“Melinda, you’ve painted your nails blood red.” Andrew admonished me.
“I just thought if I was going to be a… vampire’s girlfriend, I ought to look the part.” I cringed at the word vampire, but couldn’t find an adequate substitute. Andrew picked that up immediately.
“It’s not a bad word. While I’m not proud of what I am, I’m comfortable with it.” His voice was laced with melancholy. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, for I knew what I would find in his eyes; frustration. Frustration at my squeamishness. Frustration at his mortal girlfriend. Frustration that could not yet understand.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. It just doesn’t… it can’t possibly describe you! It’s harsh. Unfeeling. It’s cold.” He chuckled in a baritone and I realized the irony of my last sentence.