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What’s Love Got To Do With It?
By Mary Perkins

I sat at a rickety table in a low-rate motel room, chain smoking and killing off a bottle of cheap wine. It had been a busy day for me. I had put in a lot of effort finding my love. It had been worth it, I had no doubt, but still….should the pursuit always be so much work? Despite my careful planning and years of experience, I was beginning to think that it did.

My heart beat a little faster as I looked over at the bed. My love would wake soon, but for now I enjoyed the moment and the anticipation.

I went to the nightstand and placed my favorite compact disc in the player. I turned the volume low so that it wouldn’t disturb my love. Just a little longer.

I hated the motel I had chosen, but I had done the best I could with the resources I had. Once it had been different, my resources had been unlimited or nearly so. But that was no longer the case. My family had cut me out of their lives a long time ago, I was dead to them. And they were all dead now, anyway. Still, I had to continue to do what I’d always done.

I am very different from all others. I know that. That doesn’t mean I’m unintelligent however. Others used to think I was naïve, that I would become like them after awhile. But I never have. I can’t help it. Sometimes I hate myself.

Everyone said that I’d get over this love business, they told me it would be easier when I did. But the whole thing has always been so exciting! How can I give up that first contact with a potential love? The recognition on their face at that first eye contact? The flirting, which I’m very skilled at, even if I do say so myself. The pursuit and finally, the consummation? It was all just as thrilling and satisfying as the final act itself. In fact, I think I need it as much as I need the blood that flows through my veins.

The song on the player changed and Tina Turner leaked out of the speakers, filling the room with her sexy voice. What’s love got to do with it, she asked. Maybe nothing, I thought, but maybe everything.

I’ve always been a romantic, nothing that’s happened to me has changed that. The others said I’d end up alone or destroyed if I kept up my way of doing things. I guess in one way they’ve been proven right. I am alone now, but not destroyed. They’re the ones who suffered that fate. But I don’t need them, I never did, and I don’t miss them at all.

The trick has always been to blend in, to look and act normal. I’ve learned to do that very well. None of my loves have ever known I was different until it was too late. The others never learned, they just took, as if they were invincible. They never cared about the consequences of their actions. They may have thought I was naïve, but they are the ones who have been caught and eventually killed. Such a waste.

Over the years, seduction has become progressively difficult. The ones I seek are no longer as trusting. Like me they aren’t as naïve as when I first began to do this. I persist because I have no choice. This way of life is literally life or death to me. Now, each conquest is sweeter and more satisfying because of the effort that went into the hunt. It is also more exhausting. I am weak with desire and hunger.

I hear movement on the bed, and I look over and watch my love’s chest rise and fall, I see the pulse of his heart beating in his throat. His final moments have arrived, but he doesn’t know that yet.

I move to the bed and he opens his eyes. I’ve made sure that he cannot scream, though I can see that he tries.

Vampire lust fills my eyes. I press my breasts against my love’s chest and sink my fangs into his neck.

What’s love got to do with it, Tina asks again. Maybe everything, I think. But probably nothing.

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