-thirsty would be more fitting. But I didn’t say that out loud.

                “I don’t think I'll ever go back. I didn’t even tell them I was leaving.”

                “So you snuck out” I shook my head. “Hence the grey nightgown; which by the way I don’t know how you aren't frostbitten by now.”

                “Yea.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. This grey nightgown was the only thing I owned at the moment. But I couldn’t tell him that.

                “Do you have a place to stay.”

                I had thought about where I would go when I escaped. Anastasiya had always talked about the Vampiresses, a group of vampires fully against using humans as a source for blood. Instead, they drank only from animals and used techniques so not the hurt them. Sometimes they would take in slaves that had either escaped or been abandon by their family, left to die. The other Grigorovs always mocked the group, so Anastasiya never told them she wanted to join them when she got older.

                Anastayia have to cross that bridge soon though. Eventually, she would be married off and sent to live in another secluded mansion with another family. It always amazed me how social vampires could be. They only met once a year at a huge gala where they would plan courtships to “extend the legacy.”

                “I haven't thought about it yet. I guess I was just so eager to get.” Obviously, I couldn’t tell him about the vampiresses. Even with my little life experience, I knew that vampires were unknown to the “Ordinary” world.

                “You can stay with me.” I didn’t answer right way. “I mean I understand if you don’t want to, seeing as you just met me and all”

                “Ummm… well, I guess I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

                “Did you bring anything else with you?”

                “No, just me.’

                His lips drew across his face forming a line. “Okay then.” I couldn’t tell if he regretted his decision or not, suddenly realizing that I was more clueless than I was letting on.

                We finished the rests of our coffee and went back to his house. Which was actually called, as he said it, an apartment. 

                “How old are you?” I asked trying to determine if he was old enough to live on his own, or if his family lived in this small space with him.

                “Seventeen.”

                “And you live all by yourself?”

                “No, I live with my older brother; he’s 21. He’s at work right now though. He’ll be home later.”

                “What about your parents. Do they live with you too.”

                “They died when I was six.”

                “Oh, I’m sorry. I never really knew my parents either.” That was possibly the most truthful thing I had told Easton so far.

                “I thought you lived with them.”

                I realized my story hadn't aligned. “I do- but they never really talked to me. My sister was the one who really raised me, her and the characters in books.” That part was true enough. Anastasiya had pretty much been a sister to me and books taught me more than all of the Grigorovs combined.

                “Oh, I see.”

                Easton’s brother came home soon after. His name was Donovan, and he had the same light blue eyes as Easton, except his hair cut short, barely falling around his face.

                Our introduction was brief, and I mostly listened to the brother’s conversation during dinner. We ate ramen noodles which were apparently unimpressive in the real world because Easton prefaced them by saying, “I’m sorry this is all we’ve got, the budget’s tight” before he gave them to me.

                But just like the coffee, the noodles were far better to anything I had eaten up until now.

                Easton and Donovan ate their meals quickly and then remained at the table talking about their days. This appeared to be a thing they did often, if not every day. I, on the other hand, savored every last bite of my delicious noodles and slowly sipped on the yellowish liquid left behind.

                By the time we finished the glowing ball that illuminated the world from above had disappeared and was replaced by the glowing circle of Artemis, surroundnded by tiny dancers keeping her company. Donovan pulled the curtains closed, further darkening the room.

                “You can take the bed,” Easton offered. “I’ll take the couch.”

                Donovan nodded his head in agreement. “Thank you”, I muttered.

                “Let me get you something else to wear, it gets cold at night.”

                Easton left the room, returning moments later carrying a pair of grey pants and an oversized black shirt reading Ketterbrooke High School, in red letter across the chest. “The bathroom is the first door on the right if you want to change.” He explained motioning to the hallway.

                I slipped passed him clothes in hand. The bathroom had pale orange walls and fluffy grey towels. Compared to the one I had at the Grigorov’s this one was fit for a god. This toilet was sturdy almond colored porcelain that didn’t give way when you sat on it like the dull, metal one I was used to. The sink ran steadily with clean, clear water, not a yellowing trickle that let of a foul odor; and the shower was clean and free from spiders. 

                After shimmying out of my tattered grey dress, I slipped on the grey pants first. I was pleasantly surprised that the inside was lined with a fuzzy, warm fleece and the legs went all the way to my ankles. The Grigorovs believed that all females should wear dresses: as they deemed it improper for a lady to wear pants. However, now that I had tried a pair on for the first time, I acquired a newfound appreciation and confusion as to why the Grigorovs lived by that standard. These pants were quite possibly my new favorite thing in the “real” world, their only competitor being the coffee.  The black shirt with the full-length sleeves was also pretty splendid.

                I returned to the main room, with my grey dress draped over my elbow.  Donovan and Easton had already tucked blankets across the brown couches.

                “Your back, I was beginning to think you had fallen in,” Easton said with a laugh. Fallen where? Donovan smiled behind him too. I smiled confused, unsure of what he had meant. I hoped they couldn’t sense my insolence in regards to the joke, I had to seem as ordinary as possible.

                “Here I’ll show you where my room is.” I followed Easton down the hallway and past the bathroom. The chestnut colored door at the end of the hall led to his room. Inside the walls were painted a light almondy beige, and it was organized in a way that was also messy. A bed sat pressed against the far wall, and a dresser and desk sat flush on the right. On the left side, two doors led to a closet.

                “Donovan’s next door and I’ll be on the couch if you need me. Oh and the light switch is by the bed, I know it’s a weird spot.”

                “Thank you again. It means a lot, letting me stay here and all.”

                “Of course I couldn’t let you sleep on the streets” And with that Easton left the room, leaving me alone.

                I sat on the bed for a few minutes. Surprisingly, the mattress was actually cushioned and not just a sack of hay like the one the Grigorovs graciously provided. I looked on the walls and the small table beside the bed looking for a light switch. I never had one of them in my room at the Grigorovs. But I guess that had been more of a holding cell. There, my room was light by a large candle chandelier and smaller candles dotted about the room.

                I was unsure if the rest of the Grigorov house was lit that way, but here in the “real” world candles seemed to lack popularity. The place called Starbucks was lit by large squares embedded in the ceiling and Easton’s apartment had these small spheres nestled into cones scattered about.

                On the wall, I found this strange grey colored rectangle with a knob pocking out of it. I pushed it down, and the room suddenly went black. I had probably just found the light switch.  I climbed into the bed, under the excess of blankets piled on top of me. Back at the Grigorov’s, I was only given a thin, worn stained sheet. I was used to the shivers that came in the night. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would come.

                I stayed awake for what felt like hours. Eventually, my restlessness got the best of me and I crept out of bed. Down the hall, I could hear the heavy breathing of Donovan from as I passed his door. Peeking, through the crack, he was lying cuddled in bed.  The glowing screen on the wall was still playing. Continuing through the hall, I stopped in front of the couch that Easton was sleeping on, lowering down to sit beside it.

                His face, a tangled mess of shadows projected from the tiny dancers in the sky. I watched as the air passed through his nose and his chest rose and fell. From what I read in books, I felt like I was supposed to like him, which theoretically would have to turn into love. But, I didn’t feel anything for him. The felling I felt in the coffee shop had worn off. It was probalbly just exctment about meeting someone for the first time.

                It was possible that maybe we could be friends. But still he would never know about my past; I could never tell him. I wondered how we could be close friends if he never knew my deepest darkest secret that defined who I was. Despite my terrible hate for the Grigorovs, I owed everything them everyhting I was and who I would eventually become.

                His blue eyes fluttered open, startled by my presence. It took him a moment to recognize me.

                “Melody”, he croaked. “Why are you awake.”

                “Couldn’t sleep,” I shrugged. That was possibly the first thing I told him that was true.

                “Would it make it better I was there with you?”

                My heart contorted into a knot. The books had taught me long ago of what would come next.

                “’Maybe you could just sleep in the room. On the floor maybe.”

                He nodded and bundled up his blankets from the couch, carrying them in one hand. The other he placed on the small of my back and led me towards the room. Easton settled down on the floor as I climbed back into the overly comfortable bed. We laid there in silence for a while. I knew I would never be able to sleep in this place, so I listened to the white noise of the room, and the sound of his breathing.

                “I like you, Melody,” Easton whispered. I couldn’t tell if he thought I was asleep or not. “I don’t know why, but you’re, unlike anyone I have ever met before. Most of the other girls just run away. For some reason, I want to know everything about you. Who your parents are, your favorite cereal? I almost wish you were awake to answer.”

                “I am awake.” For some reason, I was compelled to answer back. I could almost feel the heat rush to his cheeks.

                “And…”

                “I think we could be friends.” Again not a lie. I couldn’t tell him I didn’t feel the same way. This was the first real person who had wanted to be friends with me. The first person who saw me as more than food. Anastasiya came close, but she was forced to be friends with me. Easton was the closest thing I had to a friend.

                He didn’t pry for more and I heard his breathing slow, falling into a tranquil sleep.

                In the morning I found his piled blankets abandon on the floor and a wafting, savory scent, floating around the room. I trodded down the hallway to find Easton in the kitchen spoon in hand. Although this spoon was quite larger than the ones the Grigorovs gave me to eat the thin, tasteless liquid they called soup.

                He heard me walk down the hallway and turned smiling. “I thought I would make you breakfast. I hope you like bacon and pancakes.” He motioned to the wavy sizzling strip of brown resting in the black pan.

                “I do.” I lied. Obviously, I had never had pancakes or bacon before, but he seemed so surprised that I had never had coffee that I didn’t want him to think anything was weird about me.

                Soon Easton had piled our food onto plates and set them on the table. I gingerly picked up the brown caramel colored strip that Easton called bacon, and hesitantly brought it to my lips, biting off a small bit.

                It was good, but nothing compared to the coffee or the pancakes that I had tried moments ago. Easton had slathered him in this sticky stuff called syrup that far exceeded my expectations. The one thing that truly impressed me about the  real world was the plethera of food options.

                “So I thought maybe we could visit your parents today.” I didn’t answer, spreading the syrup soaked pancake crumbs with my fork. “I know we just met, but like I said the last night I want to know more about you… And you already met my brother and seen my apartment so I feel that its only fair. Plus, I have school on Monday, so this is my last day of the week we can do something.”

                I sighed. “I don’t think they like visitors very much. I also told you I didn’t want to see them again.”

                “Well, maybe you can call and ask them if we can visit.”

                “I don’t think they would be able to hear me from here. They live far away. And I’m not going to speak with them again.” My voice rose in volume and intensity.

                His nose crinkled. “I mean on the phone.”

                “Oh.” I shook my head. I think they had phones in books.

                Easton handed me a rectangle block that glowed similar to the screen mounted on Donovan’s wall. I hit one of the buttons hoping to figure out how to use it.

                “Here let me get it to the call screen, there’s a passcode on it.” He took the phone out of my hand I did something to it. I wasn’t sure what. When he handed it back to me a screen was pulled up with various number 1-9. “Put in their numbers.”

                Clearly, I didn’t know what numbers to put in. I wasn’t even sure if the Grigorovs has a phone. I decided my best option was to call a random number and hope for the best. 555-876-9087. I held the phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. Easton looked at me strangely and pushed my hand up to my ear. I jumped at the buzzing sound produced by the phone.

                I sat tapping my foot on the floor waiting for something to happen. The anxiety collecting into the lump in the back of my throat.

                “Pizza Hut how can I help you?”

                “Hi,” I croaked back.

                “Would you like to place in order?”

                I glanced up at Easton looking into his expectant eyes.

                “Mom?”

                “I think you have the wrong number.”

                “It’s Mel- Rossvita.”

                “’Are you going to order something or what.”

                “I want to know if I can maybe come to visit you?”

                The line clicked and no one responded anymore. I tried to continue the conversation.

                “Oh well, thanks anyway. Bye, mom.”

                I put the phone back down on the table. “She said no. My father isn't feeling well.”

                “Well, maybe we could surprise him. I’m sure they would love to see you.”

                “No. We are not visiting.” I firmly replied.

                “Okay. Maybe another time.”

                We finished our breakfast in silence before Easton got up and disappeared in the bathroom. The sound of rushing water and muffled humming came from the door. I wandered my way to the couch, where a smaller glowing screen was open.  I pulled it onto my lap and lifted the screen so I could properly read it.

                “Google” was written in bright colors across the screen. I pressed my finger to it trying to get it to move like the screen on the wall. A rainbow of fuzzy colors expelled around my fingers. Attached to the screen was a board with small buttons labeled with letters and number. I pressed one, experimenting.

                As I pressed the “s” key and s appeared in the small rectangle below the word Google. I began to slowly type a phrase.

                S Grigorov house in woods

                I stared at the screen for a moment waiting for something to happen. Maybe a picture of the house would pop up or background of the family would appear. It was like watching paint dry. I heard Easton open the bathroom door and pad to his room. I quickly put the glowing screen back where it was, and sat inconspicuously on the couch.

                Easton appeared a few minutes later, his hair damp against his neck.

                “What do you want to do today?”

                “I actually think I have an Aunt who lives nearby. I was going to visit her today” I decided I needed to get away from Easton. Sooner or later my lies would catch up with me, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I needed to get to the Vampiresses.

                “Oh okay, do you want me to go with you.”

                “No, I haven't seen her in a while and I want to go by myself.”

                “Do you know where she lives I can help you find the address.”

                “I’m sure I can find it. I was actually planning on heading out soon. So I guess I’ll see you later.”

                “Um- yea see you later.”

                I got up and left the apartment abruptly. I could see the confusion and hurt on his face. It sent a pang through my heart but I knew it was the right thing to do.

~***~

                Five years later, I was happily accustomed to the real world. The Vampiresses welcomed me with opened arms. I got a nice job working in a quaint boutique downtown, and even adopted my own cat, named Rose, after my given name.

                Some days I still thought about what it would be like if I had stayed hauled up with the Grigorovs. At this point, would I even be alive. I wondered what had become of Donovan and Eatson. Perhaps if I had stayed I would have married one of them. Guilt still palauged me that I abruptly left. But I needed my first real frined to be someone who understood my past, and knew about vampires. And with so little knowledge on the world I needed someone who could teach. me

                I decided it was time I visit the Grigorovs one last time. Maybe not to actually see them, just to see the state of the house, and maybe talk to Anastasiya.

                The house looked axactly the same. The purple slightly faded now, and the flowers slihgtly wilted. I paused, humming softly, standing in front of the driveway. I stared up at the house for what could have been months. Part of me wanted to go back to the city and not look back, like I had planned to do in the beginning.

                I saw the curtain move, and heard the creak of the door as it opened. A tall girl appeared in the doorway. I couldn’t tell who it was. She walked down the porch step and saauntered down the driveway to meet me.

                “Rossvita.”

                I didn’t say a word.

                “We didn’t think you’d come back.”

                Still, I remained silent. I couldn’t figure out what to say.

                “It’s me Anastaysia. You do remember me right.”

                “Yes, I remember. My name is Melody now.”

                “It fits you better.”

                We stared intently at eachothers faces for a matter of minutes. Anastasiya inhales as if trying to find proper words.

                “There was a boy that came by years ago. He said he was looking for you”

                Easton.

                “I don’t know how he found us or the house. But that’s why you havent seen him in a while. He leanred too much and father was afraid. I assume you were frineds.”

                I looked up at the house one last time, and took of running the oppoiste direction.

                “I’m sorry… for everything.” Anasasiya called out, her voice carried in the wind.

                My heart pounded out of chest. I don’t know why I ever went back there. I should I have just moved on. If I had never left Easton he might still be here. I didn’t know he went misisng. No one knew where he was. Donovan was left with nothing.

                I didn’t stop running until I reached Easton’s old appartment. I stopped at  the door for a moment shifting my weight between my feet. I turned to leave. I couldn’t tell Donovan the truth, and he might not even remember me. I asked the lady at the fornt desk for a pen and paper.

                I scribbled a quick apology and taped it up on the door. Even if Donovan didn’t understand it, I needed to try and make things right.

                On my way home I passed the coffee shop where we met. Spontaneously, I walked into the starbucks. The same jingly bell from all those years ago signaled my arrival. The only table available was the one in the corner, where I saw his blue eyes for the first time. I ordered a peppermint mocha and a caramel machioto. Tears dripped down my face as I silently sipped the piping hot brown liqud. I finished mine silently and left the other drink on the table.