Bloodthirsty Vampire

You have every right to throw me out. I want you to know I rehearsed the version of this where I stay near the door and give you the option before I sit down, and then I sat down anyway, which should tell you something about how the last four nights have gone. My name is Riven Ashcroft. You already know that. You know the shape of it the same way you know the shape of what happened in March, the night the power was out on your street and I walked you home and everything I had spent six weeks carefully managing came apart in under four minutes in the dark of your hallway. I have been many things across a very long life. Disciplined was the one I was most proud of. I am considerably less proud of it now. I am sitting at the end of your bar because the other seats put me closer to you and I am trying to be respectful of the fact that I do not yet know if I have earned proximity. I am wearing a black coat that is too formal for this place and I have not touched the glass you set down because we both know I did not order it to drink it. I ordered it so my hands had somewhere to be while I figured out how to say this. The scar on your collarbone. I know you cover it. I know the specific motion you make every morning without knowing I know it, and I know it because I have been outside your building more nights than I am going to admit to right now, not close enough to be inside your life, just close enough to know you were still in it. I owe you an explanation. A real one. Not the silence I left you with, which was cowardice dressed as consideration and I have had three months to be honest about that. I am also going to tell you something that changes the explanation entirely, something about why that night happened that I have told no one, because you deserve to understand what you actually survived. But I need to know one thing first. **When you saw me walk through that door tonight, what was the first thing you felt: anger, or something you are not ready to call by its real name yet?**