Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down (12 page)

One step back in his apartment and he knew that was a mistake. 

Anja’s subtle presence could still be felt in the apartment from the short time she’d stayed there.  From the used glass in the sink, to the golden strands of hair on the back of the couch, and the rumpled sheets on his bed; even the air felt different.  Lifting a pillow to his nose, he realized he could still smell her unique scent imprinted on the fabric… there would be no sleeping in that bed until he had a chance to strip the bedding.   

Focusing on the things he could control, Bishop went through the chores of reclaiming his apartment.  Stripping the bed, he set the sheets to wash and vacuumed off the back of the couch and under the cushions for good measure.  He washed the single dirty glass and replaced it in the cupboard.  There was still plenty of night left, so he methodically cleaned his array of weapons, whether they needed it or not
,
until he was satisfied with the results.  It was too bad he couldn’t call Mason over to spar for a while
.  T
hat would have been a good way to get rid of his excess energy, but then he’d have to explain why Anja wasn’t there.  Even her absence intruded into his thoughts. 

Accepting that no
m
att
er how he tried to fill the hours, his mind kept returning him to a certain young blonde, Bishop resolved to chase her memory away with another.  Retrieving a carved cherrywood box from the top of his closet, he set it on the table, staring at the closed lid.  Without opening it, he rose and poured himself a glass of wine, a deep burgundy from
Lyon
.  Swirling the wine in the goblet, Bishop glanced at the
small chest
, unsure if he wanted to awake
n
that particular ghost of the past. 

H
e found himself sitting in front of the grand piano, frowning
at
the bottom of his glass.  It was impossible to think of
Carys
and not think of the music.  He could see the light marks of fi
ngers on the glossy piano
-
did Anja
play?  He knew
she
attended a school for fine arts, but not much more than that.  Bishop opened the fallboard, revealing the keys.  Even after all this time he could hear the music
,
and his fingers itched to play the way he had played for her.  Would they still remember all the notes?  Fingers arched, they found their home at middle C, hovering there for long seconds before the overwhelming sense of loss
suffused
him
,
and he closed the door to those memories before they could claim him again.   

Chapter
Ten

One good thing about being a vampire,
I
didn’t get tired at all
walking
uphill
on the way home
. 
Despite telling Bishop I could make it home fine, I didn’t have my purse or phone with me, so catching the bus or calling a friend for a ride was out of the question.  I thought about catching a cab, but the
stroll
was refreshing, and helped c
lear my head
.

I wasn’t really sure what Bishop’s deal was, but I wasn’t the type of girl to grab him and plant a kiss on him to prove there was a spark between us
.  N
or was I the type to stand outside his window with a boombox over my head.  I was plenty used to unrequited crushes, if not outright rejection
,
though that was rare because I never put myself out there to get turned down.  Convinced I’d likely never see him again, I set off to reclaim my life the way it was before waking up in the morgue.      

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got home
.  T
he last time I’d seen Bridget
,
I’d been attached to her hand by the mouth, using her like my own private juice box.  Thou
gh Bishop had promised me he’d
taken care of it
,
I had no idea what that actually entailed.  Had he wiped her memory and sent her to bed?  I was afraid she’d react to me with fear based on some visceral level that knew I’d attacked her, but all I got was a broad wink when I walked through the door. 

“Someone had a good time last
night
.
I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What?  No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Don’t give me that, I saw the guy.  What did the two of you get up to after I went out on my date?”

I wasn’t even sure she’d gone on the date; she’d been in her room when I went out the window the night before.  God, was it really only the night before?  “Nothing, we just talked.” 
Not a lie…

“Oh come on, what a waste of perfectly good man meat!  Are you telling me you didn’t end up in bed together?

I had ended up in his bed…  The memory of Bishop comforting me after my nightmare came back then with startling clarity
,
and I took a moment to relive what it felt like to be safe in his arms.  I guess it made my face go all soft and dreamy, because she called me out on it.

“I knew it!  Sinner…” she giggled with delight. 

“I didn’t sleep with him, but he did let me sleep in his bed.  He was a perfect gentleman,” I insisted
,
and her shoulders took on a disappointed slouch.

“Aw, I’m sorry An, maybe on the next date then.  Oh, you might want to check your messages, your phone’s been beeping all day.”

It was after eight p.m. and I had twelve voicemails on my cell.  Not too bad, at least I was missed while I was gone.  Not being up and around during the day was going to be a problem.  Even though Bishop assured me I wouldn’t burst into flames
,
I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to function for the bulk of the day.  I had no idea how I was going to make it through school.

Listening to the
voicemails
, one was an automated message from the library reminding me my books were due.  The rest were from Melissa, the other soprano in my
jazz
group.  It was way past rehearsal time and I’d completely blown it off, something I’d never done before.  With a wince, I listened as each message got more frantic, her neurotic personality kicking into overdrive.  Of course
,
that might have been me calling a week ago.  Before vampires came into my life, music had been the most important facet of my life. 

“Melissa, hi… I’m so sorry…” I tried to head off her tirade as I called her back, but it ended up being easier to let her vent for the first thirty seconds.  “No, I realize that, I was so sick, I couldn’t reach my phone.” 
Not a lie…
I’d slept like the dead all day long
,
that had to count for something.  “No, I understand… you know I’m committed… yes, I understand the pressure that puts on you.” 
Frak
, it was just one rehearsal, she
acted
like I’d put
Tabasco
in her cough syrup.  “I
promise
you I’ll be there at the next rehearsal, and I’ll se
e you in class tomorrow.  Sorry
again.” 

“
I hope it’s not catching
,” Bridget called out, leaning over to buckle up her clunky boots. 

“D
on’t worry.  On second thought, maybe you’d better not get too close to me
,” I amended after a moment’s thought.  It was probably for the best to avoid getting too close to any humans until I learned better control
.
  Of course that assumed I’d learn better control
.
I’d never been able to resist brownies either. 
 

“I’ve got to get to work, so you’re good.  Unless you need me to stick around?” She looked almost hopeful, but I wasn’t sure if that was because she was actually worried about me or eager to get out of work.

“No, I’ll be fine, have a good time at work.”

“That’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one,” she muttered, pulling on her coat.  “Laters.” 

The apartment wasn’t as quiet as I normally found it with Bridget gone.  Without trying too hard, I could tell what each of the neighbors were doing, but
quickly lost interest
with that game.  If I wanted to watch old re-runs of the
Munsters
, I could turn on my own TV. 

I got a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror on the way in to take a shower.  Instead of looking like hell for not having showered in over twenty-four hours, I looked… pretty good.  Better than pretty good even. 

There was no sign of the dark circles under my eyes that followed my escape from the hospital.  My
blue
eyes were bright and clear, my vision crisper than it was with my glasses.  My hair has probably always been my nicest feature, it came to just below my shoulder blades and it fell in soft waves now, lighter and more lustrous even under the harsh bathroom light.  It wasn’t greasy or stringy from missing a washing and my face wasn’t shiny at all.
I started to grasp that unless I got outwardly dirty, I probably wouldn’t need to shower at all.  I still took one though, relishing the feel of the hot water coursing over my body. 

Changing into soft, familiar pajamas, I got ready for bed like I always did at night, but I wasn’t the least bit sleepy.  Retrieving the card Bishop
gave
me, I keyed it into my phone under B and stuck the card itself
between the mirror and the frame of
my
dresser for safekeeping.
  Thirsty and feeling peckish, I stole some of Bridget’s vegetable juice, vowing to replace it the next time I went to the store.  The salty drink hit the spot and I settled onto the couch for a movie marathon with my
cozy
blanket. 

Near dawn I
shuffled into
the bedroom, shutting the blinds up tight as the yawns started to become more frequent.  I noted as an aside that my retainer didn’t fit
right
anymore and filed it away as one of those things not to worry about anymore as I climbed into bed. 

Lying there in the dark, I couldn’t help but wonder what Bishop was doing at that moment.  Was he lying in bed in his darkened apartment too?  Was he alone, or did he have some other blonde lying beside him?  Just as quickly as that thought slipped in I pushed it aside, not wanting to go there.  My last thought was of the feel of his lips brushin
g against mine in passing as I
said my goodbyes. 

*
*
*

I used to love school.

Not
only
the social aspect of it
,
but the actual learning.  Not the most popular thing to admit to, but I liked it
.
I was good at it.  It made me feel good to get decent grades or when my parents praised me for it. 
I even admit I liked the feeling when they would say
'
Why can’t you be more like your sister?
'
to
Hanna, who never cared a whit what they thought
. 
Frak
… maybe I
was
a book nerd after all?

But as I arrived at the school, dark sunglasses and long sleeves firmly in place, I found it hard to rouse any interest in being there.  I couldn’t help but view
each classroom and old acquaintance with new eyes.  When had the acoustic ceiling tiles become so water stained and dingy?  When had the
cafe
stopped serving meat in the Salisbury steak?  When had the overhead projector in English Lit started to smell like old socks?  All
of th
o
se observations
assailed me as I sat through class, but I didn’t find myself distract
ed.  No, my brain catalogued tho
se tidbits and more as I devoured the lessons, reading and working ahead in class easily while still following a half dozen whispered conversations before
class was over
. 

The sea of bodies around me
as I left the room
was… intoxicating.  To be surrounded by the cacophony of voice
s
and so many beating hearts… it was an overload on my enhanced senses, and I fell back against the
nearest wall
, letting it all wash over me, a vaguely dazed look on my face
,
I’m sure. 

Beyond the sharp scents of too much perfume, deodorants, hair products and more
,
wafted the unmistakable smell of blood
.  M
y eyes immediately sought to track down the source, flicking to rest on a skater guy who
winced
over a fresh road rash on both elbows.  My mouth started to water and I unconsciously licked my lips, taking a step in his direction
before I forced myself to stop, eyes squinching shut until the wind changed and I could think again.  It was pure torture taking a step backwards, and then another, putting as much space as possible between me and the temptation before I did something unforgivable.  Only the knowledge that I had to get to rehearsal kept me from giving too much thought to waiting for the guy to wander off alone and unprotected
...

*
*
*

Most people c
ouldn’t
understand why I majored in V
oice
,
mostly because it scared the bejeezus out of me.  Not all the time.  I could sing with a group with no problems at all.  Sure, I got a little nervous before a performance, but as long as there was someone singing along beside me,
it
was no trouble whatsoever.  It didn’t have to be a large group either
,
I’ve done well with a quartet or even a duet.  But something about singing anything solo sent my nerves into chaos.  It didn’t
m
att
er if I was singing in front of a packed auditorium or a living room full of people at a karaoke party.

If I knew I
had
a solo coming up, even in rehearsal, my stomach would tie into knots, and I’d get the shakes.  If it got really bad, my upper lip would start to twitch while I sang too, or my eyes would start to tear.  It didn’t usually affect my performance, but it turned me into a nervous wreck if I had too many solo spots lined up.  At the same time, I
wanted
to sing solos in the worst way.  Whenever a new piece was announced, I’d get a surge of desire to try out for it.  Maybe it was a sick need to make myself miserable, or a masochistic streak, but I couldn’t resist signing up to try out. 

Apart from the
jazz
group that practiced twice a week, I had my one on one’s, the regular choir and the concert choir rehearsals to attend.  They generally kept me busy most evenings.  We were preparing for a performance in t
hree
weeks and would be practicing with the orchestra that night, which meant a double dose of stomach wringing nerves since
Trent
would be there. 

Trent
was my biggest source of shame and embarrassment, and every time I saw him, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the dirt in over me to hide.  He was the one guy to pay any attention to me in college, and I fell for him hard.  I
’d
thought he
’
d fallen for me too, especially when he asked me to move in with him
,
and I blithely gave up my student housing to begin our new lives together.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t as mutual, or I should say not as exclusive as I’d thought,
because I
found out he was seeing Bridget on the side.