Chapter Twenty-Six
Days pass, then weeks. Life settles into a rhythm that is bearable, if only barely so.
Claude drinks from me most evenings. Sometimes he cooks for me. But often he is gone, leaving me alone in the house with nothing but the sea for company.
I’ve never been a person with real hobbies before.
I never had time for them, always busy with school, work, and taking care of myself.
All of this empty time is uncomfortable, but I find myself seeking escape in books, which I used to enjoy during spare free time.
It’s been years since I picked up a novel for pleasure, but I find them surprisingly soothing now.
So I read, and talk to my friends, and try not to think about where Claude is. I asked for space, and he’s giving it to me. But I can’t help but imagine him off at a party somewhere, laughing and talking with people who aren’t me, drowning his sorrows in blood and wine.
I wish I had such easy escapes. Instead, I’m often left sitting in the seat by the window where he used to paint me, staring out at the dark waves, bitter in the knowledge that I’ve gotten everything I asked for.
It’s hard to imagine that I thought I wanted this…
but back then, I suppose, I didn’t know what it was like to feel the weight of Claude’s attention, his fingers brushing against me; to see him on his knees in front of me as if in prayer.
But that only leads to spiraling. I try to think of other things. To lose myself in my books and self-care. But Claude haunts the house when he isn’t here. Such a short time together but already I have so many memories of him, in the kitchen, in the dining room, in the studio. Inescapable.
I told him I wasn’t going to let him break my heart, but sometimes I fear I’ve broken my own by pushing him away.
Then, one night, I wake to a missed call from my mom.
I stare at it, and stare some more. Do a quick search online to ensure I haven’t missed some huge news, but the internet has no answers. Why would she call me now, of all times? Finally receiving my attempt at contact from months ago, when I needed help with my rent?
I shouldn’t call back. I should be furious that it took her this long to deem me worthy of a response. But… I so badly need someone to talk to right now, and against my better judgment, I press call.
She picks up, which is unheard of. On the second ring, which is even more unheard of.
“There she is! Hi, Nora.”
Again, I want to be angry at the fact she answers like nothing is wrong, like she didn’t ignore me for months, like we haven’t been low-contact ever since I was eighteen and left home without a word. Instead, I find myself getting choked up at the sound of her voice.
“Hi, Mom.”
“It’s been too long, sweetie. I was wondering when I’d hear from you. How is everything?”
“It’s…” I take a deep breath, blink away tears. “Well, complicated. Didn’t you get my text a few months ago?”
“A text?” There’s a sound of shuffling on the other end. She’s distracted by something else. Either her art or her van, I expect. “…Oh, yes! Yes, sorry, darling, I was without a phone for a while. You know how it is.”
“Right…” Pushing my glasses up to rub at my eyes, I try to think of what to say. How much to tell her. But just as I open my mouth to launch into it, she speaks first.
“I was thinking I should come visit soon. I miss the West Coast.”
It takes me a second to process. “…Really? You haven’t been here in years.” I should say no, but it’s tempting right now, the idea of having company in this big, empty house. “You should probably know, um, I don’t live in LA anymore. I’m up north a bit, and… well, I’m with someone.”
“I was wondering when you were going to tell me the news!”
“What?” I pause, brow furrowing.
“You know, I was looking through an art magazine the other day, and it was covering some new vampire’s opening show—interesting stuff, though not to my tastes…
” Another pause as she rustles something on her end, though I have a sinking suspicion where this is going.
“And as I was looking through the pictures, who did I see? My lovely daughter! On the arm of Lord Claude de Vulpe, nonetheless! It gave me quite a shock, I’ll tell you. ”
Shit. I shut my eyes, bracing myself. “I’m…”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. My own daughter, a valentine, and I didn’t know! I mean, no judgment, of course. I just didn’t think you had it in you, quite frankly.”
I clear my throat. “It… was a surprise to me, too.”
“Sure, sure.” I’m not sure she’s even listening to what I’m saying. “But anyway, as I was saying, I’d love to come visit and meet him.”
Realization is a cold pit coalescing in my stomach. “…That’s why you finally called.”
“Hm?” She’s half distracted, as always.
“You didn’t call because you were checking in on me,” I say. “You called because you wanted an introduction to Claude. I should’ve known.”
There’s a long pause. “Honey,” she says. “That’s not—”
I hang up before she can finish the sentence. Before she can hear the sob tear out of my throat. I fling my phone to the other side of the bed and sink down, head in my hands. The weight of grief settles on me again, heavier than before.
I’m so alone, and such a fool. I’ve always known that the only person I can rely on is myself, but for a while, I had almost started to think…
A knock at the door startles me. I gulp back tears, trying to steady myself enough to answer.
“Nora?” Claude’s voice comes through the door. “May I come in?”
“N-not right now, Claude,” I say, my voice thick with tears.
There’s a long pause. Then, “Please?”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. “…Okay,” I say, in such a small voice I’m not sure if he’ll hear, or if I want him to.
But of course he does, with his vampire senses. He probably heard me crying from across the house too. And a moment later, he’s pushing through the door, approaching the bed where I sit in a miserable, tear-stained lump.
I must look awful, my face blotchy and eyes swollen. But Claude’s face is tender as he sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches for me, but hesitates, his hand falling to the comforter between us.
“I know you asked me not to touch you,” he says. “But…”
I throw myself onto his lap before I can second-guess the instinct.
My arms around his neck, my face buried in his chest. He holds me close and rubs circles on my back, murmuring soothing words.
I feel horrible for taking comfort in touch when I was the one who asked him to stop, but I need it right now.
“Talk to me, mon chou,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
It takes a while until I’m able to speak.
But when I do, it comes as an outpour. I cry about everything: my mother and the way she always loved her art more than me, my childhood where I was forced to learn to take care of her instead of the other way around, the years she seemed to forget my existence, that goddamn phone call and what an idiot I was for thinking she actually cared.
“She’s the imbécile for not seeing your worth,” he says, stroking my hair. “Her failure to be a mother is not your fault.”
I pull away, sniffling and wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”
“Why not?” he asks. “I want to listen. I want to be here for you, Nora.”
“But you have real things to worry about,” I say. “Ambrose and the court… My problems are stupid. I should be able to deal with them.”
“Your problems are no less real than mine.” He cups my face as I try to turn away. “Nora. If they matter to you, then they matter to me. They’re not stupid.”
Our eyes meet. His gaze is so soft I can hardly stand it, his hand still on my cheek, his mouth so full and inviting.
I press my face into his shoulder again so I won’t give in to temptation. My hand fists in his shirt. The texture is odd, stiff, and when I pull back and look at it, I see drying splatters of color.
“Were you painting?” I ask.
“Making an attempt. I thought… I might as well try.” His lips twitch in a half-hearted smile. “Lord Ambrose was right, in a way. Dangling the contract over my head was enough to get me to try again, after all these years.”
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my face again, freshly annoyed at myself. “I interrupted. You didn’t have to drop everything and come, I would’ve been fine—”
“No. I’m glad I did. It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, that fragile smile fading. “You make me happier than I’ve been in a very long time. But I still can’t do it. I’m starting to think that that part of me is… is well and truly dead.”
My heart seizes. I try to brush my tears away, but they won’t stop coming. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I should’ve been checking on you instead of making it about me—”
“Nora, stop that at once.” He pulls me close and presses a fleeting kiss to my forehead.
“Your feelings matter.” His lips brush my nose, barely there before they’re gone.
“They matter to me.” The corner of my mouth next, while I stay perfectly still.
“You matter to me.” He hovers just in front of me, so close.
Dangerously close. “More than painting. More than the contract.”
My voice is hoarse and barely audible. “Your life is staked on that contract.”
“More than that, too.” When I speak, I catch a glimpse of fangs. His eyes are on my mouth, too. “Tell me to kiss you and I’ll do it. I don’t care what they do to me.”
I have to shut my eyes to clear my head.
Force myself to think of the contract, the stakes.
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, I want to, but we can’t.
” I shake my head and pull away from him, even though it hurts to put space between us.
“Thank you for being here. But… this is exactly why you need to keep your distance.”
It’s for my sake as well. Because right now, I want nothing more than to seek comfort from him. I want to be held, to be kissed. I want him to spend the night with his body wrapped around mine, making me feel less alone.
But instead, after a brief goodbye, I curl up in my sheets by myself.