Why are you in my bed
16
As the sun shone through the few lingering cloud tufts on a bright spring day, I found myself partaking in the most human of routines: making a cup of coffee.
Since becoming a vampire, I quite enjoyed the taste of black coffee, though the caffeine had no effect on me. But today, the coffee wasn’t for me. For the first time in weeks, I was the first one to wake in the condo, and I was determined to bring Riftan a morning beverage in bed like he often did for me.
It was strange how much a little ritual like that could bring back some remnant of my human life. It was always pleasant to partake in the little things that could make us feel normal on occasion. Especially when many may consider a habit such as murdering people and drinking their blood very abnormal.
Taking the steaming cup of coffee in my hand, I strode toward Riftan’s open door. We no longer seemed to close doors in the condo—it was like an unsaid pact between us. There was something about shutting doors that made things seem private, and neither of us required any privacy from the other.
Inside the open doorway, where warmth still enveloped the smaller space, Riftan was already standing by the gold mirror, fiddling with the sleeve of his unbuttoned shirt. He greeted me with a smile that lingered over his shoulder for only a moment before he returned his attention to his shirt cuffs.
The room was still dark, but that didn’t make it any harder to see. With my heightened senses, it was no different from a well-lit space. On my way to Riftan, I meandered past a wood dresser where he kept a small assortment of belongings. His leather-bound journal was collecting dust, save for the spot where he always tossed his watch on top of it, and beside it was a photo of us in a frame older than my entire family lineage. Feeling the familiar stack of things draw my attention, I stopped, tracing the pile with a curious gaze. The glint of the gold frame shone in the dim light, but it wasn’t what had caught my eye. The photo housed within wasn’t as familiar as it should have been, given how many times I’d passed it in the last three years.
Originally, the photo had been a picture of us when we’d first come to Czech. My hair was still blonde, and I’d been blushing like a tomato from Riftan’s proximity to my cheek. He was smiling, but not enough to see his teeth, and I seemed too distracted to so much as match his meager look. The sky in the background was as grey as a Prague fall morning, and the moment it’d been taken was inconsequential—I didn’t remember the circumstances.
That was far from what was in the frame now. It’d been replaced by a picture I recalled from our trip to Curacao months earlier. Riftan had the camera in one hand and my bare waist in the other. We were both in swimsuits, standing in front of the most beautiful, clear turquoise water. Riftan’s cheek was squished up against mine with a giant, childish smile spread over his whole face. I was laughing at him so hard that my eyes weren’t open for the photo, and my baby fangs weren’t so little anymore—in fact, they were about as obvious as Riftan’s. My red hair had grown past my shoulders and was soaking wet from the tropical waters. Riftan was just as drenched, droplets of water dripping from his hair and flattening it like a wet dog’s.
It wasn’t the best photo of either of us—not by a long shot—but the memory it evoked was matchless, bringing a smile to my face.
“When did you replace our photo?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Riftan hardly spared a fleeting shrug. “A couple of weeks ago, I guess.”
“Why this one?” I couldn’t help but scoff. The photo wasn’t great, and we probably had many that were better from that trip, let alone one of the many other trips we’d taken together.
“Because of how happy you look in it. I love it. It’s my favorite of all the ones we have together.”
I did look overly thrilled, but with that said, so did Riftan. It was hard to believe he could look as authentically cheerful as he did in that photo. It was hard to believe anyone could look as jovial as the two of us did there. While it was sloppy, that photo was a proper snapshot of our happiness together.
“I suppose you’re right. Here, this is for you.” I offered him a mug, closing the distance between us.
He took it from me, careful not to spill the hot contents. In return, I took his free hand and straightened out the sleeve he’d been fussing with. Twice, I rolled the cuff like I knew he wanted but hadn’t quite achieved yet.
Crossing his coffee-bearing arm over my head, Riftan traded the mug to his other hand before taking a sip and holding out his second unrolled cuff for me. Matching it to the other, I moved on to his open shirt. Wiggling my way in front of him, I hopped up onto the dresser that he’d been leaning against and grabbed his shirt placket, tugging until he took a step closer, permitting me to reach all the buttons.
In all truth, buttoning his shirt for him was merely an excuse to stare at his bare, inhumanly toned chest. But I couldn’t make that too obvious or else I wouldn’t get away with it. There was always a line with Riftan, and he’d let anything happen as long as it didn’t cross that very thin line.
Hell—I wasn’t sure if what I was doing counted. I only got to know what was and wasn’t acceptable through trial and error. Or, as some might say, fuck around and find out.
With that in mind, I slipped each button through its partnering cotton hole in his shirt with due prudence. All the while, I could feel Riftan’s watchful gaze boring a hole right through my forehead. My cheeks flushed from his stare, and my heart pounded more rampantly. If he didn’t notice the former, he’d surely notice the latter. Unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t understand it was his roving eyes that did it to me, and not the firm, rippling velvet of his abdomen under my hands.
Sinking the last few buttons much quicker than I’d intended to, I finished up by patting him on the chest and sharing my most harmless smile.
Riftan’s lips did not match. Instead, they were devoid of any expression. Adding to the obscure look, his deep eyes appeared empty as they scattered over me like he was lost in some recessed thought. The only thing hinting through his vacancy was the flare of his jaw as he gritted his teeth at me.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, masking my tone in a chipper fa?ade. “Did I do something wrong?”
He slackened, adjusting to an admirable smile, his eyes lighting up to a vibrant blue once more. “No, of course not. Thank you, love.”
He’d started calling me that again. Though I’d once chastised him for doing so when we aren’t lovers, I’d long since stopped correcting him. Now, I simply let it roll off my shoulders, only lightly tugging on my tender heartstrings on the way by.
Patting my cheek, Riftan tucked an arm around my waist and pulled me down off the dresser. Using my shadow fade—as I did from time to time to get used to it—I teleported to my side of the bed several steps away. Jumping into the covers, I crossed my legs and watched as Riftan went about his morning. And no, I’m not merely going to skim over the fact that I said my side of the bed when referencing the bed in Riftan’s room.
I had been sleeping in the same bed as Riftan for a while—maybe years by this point. At first, it’d been completely against his will, and warming him up to the idea had taken a while. Now, it was simply routine. And as much as I’d love to claim the reason we’d first shared a bed was some passionate quandary of loneliness, it hadn’t been anything near that romantic or even quixotic.
We’d already slept with the doors open, and we’d often find ourselves sleeping on the couch at times, when loneliness was a potential threat. There wasn’t anything deviant about the idea of sleeping together, but the act of doing so in the bed was something that crossed one of Riftan’s invisible thin lines. I’d never wanted to push that, because it was understandable and easily avoided.
Except for one little hitch.
For as long as I’d been with him, Riftan suffered from the worst night terrors. I knew this because—like I’d said—we weren’t ever shy about sleeping near each other as long as it wasn’t in his bed. Since sometimes his nightmares manifested with him tossing and turning, or murmuring and whining in his sleep, it was obvious enough when he was dreaming, and the longer they persisted, the worse it got.
He could be skilled at hiding his emotions while he was conscious, but while asleep, he did no such thing. The pain he felt from the trials of his subconscious was painted all over his face and evident in the shallowness of his breath. At first, I’d merely woken him up every time the terrors didn’t subside on their own. He’d appeared grateful for that, even when I’d have to wake him up several times during the day. Eventually, I no longer had to wake him—simply sliding my hand up over his chest until he recognized my presence was enough to soothe him in his sleep. Some of the times he’d pull me close and continue to snooze like a pacified baby, while others, he’d lay his hand over the spot where our warmth conjoined on his chest. Either way, he was usually mollified after that, and the both of us could sleep without trouble the rest of the night.
After a while, I’d become hypersensitive to the little sounds of his anguish that started when he was suffering from a day terror. The moment he’d begin to stir, I’d awake like I were the one having a bad dream.
It was like that when we’d slept apart.
I’d dreaded the sound of his subliminal agony like it was my own. That was the only time I felt helpless against it, unable to climb into his bed and save him from the unknown horrors of his subconscious. My acute senses made even tuning him out impossible.
So, at some point, I’d finally reached my wit’s end and found myself outside of his doorway, pacing the entrance, unable to decide if going against his wishes and climbing into bed with him would be something I’d get away with. When I heard him murmuring a meager little plea with the same lips that spoke so strapping and unflappable while awake, my feet moved toward him on their own.
I would never get any sleep with the rate at which he had those dreams. The suffering he felt, even when he was asleep, was practically manifesting as my own. It couldn’t always be about him; I needed to get some sleep too—and I wouldn’t ever at that rate. If he’d complained about my actions, that’d simply have been my argument—I just wanted to get some sound sleep.
As I’d gently crawled into his bed, Riftan was restless, sweat beading over his scrunched brows. My heart pounded, induced by the helpless look on his otherwise masculine face. The idea that anything could torture him that way would haunt me for eternity. Slipping my hand under his soft cotton sheets, I paused a moment before laying it over his bare chest.
“Don’t,” he’d murmured, the tone hard and commanding as my fingers contacted his skin. I froze dead in my tracks, only a moment passing before I’d realized he was talking in his sleep. With my palm flat over his chest, his brows still knit in anguish. He was so deep into his subconscious; I’d regretted I might have to wake him to get it to stop.
Gently, I’d shaken him, tapping my fingers against his smooth cheeks in an attempt to rouse him as tenderly as possible. A little groan escaped his lips before he went completely still. Then, in an instant, he was on top of me, pinning me to his bed.
I wasn’t all that surprised by his reaction. It’d happened once before when I’d tried to wake him from those nightmares. His response to being awoken was only ever so bad if the dreams had progressed too far.
His lips snarled and a droplet of sweat dripped from the dark hair that danced by his cheek.
Helplessly fastened between Riftan’s grip and the sheets, I’d waited for him to come back to his senses like I knew from experience he would. The methodic rise and fall of my chest was my only movement, quelling his breathing to steady like mine.
“It’s okay. It’s just me. Leanne.” I’d reached up to touch his cheek with the hand not pinned under his. As his brilliant dark eyes began to signal some recognition, his grip on me loosened, but his expression didn’t seem any more pleased.
“Leanne, why are you in my bed?” he’d asked in a low but ireful tone.
I’d twirled my fingers in a piece of his sweat-slicked hair. The action lightening the grimace in his brow. “You were having one of those nightmares again. I’ve told you I hate listening to it. There’s no way I can sleep soundly while you’re suffering like that.”
“They’re just dreams.” He’d pushed off me and laid back down on his pillow. “Stop worrying about me and go back to your room.”
Silence filled the space between us, and Riftan put his back to me.
Shimmying under the covers, I’d tucked myself into the open space Riftan had left in his oversized bed.
He’d groaned without sparing a glance. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Shut up and go to sleep,” I’d snapped back at him. “I’ll stay on my side. Pretend like I’m not here.”
“Fine. But don’t try anything, okay?” he’d warned, scooting away and pulling up the sheets.
“I would never,” I’d lied.
From that day forward, I hadn’t slept in my own bed a single time. It was easier to stay by Riftan’s side, especially when we were away from our condo. Traveling was worlds easier when we only had to get one bed in a hotel or share a small space in a jet or train. As we got used to that arrangement and it became second nature to sleep together, things grew more relaxed between us. There were fewer awkward interactions, fewer moments when the sexual tension seemed to drive us apart, and a strange blur developed between the lines Riftan had set for us. It was like the closer we got, the more it became impossible to sense what was and wasn’t abnormal for a platonic couple to carry out.
We did nearly everything most conventional romantic couples did. Most recently, it seemed like the only thing we didn’t do was kiss and make love. For a couple who weren’t dating, we especially went on a lot of dates. The kind where we held hands and made small talk as though we were a real couple. Dates much like the one I’d been so excited for today.
Sitting there on my side of the bed, I looked over at Riftan as he thumbed through the closet. “Hey, do you remember what today is?” I hummed, my tone light as though I were impartial to the answer.
Riftan glanced at me with the flattest expression, one that nearly looked like a glare over his eyes. “Of course I know what today is. Who do you take me for? Besides, why else would I be getting ready so early in the day?”
A couple weeks earlier, I’d heard of a big farmers’ market in one of the countryside towns. It was being held during their spring festival and promised a myriad of spring festivities. While I may not have been much of a farmers’ market kind of girl when I was with Johnny, growing up in Creswell the county fair was one of my fondest memories. I imagined a spring festival in the countryside of beautiful Czech would trounce a county fair in Creswell any day of the week.
Riftan was certainly less interested than I was, as he’d protested that I wouldn’t like the taste or smell of anything we could buy at a farmers’ market. I also knew that he didn’t love going out during the day. Not that it bothered him, but more that it didn’t appeal to him. Over his many years, Riftan had conformed to his vampiric veneer on all fronts, but he’d quickly conceded to indulge me, regardless of his personal restraints.
Though his get-up wasn’t quite farmers’ market attire, Riftan had gotten dressed despite the sun’s trajectory being not quite overhead yet. It was much earlier than he’d usually decide to go out, and in jeans and a button-up dress shirt, he was dressed about as casually as I’d seen him get for leaving the condo.
“You, however,” Riftan pointed in my direction, “are not dressed yet. I thought you were so excited about this silly festival; you’ve been talking about it for weeks. Now, go get dressed before we miss it.”
Sticking out my tongue at him, I agreed with a hop and a skip into my room, where I, too, threw on some jeans and a cute black knit sweater. I’d adopted a lot of black in my closet, which seemed ironic given the obvious gothic stereotype for my kind. But, as my hair grew more ginger each month and I no longer had to dress to please a rich mob family, it was out with the reds and patterns, and in with the easy-to-style black. It went with everything, and I’d found some amusement in leaning into the vampiric cliché.
After I was dressed, I pranced my way right back out into the living room, since I hardly wore any makeup anymore, and my hair kind of did what it did. My red mane was shinier than it’d ever been when I was human, and I no longer had to style it for it to look flawless. Oh, how I love being immortal.
Once we were both ready, Riftan and I took the car up through the countryside until rolling fields of green dotted the landscape between small, dilapidated buildings and quaint cottages. The sizable farmers’ market took up a couple blocks in a small town, where once-colorful buildings were stacked up on both sides of the street. Vendors filled the area with makeshift stalls and filtered music into the air where I could frolic amid the mortals to my heart’s content.
Riftan, of course, had been right; I didn’t necessarily like any of the overwhelming smells that may have once roused my olfactory senses with nostalgia. But that didn’t make the sights and sounds any different from how I’d remembered them being when I was human. Yes, I was akin to more of them, but they were all still the same as I recalled.
After taking it all in for a better half of the day with Riftan in tow as my stoic tag along, I decided to offer something a bit more his speed. “I’m hungry. Can we go out tonight?” It wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t had a living meal in nearly a month and, as Riftan had once warned me, pre-packaged blood couldn’t sustain a vampire for long. I could go longer without fresh blood now than I could a year ago, and Riftan could go much longer, but eventually, the time would come between living meals when packaged blood did nothing but make me hungrier.
He squeezed my hand from where our fingers laced together. “Yeah, I’d like to go out tonight if that’s what you want.”
“The Old Eagle is having a karaoke night. There will probably be lots of people there.”
“Yeah, a lot of hipster tourists. You won’t find a proper meal there.”
“True, but it sounds like fun.”
Riftan offered a chipper laugh. “Are you hungry, or do you want to go to karaoke?”
“Hmm.” I thought hard about his question before settling. “I suppose I’m hungrier than anything.”
“Okay, then we can go to Sanctum tonight. They are hosting a VIP event sure to pull in a crowd: the kind of crowd you can choose from.” He pulled me to a stop in front of a booth full of greenery and exchanged a few coins for a couple of pink and white cylindrical-petaled flowers. They were the least pungent of the assortment and flourished in large, bushy blossoms. Riftan offered the stunning flora over to me with a smile that lit up his expression even through his dark sunglasses.
“Thanks,” I offered, my gaze finding purchase on the sidewalk ahead of us as my cheeks surely blushed outright.
Riftan went on. “But we can karaoke next time we go out, how’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a deal,” I agreed with a chuckle at the mere idea of Riftan among a karaoke crowd.