“Meaning her,” I suggested, and he just nodded. I didn’t want to know who she was, hoped he wasn’t going to tell me. I’d been impressed by his poems, but I was jealous, too. “Have you ever . . . you know . . . written a poem about me?”
“No. I haven’t written anything in a very long time. These poems . . . they were a way to work through my anger. Writing about my feelings was cathartic, a way to exorcise my demons. I have no need for poetry now.”
“Huh,” I said, a little hurt. Which was silly, of course, but whatever. “Well, it’s too bad you don’t play guitar or piano. You’d make a good lyricist.”
“Yeah, I could have pioneered the hard-core punk movement. You know, back in the 1890s. Given that Rachmaninoff a little competition.”
“What else have you got in there?” I asked, peering inside.
He pulled out the remaining treasures. A yellow velvet ribbon. A button. A small golden thimble. Something that looked vaguely like a wooden acorn.
“Okay, a thimble and an acorn?” I asked. “What, are you Peter Pan?”
“It’s funny,” he said, shaking his head. “I know that each of these had some special meaning to me, but I can’t quite remember what, not anymore. It’s like . . . the memories are inaccessible. Just out of reach.”
“I don’t even know what this is,” I said, holding up the acorn.
He rolled it around in his palm. “Just a trinket of some sort.”
“So, what are you going to do with it all? Keep it, or put it back?”
“I think it should stay with the house, don’t you?” He reached down to stroke my hair. “I’ll put it back tomorrow. You look exhausted.”
I nodded, leaning in to him. “I am pretty tired.”
He set the wooden box on the dressing table and then led me back to the bedroom. I went over to my suitcase and pulled out my pajamas, my heart racing now. I had no idea why I was so nervous—we’d shared a bed in Paris without incident.
But this bed . . . I eyed it once more, my heart racing now.
When I glanced back at Aidan, he’d already stripped off his shirt. Which, of course, only made my heart beat faster.
Crap. That stupid vision. Unlike my usual glimpses of the future, this particular one hadn’t shown anything terrible happening—nothing life-threatening, no maiming, no blood or broken bones. Still, I’d taken it as a warning, because they always were. But maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe there really was nothing more to it than what I’d seen.
And what, exactly, had I seen? The two of us in bed together. Been there, done that. We were making out, but what else was new? And yes, sometimes when we did, his eyes turned red and his canines came out. But if he were going to actually bite me—pierce the skin and suck my blood—then wouldn’t my vision have shown that, too?
I had to make a decision now, based on instinct alone. And my instinct was telling me that I was safe in this particular bed with Aidan.
That was good enough for me.
33 ~ Gone
The house seems so quiet,” I said, staring up at the ceiling above the bed. We’d left the curtains open, and the full moon cast a silvery light across our bodies. We lay there together, my head on Aidan’s shoulder, one arm thrown across his bare chest. “Do you think they’ve all gone to bed?”
“Probably so. It’s been a long day. I can’t believe you’re still awake.”
“Well, so are you,” I argued.
“Yes, but I don’t have to sleep. You do. What’s going on, Vi? You’re so tightly strung right now, I could play you like a violin.”
I let out a sigh. “Just thinking, I guess.”
“Are you going to let me in on it?”
“Mostly about school in the fall. It’s going to be so weird without everyone else.” I was also thinking about those poems of his, but I wasn’t going to mention that.
“It’s a new chapter in your life,” Aidan said philosophically. “One ends, another begins. You’ll have many more.”
“I guess. Anyway, you seem pretty quiet yourself.”
“I suppose I am rather contemplative tonight” was all he said before falling silent.
And then my curiosity got the best of me. “You’re not thinking about . . . well, whoever those poems are about, are you?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, not precisely.”
I sat up sharply, gazing down at him with a scowl. “Well, which is it? You either are, or you aren’t.”
“I am, but not in the way that you think.”
“Uh-huh. Go on.”
“It’s just . . . the relationships I had during my mortal life, they were so painful. I remember feeling raw, exposed, consumed. Angry, as you saw with those poems. But with you . . . I don’t know, I feel almost peaceful. Most of the time, at least,” he added, and I knew he was remembering that stupid misunderstanding with Tyler. “But even when I’m angry at you, I never really doubt us.”
“So, what’s your point?” I asked, my hackles rising. Because it kind of seemed like he was saying that he didn’t feel as passionately about me as he did them. They consumed him; they inspired poems—I didn’t.
He sat up, facing me. “See? This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d interpret it that way.”
“Well, how else am I supposed to interpret it?”
“What I was trying to say was that those relationships, they were toxic. Unhealthy. But with you . . .” He sighed, shaking his head. “What if it’s got something to do with the vampirism? You know, changing my personality. What if I cure myself—become mortal again—and suddenly I’m that asshole again?”
“That’s what you’re worried about? Seriously? You don’t even have the cure yet.”
He shrugged. “Being here, in this house . . . it’s making me remember my mortal life, that’s all. I’m not sure I want to risk being that guy again.”
“How ’bout we cross that bridge when we get to it, okay? I mean, look what happened the last time you tried the cure.” I shook my head, trying to forget. “We’ve got four years of college ahead of us, and—”
“Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay? You should get some sleep.” He stood, reaching for his T-shirt. “I think I’m going to go for a walk or something. Maybe I’ll feed. It’s been too long; I’m probably pushing it.”
“Wait. Don’t go. Not like this.” I scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for him. “C’mon, I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t. I just need to clear my head.”
I hated the tone of his voice—cool, detached. I had no idea what was going through his mind, but I had to take care of this now, before it was too late.
“Aidan? Please, just look at me.” Kneeling on the edge of the bed now, I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him back to me. His eyes were bright in the moonlight—and damp, I realized. My mind scrambled frantically to process that information, to figure out what was wrong, what I’d said to upset him so. I came up totally blank.
“Don’t go,” I said. “You can feed later, okay? Once I fall asleep. Just . . . stay with me for now.” I tilted my face up toward his, guiding his lips toward mine with one hand.
I kissed him—softly at first and then more urgently.
He tore his lips from mine. “Don’t you see, Violet?” he asked, sounding frantic—desperate, even. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t decide—”
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” I interrupted, trying to placate him. “We’re here for a week, a break from reality. Please don’t ruin it,” I added, my voice quavering now.