I Sighed. "and What Am I To

Keep Your Vampire Mitts Off Me. I'm Not Your Friggin' Blood Toy.

I Opine-i Think You're A Woman Of Your World,' He Said From The Far End Of The Couch. 'i Would Have A Hard Time Seeing You Pressed And Powdered, Dreading A Life Of Servitude Under The Name Of Marriage. You'd Die In That Mold. I Like You As You Are, Fiery And Ill Tempered.

She's Not Your Type. Since When Do I Have A Type?

A Compassion Swirled Form Nowhere In The High I Was Lost In. She Needed Me. She Needed Me To Accept Her For What She Was. And When I Realized That I Had It Within Myself To Give Her At Least This Small Part Of Me, The Last Of My Fear Melted Away.

Relief Spilled Into Me. He Wanted To Live. He Just Didn't Know How.