Hoyt feels funny about making out in Bill's house, after last time, but Jessica assures him several times that they're fine -- and it's two hours to dawn -- before dropping her panties and shoving him vamp-strong onto the couch. She's turned on by the chance they'll be caught, she's turned on by him snapping the buttons of his shirt open as she reassures him, she's turned on by the act of dropping those panties with the skirt still on, she's turned on by the feeling of stripping off her shirt, and straddling him. He moans as she kisses his neck. "I've never wanted anything so bad in my life," she groans, elated. He nods, beautiful: he knows. They begin to make love; he smiles when her fangs pop out.
A moment later and she's crying out in pain. She's confused -- wasn't that a one-time deal? -- but by the time he's noticing the blood on his dick she's figured it out. Hard-won territory. Her sister's name is Eden. Her father gave the door a voice that said, "Fault," every time anybody entered or left. Her sister has a problem with hair. And the belt, when you were nasty. Around the neck, when it was too much. This whole life, wall coming down between your mind, your perfect soul, and your imperfect body.
And then the monsters came, and killed her: broke through that thin membrane and took her blood. And she woke in the arms of a monster, and they told her she was above all that, now: an angel, beyond death, whose body is meant only for pleasure. And all that pain and fear and shame was ridiculous, because it was exactly what it was: a lie, a dream, a trick. More about him than it ever was about her. She could do anything, wear anything, say words you'd never think of saying. Kill, or love. Anything. Nobody was watching.
Even Bill, passing his own shame and self-hatred down the lines of blood, couldn't stop her, not once she found love. Not once love took her apart, and put her back together better. She'd realized something, that perfect moment just a few hours ago, with soup-scented candles and rose petals on the bed, Hoyt's beautiful strong body telling her she was: Perfect, perfect, perfect. All the beautiful work they did, and all the signs their bodies made, spelling out one truth she'd never known: She was made for love. Not for hate, never for fear. Always, already pure, with no room for shame at all.