I was sitting in the living room watching nineties films to convince myself I had been born into the wrong generation of eighteen-year-olds. Scott had invited me to hang out at my favourite place, the library, after school, but I wasn't up for it. I wasn't up for anything because my mind was aflutter.

I had to know him.

I hadn't seen the jerk in any of my other classes, so I knew he was avoiding me. Or he had only come to school to eat. I suddenly felt sadness and guilt wash over me; what if he was poor or lived in a broken home? Of course! He had worn fitted black jeans, designer sneakers and a basic chequered T-shirt today; he's clearly neglected, crying out for love and affection! His words 'stay away' were a beckoning call.

I had to see him, to prove that I knew what he needed: me.

"Honey, we're home!" Mom called into the house, interrupting my thoughts.

"Hi, guys," I hugged them.

"Guess who bought you a new car?" Dad chimed in.

"Dad, you shouldn't have!" I cried merrily because my parents are the best, except when they tell me how to live my life. "Thank you so much!"

As my dad slipped me the keys and told me how much he loves me, I knew what I had to do. I had to drive to Hot Jerk's house. So, I didn't know his name, but I knew where he lived because, as the protagonist of this story, I knew where everyone lived.

I drove down the quiet streets to his home, which had clearly been ripped from the pages of an acclaimed architect's bible and glued onto his lawn. I parked my shimmering new Volvo on the side of the road and stalked up to the front door like someone who was doing something wildly inappropriate - I guess because it was 8p.m. and I was about to knock on the door of a stranger's house.

Those rainbow eyes greeted me, glistening in the moonlight, cold as his tone when he asked: "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I came to prove that we're meant to be," I said with a fuss, pushing past him and into the foyer.

"I warned you to stay away!" he hissed. "I knew this was gonna happen, I should've listened to Hervaseline!"

I cringed, "What kind of name -"

Exasperated, he glanced up from his palms to look at me, "She's an ancient vampire, they all have names like that. She also has clairvoyance, making her stronger than every being in this existence."

"I'm sorry, vampire?" I was inclining towards hyperventilation as images of pasty demons with fangs, claws and sculpted jawlines flooded my conscience.

"Yes, vampire," Hot Jerk whispered, still speaking through his pearly whites, which I noticed were remarkably pointed. "And I'm a werewolf," he arched his back dramatically and extended his talons, breathing exhaustedly, which I guessed he had a sensible reason for doing.

"Why would you tell me -?"

"So that you can see why you need to leave me alone! That, and I find you attractive beyond mortal - and immortal - compare, so I trust you."

The dude finally cracked a smile.

"Wha- why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm no good for you. I could kill you with one flick of my wrist, swallow your entire head, crush you beneath my weight -"

"Okay, geez! I get it."

He sighed, "You're still not going to leave, are you?"

"I would, but my teen-heroine-senses are telling me to stay," I pouted. "Plus, I brought you cookies."