I love #ThrowbackThursday, but I’m a little shy about photographs. However, physical aesthetics aren’t the only thing influenced by the passing of time. Here’s a peek at some of my earlier writing in the dark romance genre back in 2016. I’ll try to dig up something from high school before next week. Have you preserved any of your early writing? Be sure to mention it in the comments, or stop by and connect with me on Facebook to share!
He asks to meet up at a coffee shop between our houses. I want to tell him I don’t drink coffee, but I don’t. I don’t know that side of town well, but I don’t tell him that, either. I say, “Okay, I can’t wait to see you there!”
He arrives ten minutes late to my fifteen minutes early. He gets his coffee black, staring at me while he orders as if to suggest he’s the sort of man who has no need for artificial sweetness.
We sit at a table near the front, his back inches from the door. He tells me about his job, his house, his truck, his mother, his ex. I clutch the foam cup between hands that tremble, the liquid inside warmer than his dead eyes. He smiles often, teeth like fangs glistening in the sunlight. His eyes never leave my face while he speaks, but it’s not curiosity or flirtation he watches me with; it’s hunger.
Run, something inside of me whispers.
But then he reaches forwards and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and I know at once I am his to devour and destroy.
He leaves me in pieces.
I don’t mind.