Madelaine got to have a very traditional,
era-appropriate, young adult love triangle.
Her vampire was coy with her, smirked as he courted her.
He touched her, but never when his kin was around.
Sometimes he’d mockingly speak of her thirst for him.
His scorn made her feel like her skin was a shroud.
Her werewolf was cloyingly careful of hurting her.
When he helped her undress, he kept looking away.
He always insisted she could not see the worst in him.
When she kissed him, she tasted pity, rage, decay.
All Madelaine wanted was to fall in love with them,
to give up her blood for them,
to feed them and shop for them,
to serve them and toy with them,
and find her true joy with them.
But all she could love was having two options, when
she’d always been told she’d grow up to have none.
All Madelaine dreamt about was breaking up with them.
Would she grow old to miss her vampire’s analyses
of her body’s hilarious secret intricacies?
Would she ever wish she’d kept her werewolf’s subservient help,
if she shrugged off his loyalty now, like a coat she outgrew?
Madelaine had them move her stuff to the new dorm room,
then she recorded herself sending both men away.
The recordings she uploaded to youtube in triplicate.
Now watching them helps keep the self-doubt at bay.