"Who am I? Why am I here?" Those are the biggest question people are faced with during their lives. Personally, I never quite found the answer to that question… I always thought I was just one in the billions of people who inhabit the earth every day. When I'm gone what will my life matter in the grander scheme of things? Sure my family and friends will miss me ; but that will not stop everyone from going on without me. My name is Saira O'Connor; and this is how I came to know what life really is like.

CHANGE POV

She was sitting on a long discarded, water swollen, crate behind the main building of her high school, all the while contemplating the meaning of life ( which she supposed is what everyone did when they get extremely bored, that or watch YouTube videos). Glancing over at the wall on her left she noticed a bunch of graffiti. It was your normal brick wall, but like most brick walls at a high school it was covered with your usual "I love XX", or "XX + XX forever" , or her personal favorite "XX is a whore".

It amused Saira sometimes to see what people would never say to each others faces but would gladly write on a brick wall for all to see. A smile stretched across her lips, only one side of her mouth going up. Chuckling darkly to herself, Saira turned her eyes back up to the wall; she knew it wasn't really that funny. But people really amused her some days. She reached in the pocket of her skinny jeans and pulled her I-pod out, turned up the volume, and blasted Davey Havoc's awesome vocals straight to her brain. Ah early career AFI, so young, so angry!

Saira shifted her weight on the crate feeling something stab her in her backside. She remembered that she had put her razor blade in the back pocket of her jeans. Pulling it out slowly Saira gazed at it longingly, remembering all those lonely nights it had kept her darker side company. Nights where the nightmares were particularly powerful, or her fathers demands had been too much. And days like this, where school had become too much for her. It was shaped like your average hand held rectangular razor, it was surprisingly still shiny although you could see faint traces of crimson displayed elegantly, like lace, around the edges.

Most people have a term (other than masochist) for people who cut them selves to feel, emo (short for emotional). Like emotions have something to do with it, it's actually the lack of emotions really.

She looked at it hesitantly. She wanted to drag it straight across her wrist, watch the blood puddle up, see the crimson liquid make a trail down the side of her arm, then drip down slowly into the grass. She had been cutting for six or seven years, she always cut deep enough to leave a nice pink scar, but never deep enough for her to bleed out.

You would have thought someone would have noticed by now, all those lines carved into her pale skin; standing in stark testimony of her inner turmoil. Though she supposed that was why sweaters were invented. In her mind, she was already dying anyway, some sort of lung defect. But if she cut too deep, her sisters would have no one to take care of them. A discontented sigh pushed past parted lips, anxious fingers pulled the corner of the straight edged blade down atop the flesh of her left wrist, and drug it across. Eyes fluttered shut in a mixture of pain and pleasure that only twisted people can thoroughly enjoy.

Suddenly a sound reached herears, breaking her sick indulgence. Hazel hues flew open and darted around searching for the source of the sound, there was a tall man approaching her steadily; his big heavy looking boots barely making a noise. Perhaps it would help if she took the ear buds out. He was wearing an ankle length deep red duster, his wide brimmed fedora, which cast a shadow over his face.

The young woman couldn't make out any outstanding features from his face, except a pair of orangey red sunglasses he wore, perched atop the bridge of his nose: they were circular with metal rims, he also wore a black undercoat, a red ascot tied neatly at the base of his neck yet it gave the appearance of sloppiness at the same time. Underneath all those layers there was a long sleeved white button up shirt. Her eyebrow raised questioningly. Where in the nine hells did he come from?

She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, even as a deep sense of fear started to trickle through her veins. The blood tinted razor slipped from her now limp grasp and fell softly into the grass under her feet. He bent down, his long body obscuring his face from her view, picked up her razor, and with an almost serpentine tongue licked it clean; placing it gently on her thigh. Her fear laced voice came out in a stammer. "Wh-o-o a-r-e yo-u-u?"

He smirked wickedly, his white teeth illuminating his mouth. She gasped noticing how abnormally long his upper canines were, almost like a- but those didn't exist.. right? Suddenly that reoccuring nightmare about her mothers death made a bit more sense. All those therapists were wrong, they weren't just creatures conjured up by her subconscious to make sense of what happened. Vampires were real, and there was one really standing in front of her. One with her blood smeared on his thin lips. "Va- mm- pp – iirr- ee!"

He smiled even larger as if to prove a point to her. "Very good," he chuckled "Now if only we could get you to speak correctly."

Hazel eyes narrowed glaring with all the hate she could muster in her oddly proportioned body. He smiled as if it amused him in a way only he could comprehend. She came to the slow realization that he had her cornered, in an alley, where no one knew she was. Saira Tempus could literally be murdered right now, and there'd be none the wiser. This thought made her stagger backwards, hands seeking for some purchase on the wall.

She had read once, in her research about vampires, that they could read your mind; and that only a strong mental barrier would keep them out. So she imagined a brick wall surrounding her thoughts. He stared at her, like she had grown another head. Her heart was pumping really fast, and if she wasn't careful about her breathing; her lungs would act up soon and breathing wouldn't be much of a luxury. His voice rang out, dark and sardonic, interrupting her thoughts. "Just who are you? How does a human know how to shield her thoughts?"

She smiled sickeningly sweet, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Just a girl who has too much time on her hands, it seems."

He looked slightly amused, if only for a moment, then he looked down disapprovingly at her wrist; which was still bleeding. She could already feel the blood beginning to coagulate and solidify into a scab. The healing process had started. His movement was so fast that she could barely see him as he snatched the bleeding appendage. His tongue snaked out then proceeded to slowly (sensually if she was being honest) lick over the inflected area as she watched eyes wide. As his tongue moved over the wound it grew shut, puckering along the edges into a familiar pink scar.

He dropped her arm back to her to her side and stepped back half a step. A sardonic smile stretched over his lips, attention now moving down to her face. She noticed her blood smeared on the corners of his lips, stubbornly sticking to him even though he had already wiped the excess off. She blinked up at him, eyes still wide from shock then narrowed in general dislike. "Thanks," she murmured numbly, body frozen in terror.

He smiled, and bowed at the waist over dramatically. Sweeping his arm in an arc motion and brought his hand to his chest. "Anytime my lady, and I do mean anytime."

Saira blushed but she couldn't for the life of her tell you why she did. A question fell from her lips, one she would later live to regret. "Who are you?"

He smiled, as she imagined the devil would when an innocent soul was damned to perdition."Oh my where are my manners young miss? My name is Alucard," he feigned a frown, mocking an offended look. "I do not believe I caught your name…"

She almost blurted out her name, then remembered her grandma's words. The memory was fuzzy, the situation beyond recall; but the words stuck. Names are powerful magic, my doll give yours not so freely. "I do not believe I gave it to you,"she meant for her voice to come out strong, but instead it came out like a squeak.

He frowned and in the blink of an eye pushed her up against the wall by her shoulders, the brick cracking slightly at the force. He kept her pinned there, fingers applying digging into a pressure point at her shoulders. "I do not believe I was asking."

She gulped and closed her eyes breathing in and out shakily. Every moment she didn't relinquish her name, he added more pressure. The pain was becoming too much to bare. "S-Saira O'Connor."

He stared at her for a minute; his eyes slightly widening behind his glasses as if he had suddenly remembering something. With a final squeeze, pulling a pained gasp from her lips, he smirked triumphantly and dropped her with a satisfying thud to the cold, hard ground. "See that wasn't so hard was it?"

She shook her head slowly from side to side, ebony hair swishing to cover her face in lapses. Her body curled in on itself, trying to make herself as small as possible; she breifly thought of making a break for it. He grinned and offered her a gloved hand; she looked up at the expectant hand and noticed his gloves. They were white primarily but with some sort of black sigil on the backs of his hands. She eyed his hand suspiciously for a moment, before deciding to accept his hand; remembering what happened last time she refused him.

A small shiver ran down her spine at his cold skin, it surprised her that she could feel the cold through the gloves. He yanked her up a little too roughly (perhaps this was done on purpose), and she collided with his strong chest. She looked up at him blushing like crazy. She idly wondered what color his eyes were and with shockingly bold hands, ones that she couldn't believe were attached to the rest of her body, took off his glasses.

The seemingly non-threatening clouds that were over head started to sprinkle them lightly in a warm rain. Not that rain was unusual, it rained all the time here. But that it started to rain at the same time that she removed his glasses? What were the chances of that? His eyes were a dark red, which struck her as odd, his pupils had this dangerously predatory shape to them, but somehow there was a soft, almost melancholy look to them.

She was suddenly smoldering in the heat of his eyes. A foreign fire spread through her body, skin tingling, nerves dancing at their proximity. To closer inspect his face (it was just curiosity she told herself adamantly) she stood on her tiptoes to be more level with him. One of his arms snaked around her waist, holding her, but it felt as if he was trying to have as little body contact as possible.

Green eyes with dashes of brown throughout them met his beautiful (when did she start thinking that?) red ones. A memory flashed before her eyes. It was the night her mother died: gun smoke, screaming, two red eyes watching me from the shadows...

He retracted his arm that was holding her up to push her, causing a backwards stumble. She felt.. hurt. Like she had been rejected or something to that affect. He held out his hand impatiently wiggling two pianist fingers in her direction. She was confused for a moment then looking down at her own hand, recalling that she had taken his glasses. The ebony haired woman placed his glasses gingerly in his hand, trying to keep their skin from touching; lest flames consume her common sense once more.

She leaned up against a brick wall delicately, her soaked clothes sticking to her like a second skin. The rain which started to pour faster washed over her calming a rampaging heart. Small droplets getting caught in her hair making the midnight hue sparkle, like jewels catching the light. It was raining that night too…. He put his glasses back on and adjusted them correctly onto his face and looked at her quizzically perhaps thinking the young woman insane. The slightly befuddled expression on his face looked out of place."What happened to your face?"

She felt under her eyes, a brand new terror washing throughout her body. The makeup she had used to cover up a brand new black eye had since washed away in the rain. She really needed to look for water proof foundation, this was becoming a reoccurring problem. "I uh.. tripped and fell down some stairs. It's nothing really," perhaps she needed to convince herself of this lie first.

He looked at her seriously leveling the young woman with an intense stare. She hadn't been so under scrutiny for a long time, and in that moment she knew he didn't buy her excuse. His teeth grit together, jaw setting on edge, a gulp trailed down her throat. "Stairs huh? That may work among humans, but I can taste your lies."

Tears came unbidden, trailing down her face in hot trials. Not now, not now. Her mind whispered, trying to gain control over her body. "I-It's nothing... 'm fine.."

She wrapped her arms around herself, body fighting itself to not go into a fit. He walked over to her cautiously as if he wading through a mind field. His voice came out almost apologetic, but the darkness was still there. "May I borrow your neck? I promise to make it worth your while if you wish…"

Her eyes had darkened, the green almost swallowed by the brown. "That won't be necessary," she was a good Catholic girl, she wasn't about to give up her virginity in a back alley to a vampire.

"Why do you want to bite me? Why ask permission?"

He seemed to consider her for a moment before answering. "I want to understand you, princess."

It wasn't very often people knew the meaning of her name, her mom had picked it out. She was their firstborn, their princess; little did her mother know that the throne she would inherit would be self loathing and alcoholism. "Will it hurt?"

He laughed and cast a gaze at her discarded razor blade. Point taken. "Why do you want to understand me?"

The vampire gaze no response, watching her instead. With shaking hands, she swept her hair away from her neck. Eyes squeezing shut in fear. What she felt wasn't puncturing, the sensation was more familiar. All coherent thought left her as his tongue found her neck, trailing along the wound and surrounding flesh. That fire came back with a vengeance, coursing throughout her body once again; settling between her thighs. Her fingers gripped tight to him, fingers curling in the fabric of his jacket; dipping her head to muffle a noise against his shoulder. Alucard moved back after sealing the wound, casting the razor away once again; landing she knew not where.

Vaguely she remembered somewhere that vampires could read your memories from your blood. Was that what he meant by understanding her? Would she be an open book then? Thoughts raced through her head at a hundred kilometers per hour, driving her mad with unanswered questions. He just stood there, eyes closed, not making a sound. Suddenly he took a step toward her, and immediately she flattened herself against the wall; eyes averting to the ground. A chuckle met her ears and he held his place.

He ducked his head to catch her eyes, trying to read past her mental blocks; but she shielded eyes narrowed n concentration. He stopped trying to force his way into her thoughts and looked up at the skies above. The rain clouds over head decided that it was time for another torrential down pour, the seemingly dormant puff balls turned, in a matter of minutes, into massive, roaring, thunder heads of doom. Monstrous booms losed from the atmosphere, lightening streaking the skies; illuminating the sky for brief increments. This seemed to make it rain harder down on the odd pair, re-soaking their already wet clothes sending Saira into a sneezing fit.

Alucard shrugged off his duster, which somehow managed to stay dry, and draped it over her small shoulders in an attempt at chivalry. She smiled and her fingers curled around the lapels and pulled it closer, wrapping it around her body. He moved to leave, seeming to dissipate through the shadows. "Alucard," she called after him, taking a step forward.

His head peaked back out from the shadows. "Yes…?"

She blushed and looked down at her combat boots fidgeting with nervousness. Never walk when you can strut princess. Taking a deep breath she squared her shoulders. "I'm not always like this," she started, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I have bad days, some worse than others. A-and when I do I can't see a way out. So this is what I do... but um, before you make up your mind about me, I'd like you to see me at my best."

He raised a eyebrow at her. "A-and since now you know me, better than anyone else, I-I'd like to get to know you if that's alright?"

Crimson orbs swept over her face, searching for... something before a smile spread over his face. "I don't see why not, fair is fair after all. I'll come by your house in the morning."

She nodded, waved goodbye to the strange vampire, and headed toward her house. Perhaps she'd make it there before her father got too drunk.