Chapter 12
Pausing in front of Tim’s door, I gather my thoughts before knocking.
He’s invited me upstairs this evening for some ‘quality time’, so I assume he wants a fuck.
No, that’s unfair of me. Tim’s a nice guy.
It’s not his fault that he’s involved with a vampire bitch with a hidden agenda, namely feeding on him when he’s asleep.
But if it wasn’t him, it would be someone else.
Hopefully, Elliott’s about to change all that for us.
I’m finding it difficult not to sink my fangs into him for a quick fix—I just know he’s going to taste yummy.
But I’m being a good little bloodsucker and letting him adjust to his new situation.
It’s a ‘settle in first, bite later’ scenario.
This invite to Tim’s has come at an opportune time. Elliott needs new clothes, and Tim has a wardrobe full of stuff he doesn’t wear, and they’re about the same size. I’ve got my story down pat ...
‘I’ve been busy. My cousin is in town and staying with us,’ I say in reply to Tim’s query about what I’ve been up to.
We’re in the kitchen, and I’m sitting at the table with my legs crossed, sipping delicately from a glass of white wine he’s poured for me.
It tastes like battery acid, but I drink it anyway to keep up the pretence that I’m a normal human being.
Tim bustles around, tossing various pinches of herbs into a simmering pan and tasting from a wooden spoon.
He must’ve come straight from the office as he’s still in his business shirt with the sleeves rolled up and pinstripe trousers, an apron hastily tied over the top of the ensemble. Is he a stockbroker? An accountant? It’s something that requires a pinstripe suit anyway.
‘Ah, so that’s why you haven’t been replying to my calls,’ he replies, stirring vigorously and sounding miffed.
Tim’s the only one who insists on ringing our flat.
Occasionally, I’ll pick up if I’m walking past because I can sense it’s him.
But most often, I don’t if I can’t tell who’s calling—just in case it’s the police, a blackmailer, or, worse, Alexander Dryden, Floss’s grudge-bearing sire.
So far, we’ve managed to avoid a run-in with him.
But one of these days, we’re going to have to face off—I can feel it in my stone-cold bones.
I shrug. ‘Elliott hasn’t been to Edinburgh before, so we’ve been doing quite a bit of sightseeing.’
Tim throws me an enquiring look. ‘Elliott. So it’s a guy cousin?’
I nod. ‘Yeah, and I know this is going to sound a bit odd. But do you have any spare clothes he can borrow? He kind of turned up unprepared for ... the weather. We could go shopping, but that’s going to interfere with our sightseeing, and he’s only here for two weeks.’
‘Sure, we can have a look in my room before dinner. The coq au vin needs to simmer.’ Tim turns down the heat on the stove.
I look at the pan on the stove, and my lips thin.
Oh, so he’s cooking for two. I really hate it when he assumes I’m staying for dinner as then I have to eat human food.
Some of it tastes OK, like red meat, but chicken is foul (no pun intended).
I told him I’m on the monotrophic diet, which involves eating only one food item.
But he doesn’t listen to me and says I need to eat properly, or I’ll get sick.
But if I have to eat his coq au vin, so be it. Elliott needs to get kitted out.
‘What’s his style?’ Tim enquires, leading the way to his bedroom.
‘Uh, dunno. Casual, I guess?’ I reply as he slides open the pine-panelled wardrobe door that stretches along the left-hand wall.
Inside are hangers of neatly pressed shirts and suits, designer for business and linen for casual, and shelves of jeans and T-shirts.
While he’s rifling through his clothes, I sit on the super king-sized bed.
The bedding smells of him—Old Spice aftershave and Imperial Leather soap.
I’ve been in here plenty of times, and it never fails to amaze me how neat and tidy he is; there’s not a pair of dirty socks on the floor or a bodybuilding magazine out of place on the nightstand.
His Playboys are safely out of sight in the cupboard, but I know they’re there because I read his mind, and he feels guilty that he looks at them. He thinks I’d be upset if I knew.
Honestly? I don’t give a shit if he wants to look at 2D tits and pussy.
I lean back on the bed, propping myself up on my elbows as Tim pulls out various items, muttering to himself.
I’d love a top-floor bedroom like this. It’s spacious and airy with cream carpet and cornflower-blue walls.
A big white-framed bay window with a tartan padded seat looks out onto a leafy park.
It’s south facing, but too much sun isn’t really an issue in Edinburgh, even in summer.
Sitting on the window seat on a grey day, watching the rain clouds roll in across the treetops would be soothing.
I think about my poky basement room and feel a twinge of jealousy. Oh well, one day.
At least I have a hot guy currently inhabiting my room, even if he doesn’t want to be there. I should probably feel guilty about that ...
Tim flops a load of clothes on the bed next to me and says, ‘Will any of this do? They’re clean. I just don’t wear them anymore.’
I look through them briefly. Apart from jeans and T-shirts, he’s included some smart jumpers and a dark-blue coat as well. ‘Yeah, thanks. Elliott will be grateful to have some warm stuff to wear.’ Otherwise, he’ll have to make do with a hot water bottle with a pink knitted cover.
‘What did he actually bring with him?’ asks Tim curiously.
‘Er, a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he’s wearing those.’
Tim scrunches up his handsome face. ‘He knew he was coming to Edinburgh for two weeks in winter, and he didn’t pack any clothes?’
‘He’s staunch,’ I reply. ‘He’s from Orkney.’
‘Oh.’ Tim doesn’t look convinced. It does sound a bit suspect, I have to admit.
He glances at me lying on the bed, and a flicker of desire crosses his face.
His thoughts are torn between making out and concern that his coq au vin will burn.
I play on that as I don’t particularly want to get intimate at the moment.
I lift my nose into the air and sniff. ‘Can you smell something?’
‘Shit,’ Tim mutters and races off to the kitchen.
I gather up the clothes in my arms and trail after him, calculating how long I need to stay for the sake of politeness.
I really need to get back to Elliott and see to his dinner.
I’ve been feeding him peanut butter sandwiches, but he’s getting angry about that.
Ooh, maybe I can say I’m not feeling well and get some of the coq au vin to go?
I lean against the doorjamb while Tim stirs and tastes from the pot again. ‘Any chance I could get dinner to go? It smells great.’
He turns and stares at me. ‘What?’
‘I’m not feeling too well, time of the month and all that. But I might be able to manage some of it later on. Sorry, I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’
Tim’s mouth tightens. He yanks open a nearby drawer, rummages around noisily, and grabs a Tupperware container.
With a pair of tongs, he takes out two chicken legs, chucks them into the container, and slops in a few spoonfuls of the gravy, then adds some vegetables and rice.
He bangs on the lid of the container and holds it out to me. ‘Here,’ he snaps.
I take the container and place it on top of my armful of clothes. ‘Thanks.’ I feel a bit bad, but I didn’t ask him to cook for me. There’s no need to have a temper tantrum.
Tim’s jaw is clenched, and his brow is corrugated.
‘Well, I guess I should—’ I say, taking a step backwards.
‘Do you even like me, Sadie?’ he blurts.
I hitch a shoulder defensively. ‘Of course I like you. Why even ask that?’
He folds his arms and glares at me. ‘Because from where I’m standing, I’m not getting that impression. You want to see me when it’s convenient for you. I think you’re using me.’
I readjust the clothes, trying to keep the container from sliding off. What he said is true actually. I can’t deny it. For the last six months, I’ve been coming up here for sex and a feed (and I don’t mean his home cooking).
But I don’t do well with confrontation. He’s backing me into a corner.
‘Perhaps it’s best we break up then,’ I say calmly. ‘If you feel like that.’
Tim’s lips part, and his eyes widen. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Yeah,’ I say, getting on a roll. ‘This isn’t really working for me. And being forced into having dinner when I’m feeling ill with period cramps, well ... that’s not cool.’
Tim runs a hand through his hair, looking distressed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I don’t want to break up.’
I humph and look away.
He says more softly, ‘You mean a lot to me, Sadie.’
‘We’ve been seeing each other casually. It’s hardly a committed relationship,’ I say weakly.
But it is nice to have a convenient blood source upstairs. And he’s not bad in bed either.
Tim takes off his apron and hangs it on the back of a kitchen chair.
The frown is gone and has been replaced by a look of mild apprehension.
‘What I’m about to say will hopefully change that.
I was going to do this during dinner, but since you’re taking dinner with you .
..’ He dives into his suit trouser pocket and drops down onto one knee.
Oooh, wow. Shit!
‘Sadie Bouffant, I love you. Will you marry me?’ Tim beseeches.
I gaze at the red velvet box he’s presenting. It contains a diamond ring and not a cheap one either by the looks of it. He makes good money doing whatever he does in his suits, so he can afford it.
I swallow and kick myself for not breaking up with him sooner. Even if I did have feelings for him, there’s no way I can marry him. He doesn’t even know I’m a vampire.
‘That’s a lovely gesture, Tim. But I’m sorry, my answer is no,’ I state.
‘Just like that? You won’t even think about it?’ His frown is back.
‘You’re a great guy, Tim, and I like you a lot. But I won’t make you happy…’
‘You do make me happy!’ he says emphatically.
‘I’m a free spirit. I hate being tied down ...’
‘You’re just afraid—’
I can’t help laughing at that. Me, afraid! I’m not afraid. He has no idea who I am. I can slam a grown man against the wall.
Tim leaps to his feet and shoves the ring back in his pocket. ‘You think this is a joke?’ he says angrily. ‘That my feelings are a joke?’
‘I don’t,’ I say hurriedly. ‘It was just—’
‘Get out,’ he says. ‘I don’t know why I’m even bothering. You have no feelings for me. You’re a stone-cold freak.’
Pain stabs my unbeating heart. Ouch, OK, that hurt. I growl softly in the back of my throat. I’ve a good mind to show this human some manners. But I rein myself in. Tim is a nice person in general, and he’s only lashing out because he’s upset. He doesn’t deserve to be ripped to shreds for that.
‘You need to go out with someone else and forget about me,’ I force myself to say gently. ‘I’m only going to end up hurting you.’
Tim looks at me and doesn’t reply.
‘Thanks for the clothes. I’ll make sure that—’
‘Your cousin can keep them,’ Tim interrupts gruffly.
‘Well, OK. Thanks.’ I take a step backwards. ‘Goodbye, Tim. I’m sorry.’
He stares at me morosely while the the coq au vin bubbles away on the stove. From the smell of it, I do think it’s actually burning now. But I don’t comment, just leave.
As I walk towards the front door, I spot a red Walkman lying on the sideboard and put that on top of the Tupperware container. Tim can easily buy another one, and I’m sure Elliott will appreciate having some music to listen to.
After managing to get out of Tim’s flat with all his stuff, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
Fuck, that was awkward. Why did Tim have to go and propose right then and there?
It’s completely my fault. I shouldn’t have let it go as far as it did.
I knew he was thinking along those lines.
But I wanted to keep enjoying myself, and it was nice to have him pursuing me.
Now I’m not going to see him again. Ever.
Unless I bump into him in the stairwell or the entranceway or outside .
.. Hmm, I think I need to call a flat meeting. We’re going to have to move.