Haider’s POV:

E55 vouchers

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what a psychopath was. I had just always believed it was science fiction, a monster from a movie, a character from a textbook. Just like I believed vampires were fairytales. And yet, here I was, sitting in my bedroom, in front of myptop, after dreaming about the make out session I had with a Vampire in the back of the library.

I snorted. How ridiculous.

So…. what she was trying to tell me, was that her nonchnce wasn’t just a mask, or a carefully constructed fa?ade to hide her true feelings. It was the truth. She actually felt nothing. Nada. The kiss, the bite, the strange, overwhelming connection I thought we had shared… it was all a simple, biological transaction to her. A quid pro quo. And I was here, getting all flustered, my mind a chaotic, confused mess, thinking about her, about her taste, about the feel of her lips on mine.

Apparently, psychopaths don’t fall in love. They don’t even have crushes. They don’t feel jealousy or longing or regret. They don’t feel the pang of a broken heart. They don’t feel anything. Which brought me to the cold, hard conclusion that the only thing she’ll actually like me for is my blood. A simple, biological need that I happened to fulfill. I was a vending machine, a walking blood bag, nothing more.

I was stupid. I really was, because currently, I wasn’t thinking of ways ito /iignore her or stay away from her. I wasn’t thinking of how ito /iprotect myself from a creature who could, and probably would, drain me dry if she felt like it. No. I was thinking of how I could benefit her iso /ithat she’d unknowingly get attached to me. A sick, twisted part of me was excited by the challenge. It was like a game. A dangerous, exhrating, andpletely stupid game. I opened myptop, my fingers frantic as I searched the most ridiculous thing I had ever searched in my life. ‘How ito /iget a psychopath to fall in love with me.’

The only search results I got was about if they even fall in love, and a series of forums and blog posts written by people who had been involved with them. I read the following text on a Facebook post: ‘Psychopaths only fall in love with themselves, and everybody else suffers except them. If you fall in love with one, or even just meet one, run as fast as you can…..‘

I sighed, shutting theptop with a frustrated, angry thud. I looked up at my ceiling, a nk, white canvas. But she didn’t look like she loved herself either. A person like that? Who always wore ck, never smiled, neverughed, like her whole life was a dull, grey, unchanging thing. She was a walking paradox. She was a creature of paradoxes. She was a vampire who had an aversion to human touch. She was a psychopath who had an uncanny, almost supernatural way of making me feel. She didn’t even try to put up a front when 1 hinted that I was interested. She straight up told me the truth, a cold, brutal, unfiltered truth. As though her being a psychopath made her unworthy of a rtionship, of a connection, of anything real.

And I, on the other hand, felt like an asshole. Because, this was exciting for me. My mind, which was so used to analyzing and solving problems, had found a new, fascinating challenge. I was a man of logic and reason, but she was a puzzle that defied all logic, all reason. I jumped into this, knowing that it was a world of the unknown, a world very different from the one I lived in. A world where the ugliness of humanity, the bloodshed and sickness, was a thing I was used to. But this… this was a different kind of unknown. A different kind of danger.

How could I not want to try and get her to like me? Was it selfish of me to y with her feelings just because I thought she was fascinating? Yeah, maybe. But she didn’t even have any feelings. So what feelings would I be

hurting?

55 vouchers

I looked at the clock. Yesterday, after what happened at the library, I didn’t see her all day. I had stayed for hours, continuing my sses, waiting for her toe back, but she never did. I looked down at my phone when it buzzed, the screen lighting up with a new notification. Another friend request that I ignored. My mind was too preupied, too consumed by the puzzle that was Sienna. First ss today was businessmunication.

Would she still not show up? I decided to make my way to the university half an hour early before ss. My parents had left early, so no one was there to question me on when and where I was going.

Once I reached University, I left my bag in my locker and strolled around the school. The hallways were bustling. I walked past the student lounges, the lecture halls, the cafeteria. I made my way to the office then, an idea sparking in my mind. Maybe I could somehow request Professor Shinichiro ito /igive me a copy of her timetable? The thought was a ridiculous, humiliating one. I felt like a stalker doing this. But I would have to be a little shameless, wouldn’t I? If I wanted to pursue someone like her? Her walls were just too high, too thick, too impossible to break down.

Just as I pushed the door open, my eyes widened, meeting Sienna’s. The first thing that hit me was her overpowering scent. The scent of roses on her had turned sweet. She was standing there, a file in her hand, her back to the door, talking to a woman, another professor probably. She wasn’t wearing a hoodie today. The sight of her, so different, was a punch to the gut. Instead, she was wearing a simple, ck full–sleeve zer with a… skirt and knee–high boots.

She frowned when she finally finished talking, turned around and her eyes met mine. Before I could even speak or ask her anything, she looked away, like my gaze had burned her. She turned on her heel and almost ran. Almost, because she wasn’t actually running but speed–walking.

I frowned, a confused, frustrated scowl settling on my face. Was she… avoiding me? Why? I turned and made my way towards her, my strides long and quick. I called out, my voice loud and insistent, a desperate attempt to get her attention. “Sienna?” Yep. She was definitely avoiding me. She didn’t even flinch. But I know she

go heard me. The hallway wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t noisy to the point that my voice would unheard.

“Sienna!” I called out again. Just as I reached her, my hand went around her arm, before I could even remember her touch aversion. She snapped her head to me, her eyes a sh of cold fury. She pped my hand away before it could even touch her. A loud, snapping sound that echoed in the hallway.

“What?” she hissed.

“What’s… up with you?” I questioned. She stiffened, her body rigid. She shook her head, a soft, defeated motion, as she looked away. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Nothing.”

I narrowed my eyes, my gaze careful and searching. I looked at her paleplexion. “Have you… not eaten anything since yesterday?” I hadn’t said blood, but I knew we both understood it.

She pursed her lips, a thin, white line. It was like there was a war going on inside her. This was unlike her. She looked like she was struggling with something, something overwhelming. “None of your business.” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, and something throbbed in my chest. A quiet, painful ache.

“Sienna…” I said softly, my voice gentle. “What’s wrong?” I moved closer to her. She looked shaken. When had I ever seen her look shaken? Not that we were ever close. But aren’t psychopaths not supposed to feel fear?