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He was the love of her life but little did she know, she would be the love of his death. Her name was Vivienne Salome and this is the story about a boy she loved. It started on the beach. There was the question of how she came to that beach that morning. She guessed it was fate, it had to be. It was very early in the morning and the beach was deserted.
At first she didn’t know how she ended up there but she thought her parents had been fighting again. Over her father’s gambling debts, she thought. She must have slipped out early for a walk to quiet her head. The sun was just coming over the horizon that foggy morning when she found him.
There was a human body there, half immersed in the receding tide. She saw only a hand at first, a limp one that was attached to a equally still face. He had reddish hair that was floating peacefully in the waters as naturally as seaweed. His eyes were closed and she didn’t see his chest rising with each breath. That man couldn’t be alive, I thought to myself.
How right she was. He was, in fact already dead. She could have ran away. After all, she was just a eighteen-year old girl, barely half a year out of high school. If she had been rational at that moment, she would have steered cleared of corpses on the beach. But he didn’t. Maybe there was a part of her that recognized him even though her eyes didn’t, at first.
As she stood over him, watching the icy waters bath his face, a chill ran down her spine. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. Like a nightmare, his eyelids fluttered. A scream died in her throat. If this was a dream this would be the part where she woke up. She didn’t wake up. She just stood there in horror as the dead boy on the beach jerked to life. He started coughing. He tried taking a deep breath but the water wasn’t helping.
With every second, he was slowly coming back to life. The red-headed boy rolled over and continued hacking up water. He was wearing a white shirt that was still stained with blood despite being bathed by seawater. He studied her with a grimace on his face. He was young, a couple of years older than her.
“Are you all right?” She asked him. He tried to put weight on his left leg but it slipped out from under him. He fell to his knees and winced in pain. She reached out to help him but stopped short of touching him. He was handsome, almost startlingly so. He had that kind of a face that you could pick out from across a crowded room and wish that you had an excuse to talk to him.
Although his clothes were in tatters and he was retching seawater out on the sand, suddenly she saw a flash in the back of her mind of an art gallery, champagne glasses, a sweet whisper in her ear. His name, Vivienne formed it on her lips even though she didn’t want to remember.
He chuckled bitterly at her words. He was Blake Thorne. The more she studied him, the more she saw the resemblance. He was taller, his jaw was more defined and his shoulders were wider. The awkward boy with the knobby knees and rough elbows had turned into a muscular, unrelenting man. It was still him, he still had that same deeply flawed and tortured look in his eyes as though he had secrets too painful to ever be shared. “The boy who believed in vampires,” he repeated with a hint of mockery. “Vampires are dangerous, Viv. Don’t you ever forget that. You should never let one drink from you, especially one who is gravely injured.” He coughed again and when he drew his hand away from his mouth, I saw thick black blood staining his palm. “We have a bond, always had a bond, with that comes a great power but also the ultimate price.”
“Blake, you’re hurt,” Vivienne said. “You don’t make any sense to me.” She tried to reach for his bloody palm but he buried his fist in the sand.
“They’re never going to let us go. You should never have gone to Coral City.”