chapter Nineteen
Peter
“I'm sorry about that.” She has still not let go of my hand. The bones in her fingers creak as she grips as tight as she can.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You handled it.” She shakes her head as I open the car door for her. She sits in the seat sideways, not letting go.
“No, you handled it. This is getting worse, Peter.”
“We will have answers soon.” Her eyes plead with me. The moonlight sparkles on her skin, catching all the little hairs that cover her body.
“It might not be soon enough.” I lean down so my face is level with hers and take her other hand. Her skin is blazing hot with anxiety, fear, uncertainty. I cannot fight her demons for her, although I would slay them all, if I could.
“You are strong. You are mine. We are strong. We will be strong together.” Her hands pull me forward, until our foreheads touch. I pull back, letting her emotions take me over. It is overwhelming. Like a crowd of angry bees they swarm. I wait.
Slowly, her breathing evens. Her hands stop holding mine so hard. She focuses on something. Whatever it is, it is working. I wait until the torrent of her emotions has slowed to a swirl, like water down a drain.
She removes her forehead from mine, snapping her eyes open.
“What would I do without you?”
“Be human.” I wish to kiss her, but I pull back and get in the driver's seat instead.
“Dad's face was kinda funny when I sat on your lap.”
“He did not like it.”
“Yeah, I got that. He just doesn't understand. I've never really dated before.”
“I was not what he expected.” She laughs, and it flows from her to me like fire.
“I don't know what he expected. Someone like him. Maybe a math geek who also was on the golf team or something. Mom would want someone who was into plants and maybe artsy. He'd probably play the guitar and make quiche.” She says it without much hesitation. As if she's thought about it. The examples are rather specific. She leans her head back against the seat, turning to look at me. She's settled now. Relaxed.
She hasn't asked where we are going yet, but I want to know what she thought of when she pictured who she would date. “I didn't really have anything in mind. I always thought having a specific type of person you would be attracted to was stupid. What if you meet someone who doesn't meet those specifications? Are you just not going to date them because they don't fit your ideal? So many people have unrealistic ideals anyway.”
I think about that for a moment.
“You're so much more than ideal. I never could have imagined someone like you. So anything I could have had before is irrelevant. I have you now.” I reach out to take her hand. She pulls my arm and folds her body around it. As if she will never let go.
“You're my ideal.” I glance at her and her face is wrapped in a smile. It is impossible to think that anything I could do would make her look like that.
She studies my hand, putting her fingers up to mine. “So where are we really going?”
“To Miller's. I want to take you out on a human date.” She puts our palms together and curls her fingers between mine.
“But you can't eat.”
“I can pretend. For you.”
“And then we're walking on the beach?”
“If you want.” I reach out to brush some hair behind her ear. Her smile widens and her heart picks up.
“It sounds so human. So ordinary. But really romantic.”
I had thought for a long time about what a teenage couple would do on a date. “I am trying to be more human.”
“It's working.” She turns on the radio. I set it to the classical station. Sometimes I miss the music of my human life. The soft instruments, the lush voices that hummed with vocal power.
Pachelbel's Canon shivers through the air.
“I love this song. It always makes me think of weddings,” she says as if she were reading my mind. My skin has started to absorb the heat of her skin. Her scent blows around the car, covering up the scent of the dealership.
The music washes around us, drops of it flowing into our ears, making us quiet for the rest of the way. She is lost in thought that I do not wish to disturb. I hope she is not worried. I test the thread that connects us, pulling it a little to see if she is all right. I just get a buzz from her thoughts. Musings. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just even.
The neon sign over the diner throws orange light onto the hood of the car and onto our skin. She tenses up.
“What if I want them?” Her voice is quiet.
“I will hold your hand. You can fight it.”
“How?” I consider before answering.
“Accept that you want it and move on. The only way to get past it to go through it.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I bring her hand to my lips.
“If you decide that you need to get out, tell me and we will leave.”
“We need a safe word,” she says, tapping her chin with one finger. “How about wings? No, that's dumb. Um, unicorn? No...” she thinks some more.
“Adore,” I say. She turns to me, smiling slowly.
“Perfect. So if I say that, it means I need to get out and you can go all Spiderman and rescue me.” I still have not seen this Spiderman she talks about, but I nod anyway.
Clicking off the radio she says, “you're really going to have pie with me?” I wish I could tell her yes.
“I will sit with you. I will order coffee so I do not look out of place.” I won't drink it, but perhaps I can give it to Ava.
She has to let go of my hand to get out of the car, but she takes it back as we walk into the diner.
“You're awesome.” Her head burrows against my shoulder and her scent invades me.
“Thank you.” I am not going to debate the status of my awesomeness with her tonight. Tonight we are going to be human. As human as I can get. I want this night for her.
“If we're going to be human, you should open the door for me.” My hand was already going for the handle. I open it an usher her in.
“Thanks.” She tenses as she takes a breath of the diner. I wait for her to say the word, or for something in our connection. She exhales.
“I'm fine,” she says. And she is. A little tense, but I know she can handle it. She breathes again, smiling in delight. My Ava-Claire. My strong one.
The diner reeks of fried food and coffee and humans.
“Two?” The hostess at the counter asks us, holding up two fingers.
“Yes,” I say. She writes something down and hands us a number written on a wooden disk. There are several other people waiting for tables, most of them elderly couples, but there are a few families with children. Ava smiles at a little girl who hides her face in her mother's leg, but peeks back at Ava, who blows up her cheeks. The little girl giggles and hides her face again. I have never seen Ava with children.
The family's number is called, and Ava waves to the little girl who skips off to their table.
“She is so cute.” A little twinge of longing permeates her voice. So small she is not aware of it. But I hear it.
“You would make a good mother.” She stares at me. I know that look. I have said something she did not expect. This happens less often to me, but it does every now and then.
Her cheeks bloom with red. “I'm a little young to be thinking about that anyway.” She pulls a thread off my shirt and won't look any higher than my chest.
Not too young to think about throwing away her mortality.
A few minutes later the waitress calls our number. We're seated in the last booth at the end of the diner. It's coated in a thin glaze of grease from hundreds of french fries. Ava slides in one side and I go on the other. The menus wait for us, and I feel as if I should pick mine up, to keep up appearances.
Ava laughs as I pretend to study the menu. “Don't bother, I've got the whole thing memorized.”
“But this is a human date. We should act like we haven't been here.” There are a lot of things on this menu I had never eaten when I was human. What are sweet potato fries?
“Oh, right.” She picks up her menu and pretends to peruse it. I want to reach for her hands. Our waitress comes over moments later. She's about seventeen, Ava's age, with dyed red hair and a jewel in her nose.
“How are you doing tonight?” She leans on one hip and tosses her head.
“Good,” Ava says.
“Can I start you off with some drinks?” I feel her gaze on me, but it skitters away just as fast. Her heart rate increases, and she starts to let off a scent I've smelled millions of times. Fear.
“Water,” I say.
“I'll have a Sprite.”
“Do you need some more time with the menu, or are you ready to order?”
“I'll have a piece of the lemon meringue pie.” The waitress writes it down, leaning as far away from me as possible.
“And for you?” She turns to me, her pen poised. She can sense my otherness, and can't meet my eyes, keeping her gaze firmly on the yellow notepad.
“I am fine, thank you.” She nods and scurries away, glad to be away from my presence.
“You could have ordered something,” Ava says, stacking the menus the waitress forgot on the end of the table. “That would have been the human thing to do.”
“I did not want to waste anything.”
“I guess not. You look kind of overdressed for this place.” Her eyes linger on my chest. They have been doing that a lot since I bought the new clothes.
“I dressed for you, not the location.”
“Also my dad,” she points out. An elderly couple walks by us, taking the booth behind us. He has bad lungs. She has a healing bone in her hip. Still, they wear smiles on their faces. I can almost smell the love of nearly fifty years they've shared together. I tune out their conversation and focus on Ava.
“Also for him.” I wish I could have washed the clothes before I wore them. They still linger with the scent of the thrift store and their last owner. Ava does not seem to notice or care.
“You look good,” she says, putting her hands on the table.
“How are you?”
“I'm good. It's okay. I thought it was going to be really bad, but there's so much else. It's like there is so much of it that I can't focus on one, so it just doesn't bother me. Does that make sense?” It did. I had been through it millions of times before. More than I could ever count or remember. That was the biggest challenge being a noctalis. Resisting the urge for blood and finding something to fill your eternity.
“Yes.” I touch her knee under the table. “What other human things should we do?” I ask. She will have to take the lead for tonight.
“Well, we should gaze into each other's eyes and argue about how awesome the other one is.”
“Do you want to do that?” It doesn't sound like something Ava would participate in.
She smiles. “The gazing maybe. But I don't like to do that in public. It's too intimate. Also, it looks weird when two people are staring at each other. By the way, you should probably blink every now and then. And try to, you know, breathe. Or look like it. I'm used to you being so still, but the waitress is already freaked out by you. No offense.”
“None taken.” I never take offense to anything she says. I can see the waitress is hyper aware of me and how different I seem. Ava's father feels it as well, but his wife's approval overwhelms that feeling. Most of the time.
“If we were doing the complete human experience, we'd probably drive your car to a place and park it to make out.” A blush creeps from her neck to her face as she says it.
“Is that what human couples do?” I have seen plenty of teenage couples to know that is what they do. The level of lasciviousness in teenagers today is astonishing.
“Sometimes. Other times they get drunk and stumble around.”
“That I do know about.” I had seen enough of that at the party we attended.
“Yeah, I know.” The waitress interrupts us by bringing back our drinks. She sloshes some of the water when she sets mine down and hastily tries to mop it up.
“I am so sorry.” She says it several times, as if we haven't heard her. I am familiar with human gestures of nerves. Ava has many of them.
“It is fine,” I say, trying a smile. I don't show teeth, I just lift my lips a little. The waitress won't look at me. She apologizes again and goes to take another order.
“That smile wasn't bad. Still needs work. We need to give you a few different smiles for different situations.”
“I still need to laugh.” I hadn't tried yet. My throat didn't seem capable of making the sound.
“I know. We need to find things that are funny to you. I know you have a sense of humor. I've seen it. Your sarcasm has gotten better.”
“Thank you.” I practice a breath. The air whistles in my lungs. I try just moving my chest in and out. That's better.
“You're welcome.” She reaches out for my hand under the table. I give it to her, squeezing her fingers gently. “I'm happy I'm here with you.” The feeling sloshes through her, like a wave. It is good.
“I'm happy to be here with you.” I blink for her.
“Earth-shatteringly happy?” Her smile appears again. I have seen it many times tonight. I never get tired of seeing it.
“Incandescently, earth-shatteringly happy.”
Her fingers trace circles on the back my hand. “I love that word, incandescent.”
“I like it very much, too.” I let her voice and the feel of her skin absorb into me, wash the smell of the diner away.
The pie arrives, with the tower of white meringue several inches atop the yellow lemon gel. Very pleasing to the eye.
“It's almost too pretty to eat,” she sighs, picking up her fork. She's finished her soda and had some of my water so it looks like I drank it. The waitress gave us two forks, so I pick one up.
“What are you doing?”
“Being human.” The plate moves out of the reach of my fork. Her fingers latch onto it as if holding on for dear life.
“Sorry, but your humaness doesn't extend to having my pie.” I pull my fork back.
“Would you share it with me. If I could have it?”
“I've given you my blood haven't I?” She points her fork at me. As if she's going to stab me with it. I know better than to get between Ava and pie.
“Yes.”
“My blood is almost as valuable as this pie.” She sticks her fork into the very edge of the pie, scooping out a large bite. She brings it to her mouth and rolls her eyes back in ecstasy.
“Is it good?” Nodding, she swallows and takes another bite.
“Heaven. Absolute heaven.” I watch her finish the rest of the slice, even scraping the plate to get the last bit of lemon. She licks her fork and puts it down on the plate next to my unused one. Considering for a moment, she folds up her napkin.
“Come here.” She sits up, leaning over the table. I do the same and she meets my lips. I can taste the pie on her breath. The sharp tang of the lemon with the sweet coolness of the meringue.
“There,” she says when our lips part. “Now you've had a taste.” Her smile is nearly as sweet as the pie.
Ava
It was the human thing to do. And it felt good. Kissing Peter had always felt good, right. But I'm aware that the kiss could have been our last. I pull back as fast as I can an wait for something bad to happen. Seconds pass.
He licks his lips after our kiss.
“Very good,” he says. Disaster averted, second of the night. It was probably good I didn't tell him how scared I was about going into the diner. But it wasn't bad. The blood kind of mingled with the other smells, creating a delicious aroma that made me want to eat the air.
The kissing was another matter. It was arrogant of me to think that just one kiss could make him instantly fall in love with me. It hadn't happened yet. And if I couldn't kiss him on this one night, then what was the point? Humans didn't have these problems. And tonight, we were human. Tomorrow we would be a girl and an angel vampire. But not tonight.
I end up paying the bill because Peter doesn't have any money. It's also not really fair for him to pay when I'm the one who consumed both the Sprite and the pie. I offer, once again, to sell some of his things on eBay. He asks me if it's a human thing. I say yes, although, it would be impossible to tell. I'm sure there are many a noctali selling their priceless antiques online. He reluctantly agrees.
At least that's one thing we've settled. I have hope for other things, too. And more kissing.
I hold Peter's hand again as we drive to the beach. Part of me wants to go to the cemetery, but that wouldn't have been part of human night. People didn't do things like that unless they were really weird or stoned or something. I was the former.
The town beach doesn't open for a few more weeks, so there are no other cars parked outside the closed gate. Peter lifts me up and over as if I'm nothing more than a bag of feathers.
“That wasn't human, but thanks anyway,” I say as he vaults over the gate himself.
He glances backward. “Should I do it over?” I laugh.
“No, it's fine. I'll overlook it.” I twist my fingers in his, swinging our hands. He resists at first.
“This is human. Go with it.” He does and I have this image of us skipping. It's not a very masculine image, but it's kinda funny.
When we get to the edge of the beach I tell him we have to take our shoes off, even though the sand is cold.
“It's the human thing to do.” We stack our shoes on top of a trash can so we can find them on our way back. The sand worms its way between my toes in the moonlight. Dried seaweed scrapes against the soles of my feet, but I've walked barefoot on this beach so many times, my feet are no longer sensitive to the rocks and broken shells. Of course none of this bothers Peter. He strides right into the water. I roll my pants up just in case.
“You know there are people who swim in the ocean in the middle of the winter.”
“Isn't that dangerous?” He stands still. The current tugging at him has no chance against an immortal.
“Probably. They do it to raise money for charity. They bring hot tubs and stuff so they can jump right in.” I pull my arms around myself, wishing I'd thought to bring a blanket or extra sweatshirt. Peter throws his jacket at me. I put it on. It's already absorbed some of his smell. Oh, heaven.
“Do you want to do it?” He sounds serious.
I back away from an oncoming wave, barely avoiding getting my feet soaked. “Uh, no. That's a crazy human thing to do.”
“I see.” I wasn't sure he did, but I let it go. “The moonlight is so beautiful on your hair.” And then he says something like that.
“I love you.” The words have a mind of their own. I am powerless to stop them, as if he's cast me under a spell. Most of the time I think he has. I shouldn't have said it.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “I adore you.”
It was hard for me to imagine he could say all those things he felt and have it not turn into love. Part of me wondered if there was a switch that he shut off. He would walk close to the edge and lean over, but never take that final leap.
I had this theory that it was a strange form of self-preservation. Except love was this thing that you couldn't plan, couldn't stop. It just happened. So I wasn't absolutely sure. What I was sure about was that I didn't want him to love me until we had broken the bind. It wasn't safe until then.
“I love that you adore me,” I whisper. I felt the need to tell him it was okay if he couldn't love me. Adoring me would have been enough. So would cherishing me. Such a little word, love. Only four letters. When re-arranged could also spell vole. Nothing threatening about voles. There's lots that's threatening about love.
“It is getting late,” Peter says when we've walked the length of the beach twice. I'm cold, but I've got Peter's jacket plus my own, so I'll live.
“I know. You said you'd have me back by 9:00. Nice job with that, by the way. Getting me in early is a good way to earn brownie points with my dad.” I bump him with my shoulder.
“I thought it would stand me in good stead.” We walk with our shoulders touching. I'd like to get closer, but I don't want to be too greedy.
“Well, I'm sure by the time you take me back, Mom will have talked him into being more in love with you than I am.”
“I do not adore your father.” This induces a laugh from me that shatters the calm of the night.
“I should hope not. By the way, that brings up an interesting question I've been thinking about. Are there any gay noctali?” I'd never thought to ask before now.
“When we meet someone we are attracted to, gender is not so important. When you do not have to reproduce, something like that does not matter.” Well, what do you know about that?
“Have you ever...” I really hope he can fill in the blanks.
“No. You are the only person, noctalis or human, that I have ever wanted to be with in this existence.”
“I guess that's good to know.” I think about that for a moment. I guess when you take making babies out of the equation, being gay or bisexual isn't so much of a big deal. Interesting. I wonder if noctali are as liberal with all their views.
“Not that I wouldn't be okay with it, if you had been with someone else.” I might have been weirded out if he was with a guy, but if I love him, I have to love all of him, so I'd get over it. That doesn't mean I'm not relieved that I don't have to.
“There has never been anyone but you.” My heart is melty-melty. I pull his arm over my shoulder and hug him around the waist.
“There never will be anyone but you,” I say.
I'd thought, that when we he first Claimed me that he would simply pop up in my life every few weeks for his blood donation and then he'd be on his way. Just an inconvenience, like going to the DMV or getting a flu shot.
I'd have to tell whoever I ended up being with about it and that would be awkward, but we'd get through it. I'd seen it all stretched out in front of me. This strange man that would visit me every two weeks like some kind of ghost. I'd have to live in an old house full of cobwebs and such. It would be all gothic and dark. Perhaps I'd write Poe or Dickinson-esque poetry.
Now I couldn't see that life where he was just there every now and then. Even if we broke the Claim, or I turned into a noctalis, I'd still want him as much as I do now. That, at least, I was sure of.
He kisses my forehead and I revel in the smooth brush of his skin.
“We should get you home.”
“I suppose.” He keeps his arm around me all the way to the the car and it strikes me that to anyone, we'd look like a normal young couple. A human couple.
“Good job, Mr. Human,” I say when were almost back to my house.
“Thank you. I tried my best.”
“What you're forgetting about is that I like the things that make you not human. I love all of you. Including the noctalis parts.” I stop and gaze up at him.
“I adore all of you. Especially the human parts.” That's it. I'm complete mush. I end up gazing adoringly at him all the way home. It's sick, really.
“When are you going to take the car back?”
“Viktor will drive it for me so I will not have to leave you.”
“Be sure you take the Prius back. Maybe he should leave them some money or something.”
“No need. They will not notice the few extra miles.” I sigh, giving up.
“Come on, let's see how Dad's tune has changed.” I lock my fingers with his. We're walking into the house together, whether Dad likes it or not. I push the door open, listening.
“We're back.” I have to fight the eerie tone from creeping into my voice. I haul Peter in behind me. He comes willingly, though.
“Did you have fun?” Mom's voice calls out. I hear a movie. Some romantic comedy. Mom's choice, I'd wager.
“Of course we did, there was pie. Pie solves everything,” I add to Peter.
“Everything?” He hasn't learned how to raise one eyebrow yet, but when he does it's going to be pretty awesome. Not that he isn't already.
“Almost everything.” I'm thinking about the binding promise. I don't think pie would be much help in that situation. This time I tow Peter behind me.
Dad looks at his watch.
“You're early.”
“By four minutes,” I say, beaming him a smile. He scowls for a second, but Mom pokes him and he nods his approval.
“Well, goodnight Peter.” Dad looks stunned when I say it so quickly. The thing that makes me want to laugh is that he'll be waiting up in my bedroom for me as soon as he goes out the door.
“Goodnight, Ava.” He takes the hand I'm holding and brings it to his lips, bowing over it to give me a kiss on my knuckles. My lips are totally jealous, but they'll get paid later. As far as I'm concerned, human night goes until the clock strikes twelve.
I do hate letting go of Peter's hand, but it has to be done. Before he goes, he pulls me to him for a kiss on my cheek.
“Fight it.” Before he lets go of my hands, I get one good breath in. Then the contact is gone. He tips the fedora at me and closes the door. I start for the stairs, but Dad's voice interrupts me.
“What does he drive, anyway?”
“A Prius. He's very into the environment.” Hell, he'd been camping in a cemetery when I first met him. That counted. I have to let out the air I'd been conserving to talk, and my knees were buckling. I had to go. Now.
“I'm going to take a shower,” I say, stumbling up the stairs. I throw myself at the window, shoving it up and gasping big lungfuls of cool air. Peter had told me to fight it, but how did you fight something like that? Was that what he had gone through? Was that what he went through?
Dear god, I'd never thought of that.
I stop at the top of the steps, realizing that I couldn't rely on him to save me. I had to save myself. And then I could save him. I was no good like this. To anyone. I turn around, purposely inhaling the air that floated up the stairs. It was diluted, but still strong.
I really couldn't put my finger on just what it was that made it so good. All I knew was that I wanted it. So much. But Peter told me to fight. So that's what I was going to do.
I was the reckless girl who had gone back to the cemetery, even after almost being killed. I was the girl who had danced with him that night. I was the girl who had let a noctalis have my blood.
Reckless. No reward without risk. Go big or go home. I said the phrases over and over as I stood at the top of the stairs. My plan was to dash downstairs, say goodnight and dash back up. It wasn't a terrible plan. Even though the pie was long gone and I was starving. In more ways than one.
I counted down, crouching like a distance runner. I finally get to one, and dash down the stairs.
“Goodnight!” I call to the living room.
“Goodnight, baby.” Mom turns and blows me a kiss, frowning a little. Wondering what's up with me. “I'm fine,” I mouth back. She nods. Dad turns and it takes hours for him to say, “Goodnight Ava-Claire Bear,” and give me a partial smile. I breathe in, taking in the scent and acknowledging that yes, it's delicious, and yes, I want it, and no, I can't have it.
I get out with just one vision of smashing my father's head against the coffee table.
Peter's perched on my bed with the fedora cocked over one eye when I slam the door shut.
“Very nice,” I say, pushing my back up against the door. I'm still panting from the run back up the stairs. Thankfully, my room smells like Peter.
“I thought you would like it. You did well.”
“Thanks,” I say, walking toward him. I'm not trying to be sexy, but I can't stop thinking about how the jeans hug him, how his eyes look at me from under the hat.
And I realize that I want to kiss him. I really want to kiss him. I want to lay on top of him and roll around and have him put his hands in my hair and on my skin and...
“I'm going to take a shower.” Probably a cold one. Where the hell did that come from?
“I will be waiting.” Peter doesn't seem to notice how I scurry out of the room after gathering some clothes. Or he's too polite to mortify me further by mentioning it.
The bathroom door closes behind me and I lock it. There won't be any conversation around the door tonight. I need some space. He must sense that, which is both nice and awful at the same time.
Get a grip, Ava.
I go from wanting my Dad's blood one second, to wanting Peter the next. It's like I have this intense need, and it transfers to whatever is right in front of me at the time. I close my eyes and dip my head under the water. Trying to wash my brain out.
It wasn't like I hadn't had thoughts like that about Peter before. How could I not? But this was different. The wanting was different. It had turned from something that flitted through my mind, gentle as a butterfly to something that took over. I could see myself going to him, putting my hands in his shirt. Taking it off. Burning his skin with kisses. And other things. I could see myself doing it.
Yet another problem to add to the list of things that had changed since the Claiming. Only this was one that didn't suck so much. Wanting Peter was...
It was like stepping outside during the first summer rain with bare feet. It was like spinning around in circles, arms out, in the middle of a field of wildflowers. But I had to control it. Just like everything else.