I pulled away and smiled impotently: no, that's all I needed!

– I don't think it's a good idea… I won't have free time to entertain you, you know? I work twenty-four hours a day…" I whispered, not knowing how to lie more convincingly.

At the thought that Misha would inadvertently encounter one of my mortal "suitors" waiting for me at home and at work, I was horrified. Misha can't know. It would be… The end. The end of me. The end of her love for me. The end of me. No.

– It's no big deal! Even a couple of hours a day will be enough for me! After all, Fredrik will fly with me!

Fredrik covered a mocking smile with his palm.

– Misha… – I grabbed her palms and looked into her eyes. – You don't have to fly to me. I'll fly to you myself. Honestly. For a week. Just you and me. Deal?

– That's a great idea, Maria. If you came in December, when I was away visiting my parents, that would be the perfect visit," Fredrik said. There was irony in his voice, but Misha didn't seem to notice it, because she immediately agreed with him.

I don't know why, but my little sister didn't want to notice that her husband and I preferred not to see each other. That's a good damn thing, because if we make her choose the company of only one of us, she'll choose Fredrik. She loves him. I can't lose her. Luckily Fredrik knew that, knew how much I loved Misha. And he tolerated it, gallantly agreeing to leave his wife for a whole week, because I knew perfectly well that the visit to my parents was a lie.

So I left Prague, bound by promises and a wonderful sense of freedom.

The day had exhausted me. So many emotions. Too much for one day.

After arriving in Toronto and throwing my suitcase into my flat, I hurried to the nearest nightclub. In the morning, I threw another mortal heart out the door.

Midnight.

The big yellow moon shines its light on an awake Toronto. The moon shines so brightly on this night that the streetlamps only gleam uselessly with their electric dead light. There is only this endless deep black sky and this moon.

I savour the solitude and this picturesque scene. My wide long balcony has fortunately become a great place for night contemplation. I am lying on a narrow sofa. My bare feet rest on a large firm velvet cushion. Comfort. Solitude. A bottle of fresh blood. A crystal wine glass. The idyll. I cut myself off from all sound. Not the voices of the neighbours, not the couple in the next house watching a horror film, not the noise of cars. Nothing. Silence.

And in that silence a horrible scary voice screams, shrieks, and squeals, keeping my thoughts at bay. I can't get rid of them. Every time I wish I could just escape reality, even for a second, it bursts in on me, unwelcome, unloved. I hate it. The eternal uninvited guest before whom anyone would rush to close their doors and keep her off their doorstep. But this bitch kicks down the door, breaks the locks and bursts in, filling the entire space with her. She's in my head. She whispers to me that I'm miserable. She humiliates me. Me as a person. Me as a woman. Me as a being with the highest intelligence on this damn planet.

I love to live. But Life hates me and makes my existence an eternal hell. The Hell that people believe in. But people only get it when they die. I'm punished while I'm alive. For eight years I've lived in a ravenous, raging flame. I feel no physical pain. It's the flame that destroys me morally. And my soul… If I ever had one, it's gone now. It's burned away. Crumbled. I'm burning and crumbling.

I shouldn't have come. That day.

Prague. Mariszka's wedding. I walk into the huge, semi-dark cathedral of St Paul and St Peter. The guests. Perfect creatures. Vampires, like me.

A vampire wedding. An excuse to pull out the best of my wardrobe. My favourite. I'm wearing my short red dress. Oh, I love it. My hair is loose and falls loosely to my waist, shamefully covering the beauty of the nakedness of my back that the deep neckline of the dress affords. Red shoes. I leisurely take a seat in the front row of pews, next to Martin. Everyone is beautiful. Gods and goddesses on earth. Mum asks Misha if she's met Cedric. Cedric himself is standing next to the altar, next to the pastor. God, he's majestic. But his face is aloof, his eyes downcast. He's not here. He's somewhere far away. Misha replies to her mother that she has no wish to meet this "sullen type", and her mother immediately shushes her, then apologises half-heartedly to the Morgans and the guests for her youngest daughter's inappropriate behaviour. Markus takes his seat with a quick step. He's excited and doesn't hide it. Martin jokingly tells me that whoever made my dress must have skimped on fabric, but the deafening sound of the organ nullifies all conversation and fills the cathedral. The guests stand up. Mariszka, under the arm of our father, sails down the aisle. Everything is so sweet that I want to smile sarcastically and roll my eyes, but I restrain myself. I don't take my eyes off Cedric…

– Is my beautiful neighbour bored?

My playboy roommate's voice made me wince.

– You know, Troy, I'll be sure to order an impenetrable blacktop for my balcony so you don't poke your nose into my territory again," I said in a bored tone and took a sip from my glass of blood. Troy wouldn't understand anyway. I could drink the blood in front of him, but even then, the dumb-ass millionaire wouldn't recognise that it wasn't red wine in my glass.

– Are you telling me that you're just lying there on your outdoor balcony, in nothing but sexy underwear? – Troy replied languidly.

I looked up at him, his lustful gaze caressing my beautiful white body.

– It's not underwear, Troy. It's a dressing gown," I said calmly.

A black silk dressing gown. Open. Underneath it, there is a red silk lingerie.

– When are you going to invite me to your place? I'm tired of being just a listener.

– If I want to sleep with you, I'll let you know. But I'm afraid that will never happen. You're not my type, boy," I said tiredly. – Now get out and leave me alone, or I'll get angry.

How annoying he is, that idiot. Every time I walk past him, he licks himself like a narcissistic, petted cat.

– Leave you alone? – he smiled wryly. – Maria, you know you want it yourself. And I'm always at your disposal.

– Yes, yes, I know. Is that it? Good night, Troy.

– Good night, tiger.

"Bitch," he muttered, not knowing I could hear him.

– 'I'm, '" I said with a wry smile.

His face grew serious for a moment, but then, sure that I had commented on his 'tigress' comment, he winked at me and walked away, slamming the door to the balcony loudly behind him.

"We need to move out of this crazy house. Everything would be fine if it weren't for the neighbours… Maybe I should buy a house, somewhere in the provinces? But not too far from Toronto… Damn, those nasty people are everywhere. Where can I hide from them?" – I thought wistfully as I sipped my glass of blood.

***

People. They're everywhere. Standing there with their mouths open, staring at us. That day.

– I'm sorry, Mrs. Mroczek. I'm terribly late.

I turn my head to the right.

He's looking at me.

Brandon Grayson.

"I hate you so much!" – flashes through my head.

He smiles charmingly, and then his attention is completely consumed by the wedding process.

And I stand there, barely concealing a small shiver of disgust and hatred. Feeling like I've been dunked in a tub of shit and forced to be here, in this damn church, to be a scoffer. I see nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. I just want to get the hell out of here. To run out of the church screaming in disgust. Screaming how much I hate that son of a bitch. Scream loud enough to drown out the murmurings of the world. But I humbly remain in my seat until the end of the wedding ceremony. I am weak. No, I'm just not there anymore. I'm gone.