Dawson's Secret

Part 1: The Night It Happened

Six-foot-four, black hair, blue eyes. He wore a navy blue T-shirt and dark denim jeans. His arms were covered in tattoos, symbols I couldn't decipher. We've been sitting in the booths in the back of the club for the past hour, just drinking and talking. Dawson is his name.

"So Erica, are you doing anything later?" he asked me after a while. I shook my head. "No, why do you ask?" He smirked as he set his glass of bourbon on the table. "I was just wondering...did you want to get out of here?" With a shrug of my shoulders, I nodded. "Where do you want to go?" I asked indecisively. He took my hand in his, the smirk still displayed on his lips. "I'll let you know when we get there," he finally said.

We rose from our seats and strolled out of the bar and into the parking lot. Dawson reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out his car keys, then walked me over to his 2015 Dodge Challenger. He opened the passenger door and with his hand, he motioned for me to get in. I did, and he shut the door. We drove through the town, it was dark, save the orange streetlights that lit up the empty streets.

"So where are we going?" I asked, breaking the silence. Keeping his eyes on the road, Dawson replied: "I thought I said I'd tell you when we get there." The tone of his voice had a slight edge to it, as if irritated by me asking. He made a hard left hand turn down a long stretch of road where within about four minutes, we were surrounded by the woods. I stared straight ahead, the Challenger's headlights guiding us to our unknown destination.

★

I must have fallen asleep, for when I opened my eyes I had no clue where we were. At first I saw a bright light, and then I felt a warm sensation pick at my cold cheeks. I turned my head to my right and I saw a fire. I sat up and looked around, the shadows of the dark woods lurking around me. "Erica," I heard Dawson say. Again, there was that hint of irritation in his voice. I whipped my head to his direction and almost jumped out of my skin. He was sitting right next to me, yet he sounded like he was far away a moment ago. Unexpectedly, he grasped onto my arm, his grip like a vise. A sudden panic arose inside me, I tried to pull away from him. "Dawson, let go. You're hurting me," I said.

"Hurting you?" he responded quizzically. "Baby, you don't know my definition of hurt," he said as he reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a pocketknife. My eyes widened as he opened it with the push of a button. "No, don't. Dawson, please," I said, my voice shaky. His mouth curled into a sinister grin, and the next thing I knew I was instantly pushed back on the ground. I cried out in pain as I hit my head on a rock in the process. I struggled to get myself out of his grip but he put the knife right against the right side of my neck. I shut my eyes. I then felt his breath against my ear. "Listen to me very carefully," he began. "It's unfortunate that this has to happen to you, but I can't help myself,"- he breathed -"you drive me wild.

"Now," he continued, "this won't be quick, nor will it be painless, but just try to relax." He moved away from me, leaving me a little space. That was when I released the breath I didn't realize I was holding all this time. I really started to panic now. Oh my God, he's going to kill me, I suddenly thought.

"If I wanted to do that, I would have done it already," Dawson said. I opened my eyes then and saw his face. How did he know what I was thinking? "Because I'm a vampire," he responded casually. "And as of now, I'm starving." WHAT?! And within an instant, he put his left hand over my mouth. With his other, he began the process of creating a horizontal incision on my shoulder. I screamed, lashed out and kicked at him.

Dawson dropped the knife, grabbed me by my wrists, and forcefully pinned them above my head. My forest green eyes were level with his icy blue ones. "Now, Erica," he said, angered. "Don't make this harder on yourself!" He shouted that last sentence. I couldn't help it; I started to cry. "Dawson, please don't kill me," I begged. My body was trembling. He placed his hand on me, caressed my cheek, and snickered. "And I say again; I would have done it already if I wanted to," he said, then he removed his hand and ran a finger over my shoulder - the one that was bleeding profusely - and promptly clamped his mouth onto my open wound. I whimpered, but didn't struggle this time, because I now took his word seriously.