“You’re the only one who understands me,” Elian moaned as I touched him with my teeth.
“I’m the only one who will ever love your scars, Elian. The only one,” I responded. Emphatic. Real.
Did he hear me? Did he comprehend what I was trying to say?
“Why can’t I stay away from you?” he murmured. He wanted to know. I would never give him the answers. They were mine to keep. I wouldn’t share them.
“I would never let you stay away,” I promised as he turned in my arms and tried to hold me in return. I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want him to touch me.
Not with his hatred still bitter on his lips.
But I could touch him.
With my claws and my fangs. My forked tongue and devil’s horns.
My body absorbed his and claimed it all.
“I don’t ever want to leave,” Elian murmured into my hair. Our clothing lost. Our breathing labored.
“You’ll never leave.” I gave him the assurance that he needed. With my body. With my locked away heart.
“What about you, Layna? Will you leave? Will I be left here, a shell, after you’ve gone? Will I die waiting for you to return?”
I grinned.
I didn’t answer him.
I didn’t have to.
We both already knew.
The room was empty. Except for the pale light streaming in through the window. Dark. Dusty. The grit of grime and years of dirt crunched beneath my shoes.
“Daddy?”
My voice echoed. Bouncing off walls. Hitting me square in the chest. Alone. Alone.
Alone.
“Hello?” I moved farther into the room, dragging my fingers along the wall. The wood splintered beneath my palm. Shards digging deep. Embedding under skin.
The blood began as a trickle. The barest of sensations as it dripped down my arm.
I giggled. It tickled. I pressed my hand into the wall. Harder as I moved. Deeper into the room. Shuffling. Wearisome movements.
It smelled like him. Like Daddy. Like smoke and mint.
“Daddy?” I called again. There was a sound. The faintest of whispers. Barely intelligible. Saying…something…
The blood came thicker. Quicker. Pouring from vicious open wounds. I walked through the puddles. It splashed at my calves.
I giggled louder. And louder. The blood warm and embracing. Grasping at my feet as I advanced ever closer. Closer.
I wasn’t alone.
Never, ever alone.
“Daddy!” I cried. Knowing it was him. And I felt a blissful delight that I hadn’t experienced in so, so long.
“Daddy!” I yelled again. I slipped and fell, falling forward, my hands flung out to brace my impact. The blood went up my nose. It filled my mouth. I swallowed, drinking it. Pulling it in.
Hands sure and strong lifted me to my feet and I knew it was him.
Daddy!
I looked up. And up. And up.
Into Dancing Green Eyes.
And a face obscured with throbbing, aching red.
I woke up abruptly. Not in quiet peace but in fearful realization.
Something was different.
Wrong.
The dream was unlike any I had ever had before. Recollections were converging. Confusing me. Muddling my mind.
I slid out of bed and fell to my knees. I covered my face with my hands and rocked.
And rocked.
Back and forth.
Dancing Green Eyes.
And the blood. Everywhere the blood.
Before it brought me comfort.
It gave me, in the silent reprieve of dreams, a moment where I could feel close to him and not hate him. Not be mired in the guilt. In the shame.
I could simply embrace the love I always felt but was so often scared to let out.
But tonight…
I shuddered. I felt sick.
Something was wrong.
I pulled out the box kept in secret under my bed. I opened the lid and stared down into the contents. Years of denial. Years of carefully kept thoughts and barely contained memories.
I picked up the letter on top and considered opening it.
But to open it now would unleash things I wasn’t sure I was ready or able to deal with.
I put the phone to my ear and waited. A different voice answered my desperate call in the middle of the night.
“Elian.”