Nocturnal (23 page)

Time ceases to have meaning. I relax more, let myself fall into him. We pass a few towns. It is so dark and everything is unfamiliar. We rise higher, the lights blotted out by the distance. It's just us.

“I wish I could do this every day,” I whisper into the air. 

“It would not be special if you did it all the time.”

“I guess you're right. Still. This is...”

“I know.” His face isn't blank anymore. Well, he's not smiling or anything, but I feel the peace rolling through him. He's free up here. This is his sanctuary. And he's up here with me. Which makes me feel like an intruder. My arms tighten around his neck. They're getting tired of holding on, but I'm not letting go.

“I'm sorry I asked you to bring me up here.” He swoops in an arc, turning us around. My skin is covered in goosebumps I'm sure he can feel.

“Why?” 

“Because this is your place. And now I've ruined it. Everyone should have a place that is theirs.” 

“I do not mind sharing this with you.”

“Are you sure?” I re-adjust my grip for the thousandth time.

“Yes.” He looks down at me and I meet his eyes. They sear like fire the dark. I settle back against his chest. 

There is a small bump as we land back on my roof. My legs shake, so he holds me up until I get them back under me. I realize it is the longest skin to skin contact we've had. I hope it didn't make him uncomfortable. He holds me even after we get through the window.

“Are you hungry? Don't lie to me.” I say. As soon as I'd gotten over being sick, my stomach had started cramping, just a little bit. It's gotten worse and worse, and instinct tells me what it means. I'm Peter's hunger barometer.

“Yes.”

“Go ahead then.” I've only been Claimed for a few hours, and already I'm willing to open a vein for him. Not good.

“I can wait.” He puts me down, withdrawing as quickly as he can. Like he can't get away from me fast enough.

“You gave me something. I'd like to return the favor.” It's foolish, I know. And it could also kill me. But I still have the glow of the flight rushing through me. And I kinda want to. Just to see. Also to stop my stomach from hurting. 

I turn my head to the side. They usually go for the neck, right? I stuff my shaking hands under my comforter and take a deep breath. I really hope this doesn't hurt too much.

“Are you sure?” He teeters on the edge of decision. I feel him standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for me to tell him if he should jump. 

“I trust you,” I say, and close my eyes.

Midnight Interlude

“Ava?”

“Hm?” My eyelids take forever to prop open. I'm warm and dazed, lying in bed with my covers piled around me like it's the middle of winter instead of April.

“Ava?” A lukewarm hand strokes my face. I lean into it. My eyes finally open all the way. 

“Peter?”

“How are you feeling?” His face materializes in my line of vision. God, he's good looking. Everything feels heavy and hard to do, even blinking. 

“What?” It takes a second for everything to rush back. My hand goes to my neck, but there's no wound. 

“I took it from your wrist. I thought it would be easier to hide.” My fingers reach out and feel the band of gauze around my left wrist where he cut me earlier. I peel the tape back. It doesn't hurt, but it looks awful, even though he's clearly washed and disinfected it.

“You didn't kill me,” I say, surprised.

“No.” I'm too weak to put the gauze back on, so he does it for me. I didn't know his touch could be so delicate. Also how much I love it when he touches me.

“Why?”

“I don't know.” He blurs and shudders in front of my eyes. I think this is just me. I reach my non-injured hand out to him and he takes it. 

“Thank you.” I give him a squeeze as I say it.

“What are you thanking me for?” 

“For not killing me. Not just for now, but for when we were flying. It would have been so easy for you to drop me and then you wouldn't have to deal with me. Don't tell me you didn't think about it.”

“I didn't.” I believe him. I glance at the clock, wondering what the hell time it is. Damn, I missed dinner.

“Did my parents come in?”

“Your mother did, but she didn't want to wake you. I believe she's put your dinner away until you need it.” My stomach snarls. I do need something to eat, especially after my blood donation. Don't they always give you juice and cookies after those things?

“I will leave you now. Goodnight, Ava.” He slips out of my hand and out the window.

“Goodnight, Peter.” 

I wobble to my feet; my head feels like it's floating an inch below the ceiling. I needed to eat something. I also needed to read up on anemia. 

***

Being away from her was like ripping my arms and legs off. I almost heard the tearing sound. I did not want this, for either of us. The thread that connected us, before that night would have been easy to sever. One snip and she would have been free. When I Claimed her, I twisted those threads together, meaning severing one would inevitably sever the other. If she died, I would continue to be, but without her. 

Along the thread, feelings come. Angryscareduncertainanxioustiredstressed. I didn't even have words for all of them. It hit me like a hammer, so many things at once that I wanted to smash my head open so they would spill out and stop plaguing me. How could she stand it?

Her heart beat fast and loud. I could almost hear the blood in each of her little veins, pounding and rolling like a river. 

I wanted her blood, but I also wanted something else. To protect her. From everything, including me. To cradle her and touch her skin and whisper poetry in her ear and watch her smile. I wanted her to teach me to laugh again. 

On an impulse, I picked her up. Her hands twined around my neck, pressing into my skin. That alone made me want to stand there for an eternity, just feeling her touch. Let her fingers play with the hair on the back of my neck. Touch my wings.

The night enveloped us, wrapping us in its darkness. Not for the first time, part of me wished to take her away with me. Find a deserted place and live there. Would she have stopped me? I did not know. So I took her back and put her in bed. 

Her scent followed me as I flew out the window. I was not going far, but she didn't know that. I wondered if she could sense my presence. Her smell stayed with me and I would carry it with me always. 

***

“Oh my god, where the hell have you been? I've been texting and calling. I almost called your house and risked talking to your dad because I was so worried.” Tex is yelling and it makes me want to clamp my hands over my ears. Ugh, why is she so loud? It's only eleven, but I've been passed out since Peter left.

“Okay, okay. I couldn't find my phone and then the battery died. So sue me. Although, if I ever get kidnapped, it's a good thing to know that there will be someone who alerts the police as soon as possible so they can start searching for me.” Of course I mean it as a joke, but now that I'm the First National Blood Bank of Peter, who knows?

“Shut up, don't even say that. I was really worried.” It's there in her voice. A day ago this would have been a major crisis. Now it is on the bottom of the things-I-need-to-worry-about list. 

“I know. I'm super sorry. I'll make it up to you,” I scrub my gritty eyes. Someone (probably named Peter) has left a full glass of water on my nightstand. I chug it and listen to Tex's irritated breathing as she makes up her mind.

“I want coffee tomorrow morning. Two sugars, no cream.”

“I know how you like your coffee.” Tex has been drinking coffee since she was ten.

She's silent. I want to reach my arm through the phone and use it to choke the life out of her. I instantly recoil from that thought as it's accompanied by an image of me actually doing it. I decide to try something else.

“Have you recovered from the party yet?” 

“Meh. I always bounce back. I didn't say or do anything embarrassing, did I?” That's unusual. She normally remembers everything.

“Well, you ran around naked for a while and you kept screaming about how you couldn't find your banana and then you made out with a couple of guys and I don't really remember the rest.”

“You are such a ho.” I fake-gasp.

“You don't remember?”

“I do, but you never know.”

“True. You did cry a bit about him.” I hear her swear softly on the other end.

“Oh god, I am so sorry. You probably wanted to punch me.” 

“No, it's all good. You had a little cry and then you were fine.” For the most part.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's no big deal, Tex.” I'm on the edge. I need to get off the phone before I say something I don't mean. It's not her fault I'm in this mess.

“Listen, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” I don't wait for a response before I hang up. 

“What is wrong with me?” I say to myself. I crack open my window, letting in some cool air. Even though it's dark, I can see pretty well. Much better than I could a little while ago. Dear sweet Jesus.

If this is what's happened in just a few hours, what else could happen? I tear off my shirt and run to the bathroom mirror, scrabbling at my back to make sure I'm not sprouting wings. Panting, I lean over the sink, preparing to hurl again. 

I know I'm changing, but I don't know how to stop it. I don't know what I'm changing into. It scares me. But Peter says it was the only way to get Ivan to leave me alone, and I have no reason not to believe him.

Another wave of nausea rolls through me. I heave once, but don't throw up. 

There's a knock at my door that makes me get vertical. If it's Dad, I'm going to punch him. As quickly as I can, I get into bed and try to slow my breathing.

“Ava? Are you awake?” The sound of my mother's voice shatters something in me and all I want to do is cry. Curl up in a ball and feel her fingers in my hair. Pull yourself together, Ava.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to make my voice sound sleepy. 

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I quickly crawl under my covers and squint my eyes a little. I'm not a very good actress.

“You slept the day away, baby.” She sits on the edge of my bed and strokes my hair. I glance down to make sure my arm is covered. 

“I know. I was just really tired with everything.” Understatement of my life.

“Are you feeling okay?” Her fingers dance across my forehead and it feels really good. Not enough to distract me, but still.

“I'm better now. I think I had this stomach thing.” I move my head so I can give her a smile.

“Okay,” she says, still stroking my head. I feel like she wants to talk about something.

“Are you going to bed?”

“Not yet. I can't sleep.” She looks out the window. Her eyes tell me she's exhausted, but I'm not going to argue.

“Do you want to do something?” I say. She turns from the window.

“Sure. I was thinking that the garden's looking a little sad. I feel like I haven't had the energy to work on it.” She pushes up the sleeves on her robe.

“Do you want to? Now?” Midnight gardening isn't the craziest thing I've done in the past 24 hours, which is saying something.

“Yeah.” 

Giggling like children, we tiptoe down the stairs and out to the little garden shed Dad made her one mother's day. Her energy perks me up better than a cup of coffee. I'm still weak, but feeling much better.

With my new sharper eyesight, I'm able to spot the tiniest of weeds, but I keep jumping at things in my peripheral vision. We spend the next few hours on our hands and knees yanking out dandelions and nettles. I struggle to make benign conversation.

The most vocal of all Things, hereafter known as Thing Three, rattles away in my throat, threatening to jump out of my mouth in a moment of weakness. But there is absolutely no way I can tell her about it. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't see things the way Peter did about it being essential for my survival. I sigh without meaning to. Peter. 

Thinking about his name sends a pang of loss through me. I miss him. Sick and twisted as it may be, it's like half of my soul or spirit has been carved out of my body. Which sounds super dramatic, but that's the best way I can describe it. 

“Have you figured out any of your friend issues?”

“Not really.” I snort. They're low on my priority list.

“There's something else up with you,” she says, looking at me sidelong. It makes me think of Peter. She's hit the nail on the head and I have no way to get out of it, so I say, “there's this guy.” Instantly, her eyes light up as I tell her what I can about Peter. Which isn't much. I haven't even made up a backstory.

I keep the details to a minimum. She's silent, listening to my verbal tap dance. I weave something mildly convincing and hope she buys it. 

“We should probably go in,” I say when I've run out of Peter things. I look up at the sky, which is significantly lighter than when we started. We gather up the discarded weeds and my mother's tools. I toss the weeds on the compost pile and she puts her tools away.

We can hear Dad snoring the second we open the door. She laughs softly.

“We're lucky he sleeps like the dead. Especially lately.” She says it as a joke, but there's something sad in it too.  

“Goodnight,
ma fleur
. Sweet dreams.” She kisses my forehead and I pull her in for a hug. I hold her tight, breathing her in. Memorizing. Trying to bottle her up so I can keep her.

“I love you.” I've been having a hard time saying it lately. Which is weird because I've never had a hard time saying before. I'm just more aware than ever what it means and how many times I have left to say it.

“Love you too, baby.” I freeze this image in my mind. Of her with dirt under her fingernails and a tired smile on her face. Just add her hair back, and a little more weight and she'd be perfect.

Meeting Claire

He stays outside my window the whole night. Not that he watches me sleep or anything, but he stays close. Close enough that I know he's there. I don't look out the window. I don't want him to know that I know that he's there. Somehow it feels embarrassing to have him babysit me.