Twenty-Eight
There's a note on the kitchen table that Dad took my mother to a doctor's appointment. It makes my heart seize up for a second. No, I will not be negative. I shove it to the back of my mind and focus on something else. Food. I'm absolutely ravenous.
I make grilled cheese because it's the quickest. Peter watches me as if I'm doing something fascinating. When I finally flip the sandwich out of the pan and onto the plate, I'm hungry enough to eat the pan. I don't bother sitting down because I hate when he's the only one standing so I lean against the counter.
“I know you don't understand the power of melted cheese, but it's, like, really good.” I speak around a mouthful. I'd put three times as much cheese as I normally did. Heaven.
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?”
“Not really.” Blink.
“What does blood taste like? You don't have to answer if it's too personal a question.” I'm not going to ask how mine tastes.
“I did not think you would want to know.”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrug.
“I cannot really describe it, but it is like you would die if you didn't have more. Like you wish it would last forever so you could have one more taste.”
“I had cheesecake like that once. Earth-shattering cheesecake,” I say.
“You are not put off by this topic of conversation?”
“Not really. You are who you are, you know? Who am I to judge?” I lick my fingers to get the last of the butter. I'm sure he's grossed out, but I was starving.
“That is very understanding of you.”
“Thanks.”
I wash my plate and wonder what we're going to do with ourselves. The house is so quiet.
“What is it?” He catches me looking at him.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“I am not familiar with this look on your face.”
“It's my plotting face.”
“What are you plotting?” he asks.
“Wait here for a second.” I run upstairs. This is going to be fun.
***
“You look like a serial killer in a mugshot,” I say.
“How is this?”
“Now you look like you're trying to lure children into your van with promises of lollipops and puppies.” He holds the mirror up and tries again. His lips pull up in a weird way. I pushed his hair out of his face, and my fingers had a field day. I could have done that all day long, but we have important matters at hand.
“And now you look like you're in pain. It should be natural. It's easier if you just let it happen.” I'm trying to teach Peter how to smile. It is not going well. Smiling doesn't sit well on his face. It makes him look crazy. For some reason, he can't make the expression reach his eyes.
“You need to think about something happy. Close your eyes.” He obeys. “Okay, now think of the happiest thing you can. Are you doing that?” He opens his eyes.
“You're supposed to keep your eyes closed,” I say. I'm having a hard time talking because he's really close. There's a freckle on his nose that I don't remember noticing.
“Then I can't look at you,” he says.
“Why do you need to look at me?” God, he smells good. His clothes are much cleaner than when we first met, and he's wearing shoes. He's almost a proper human now.
“Because you're what makes me want to smile.”
“Oh.” Way to make my face go red. I bite my lip and look down to hide my smile. Nobody's ever talked to me like this. Somehow I feel like without saying it out loud, he is my boyfriend. Somehow.
“Look at me,” he says. I turn my eyes upward and there it is. It's small, barely a lift in the corners of his mouth, but it's there, and it's heartstopping. Damn, he's gorgeous. So freaking gorgeous.
I'm on those lips like white in rice.
For a second it's like kissing a tree or something, but then he gives and my brain's exploding and my mouth and nose are filled with wintergreen and heat and I want to be consumed by it and nothing else matters at this moment in time.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
“Ava.” He whispers my name, and it's suddenly the sexiest word in the English language. I open my eyes and I'm staring into his. He's smiling. Breathtaking.
“You're smiling.” I helpfully point out.
“I know.”
“It makes me really want to kiss you again.”
“I know.”
So we kiss again, and again. It's like being in the middle of a blizzard with fireworks thrown in. His lips have that slightly waxy texture, but they're soft and take on the heat of my own lips.
He pulls away. I open my eyes and wish his breathing were ragged, his body on fire. I know mine is.
I've kissed boys before, during Spin-the-Bottle sessions and once at a dance I'd been attack-kissed, but that is all washed away by Peter. Maybe he spent all those years of noctalis life practicing kissing. Wouldn't surprise me. I reach for him again.
“We should stop. You parents are just up the road.”
“Uh huh.” I feel like my brain has temporarily gone on autopilot.
“I should go. For now. But I will be back.”
“Okay.” He's gone a second later and I'm left sitting on the couch, feeling my lips sizzle.
***
She kissed me. It was unexpected. Even though I felt a bit of her desire, it was hard to tell it apart from what I felt. We were both wrapped up in some sort of haze that consumed us. I should have pushed her back, but I didn't want to. I needed it as much as she did. Some form of human contact. Once I'd had a little, I need more. Before her, the kill was what I needed. The hunt. The feel of the drain of life out from under me. It was not unlike this rush. Instead of death, this tasted of life. Of a different desire. In some ways, this was stronger. It was also desire that could never be satisfied. I could never have enough of her. Not if we spent every single second together.
I had to leave and it was terrible. The more time I spent with her, the more I never wanted to leave, and the harder it was for me to even want to. The feeling of being full, so full I could burst swooped over me, and I knew that this was it. My end. A car sounded up the road. I used the sound to pull me out from under the haze. I also heard another sound. Viktor was waiting in the woods.
***
“How did it go?” I say. My brain is still a little fried from the kiss. My parents arrive through the front door about sixty seconds after Peter left.
“Everything looks good. No change,” Mom says. I wouldn't say that was good, but I smile anyway. I'm still dazed. Everything has kind of a rosy glow around it. God, I'm kind of high.
“I think I'm going to lie down for a little while. They took a little too much blood out of me.” Please don't remind me about blood. I give her a hug and a kiss and she drifts down the hall. Dad's still bringing in groceries.
“How was it?” I say when he comes back in.
“The same. She's not getting worse, which is good. She's stable for now. They could have done more tests, but I wasn't going to push her. There's no point, really.” He says the last part bitterly. I can tell he's been stewing on it all the way home. He slams the milk into the fridge.
“It's okay to be mad,” I say quietly.
“I'm not mad,” he says, slamming the fridge. Instead of arguing with him, I walk over and put my arms around his waist, like I did when I was little. I haven't hugged him like this in a very long time. He's shaking and I look up to find his crumpled face. He's crying. Silently, but there's no mistaking it.
He starts to collapse and we both slam to the kitchen floor. He's barely making any sound, which is much worse than the sobbing sound I should be hearing. There's nothing I can do as he holds me so tight it hurts.
“It's okay, Dad.” I say it quiet, so she won't hear. “It's going to be okay.” I'm more than a little freaked out that I'm on our kitchen floor trying to comfort a grown man, let alone my father. When there's really nothing I can say or do to make it better. I'm in just as much pain. He's been holding it in too long, but this can't be the first time he's let go.
“I can't lose her.” The words rip from him like tearing fabric.
“I know.” I pat his back. It seems like the right thing to do. Over and over he says it. I can't lose her. Yeah, well, me neither. My own tears come, try as I might to stop them. I have to keep wiping them away. It takes a few minutes, but he gets ahold of himself. Once he's done shaking, he extricates himself from me and stands up as if nothing happened.
“Don't tell your mother,” he says before he walks out the door. I swallow the rest of my own tears and go to wash my face with some cool water. My life is bipolar. One minute I'm flying on a cloud, kissing Peter and the next, my father is sobbing on my shoulder. I like the ups, but I could do without the downs. I guess you have to have both, though to balance things out and all. Or maybe I get the highs because of the lows. Or maybe... I'm thinking too much about this.
My phone buzzes. Yay, a distraction.
Where the hell r u? Did u die? Of course Tex is melodramatic. I almost don't want to answer her, just for the hell of it. I can't really deal with her right now. I've got bigger problems.
At home. Dealing with a lot. C u tomorrow.
Exhaustion crashes in on me, and even though it's only 7:30, I'm ready for bed. I look in on my mother, but she's asleep and I don't want to wake her. Dad is outside, still supposedly getting the groceries. I should check on him, but I don't want to. Color me selfish.
I barely have time to get my clothes off before I'm completely out. The last thing I remember is someone pulling a blanket over me, but I'm too tired to see who it is.