Chapter 44. Lorena
lorena
For some reason, I have a hard time processing William’s admission.
The vampire is a virgin?
“I see that you have made certain assumptions about me,” he says, and I try schooling my face into a more neutral expression.
“No, I mean—it’s just—well, you’ve been alive for—” Then I clench my mouth shut because I sound like an idiot.
William is smirking, as if my awkwardness amuses him. “When I was growing up, sex was considered more … sacred?” He frowns like he’s not sure if that’s what he means. “I was also, you could say, a bit of a romantic.”
I can’t help grinning.
“So I chose not to have sex until I fell in love.”
“You didn’t change your mind when you were turned?” I ask.
“I was tempted to. Yet, strangely, this promise I had made to myself as a man felt like the one thing I could hold on to from my humanity. A part of me that was still my choice.”
The more vulnerable he becomes, the more I want to be with him alone. In private. Where I can feel him close.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
He lifts me in his arms, and the world blurs around us. When he sets me back down, the air is warmer, but I can’t survey my surroundings yet. I’m still too dizzy from the ride, so his arms linger around me. I stare only at him as my vision settles, a charged silence between us.
He looks down at my lips, but instead of kissing me, he asks, “Why is it you have never been in love?”
I blow out a long exhale. “How much time do you have?”
“Forever.”
“Okay, I deserved that.” I look away from him and spot a new piece of furniture. “A couch?”
“I figured you would prefer it to the floor.”
“You figured right.” I take off my coat and sit on the fabric cushion.
He doesn’t say anything as he joins me, like he’s still waiting for my answer.
“My mom is what some people call a ‘mommy influencer,’ which just means she had strong opinions about how to raise me, which she chose to share on social media. It sort of started when she uploaded a video of us in my abuelo’s car playing a game called veo veo.
She’d pick a color and say I see something the color green, and I would guess what she was looking at.
“My grandpa was driving with one hand on the steering wheel. I was one and a half, and instead of playing the game, I said, ‘Bebo, you drive with two hands.’ The video went viral—it got millions of views and was played on morning television shows. After that, Ma started sharing her ideas on raising me, which landed her some interviews, and she got pretty popular. I was five the first time I was recognized by strangers at a playground.”
Staring out the window, I feel like I’m watching the memories play out across the icy blue sky.
“I still remember being little and thinking everything I did had to be caught on camera. There was this pressure to be special all the time, or I would be letting down my parents. But when I was eight, I’d had enough.
My parents were discussing a trip to Argentina to visit Ma’s extended relatives, and as soon as she mentioned setting up interviews, I said: I don’t want to be famous anymore. ”
I glance at William, and he’s still listening intently. His lack of reaction or interruption makes it easy for me to keep sharing.
“Ma felt awful, and she completely cut me out of her social channels. She spun it in public as some new groundbreaking act of mine—that at age eight, I had exercised my right to consent. But then a conspiracy theory began to grow that I was actually dead and Ma was a fraud, and her team insisted that something had to be done. So, for her sake, I agreed to appear in no more than four posts a year.”
I’ve forgotten why I was telling him all this, and then I remember. He wants to know why I’ve never been in love.
“Ma believes in rules. She thinks for children to grow into the right shape, they need a proper mold. So I grew up with a bunch of rules that expire when I graduate—stuff like no social media, no parties, no sexy clothing, no makeup, no dating.”
I could stop here and just tell him that’s why—because Ma forbade it.
But now that I’ve started opening up, I feel compelled to keep going.
“My mom and Salma’s mom were best friends, but Tía Elena didn’t follow Ma’s rules when raising Salma. She actually did the opposite—she let Sal wear whatever she wanted and make her own choices, which drove Ma crazy. Then, earlier this year … Elena died.”
My nostrils flare, and I blink quickly to drive back the emotion. Cold fingers wrap around mine, and without looking at him, I keep going.
“When she lost her mom, Salma started going out a lot with our classmates. It felt like she was doing anything she could to escape her life. One night, a friend of a friend threw a party while their parents were out of town, and Salma went. At like two in the morning, I started getting calls from her that she wasn’t feeling well and needed me to come get her.
I knew I couldn’t get Ma involved because she would make Sal feel even worse, so I called a car and snuck out.
“When I got there, I didn’t recognize most people, and it reeked of beer and weed.
I found Sal wasted on a couch, a beer can in one hand and a bong in the other.
She’d never smoked before. Her eyelids were flickering, and when I took her face between my hands …
her eyes rolled to the back of her head. ”
I suck in a sharp breath, and William squeezes my hand. But I keep my gaze on the window, forcing the rest of the words out.
“I grabbed the bong and the drink just to set them down. But while I was holding them, I heard a girl shriek, ‘That’s Viviana Navarro’s daughter! Guys, it’s little Miss Perfect being not so perfect!’
“I must have frozen for like half a second when I was recognized, but it was long enough for someone to snap a live picture and loop it into a video that conveniently stops right before I set the two things down. When people heard me talking to a 911 dispatcher, they started to boo me and threatened to destroy me online. I didn’t care.
All I could think about was Sal, and the fear that I’d lost her was the worst feeling I’ve ever felt—even worse than when you or Nate were about to kill me. ”
I look at him now, and William doesn’t seem surprised. It’s as if he expects that I would be more afraid of losing Salma than dying.
“I had to call my mom from the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and she and my dad met us there. Salma pulled through, and since her dad was out of town, we said Ma was her aunt, and we got to take Sal home with us. But by morning, footage of me was all over the news and social media. Ma was being called a fraud, and I was being described as a lost cause. It all got way out of hand, and my mom got dropped from a ton of projects. She had been hired as a consultant for this school and even joined its board, but once her reputation took a hit, they asked her to step down quietly. She agreed, on the condition that they guarantee Salma’s and my spots. ”
I fall silent, and it feels oddly good to tell someone what really happened that night. I wonder if this is how Salma felt after telling Tiffany.
“Thank you for sharing yourself with me,” says William after it’s clear I’m done speaking. “This just proves something I already suspected.” His fingers caress mine. “You are an exceptional friend.”
I feel a lot closer to him now, and maybe that’s why I’m emboldened to ask, “Is that all I am to you … a friend?”
“Lore,” he says, leaning forward until our faces are touching. “You are my best friend,” he murmurs into my lips, pressing a kiss there, “my only family,” he goes on, pressing another kiss, “and my first love.”
It feels like everything stops—my thoughts, my breaths, my heart. “You love me?” I ask, my voice small.
“I did not even know it was possible, yet you have reconnected me with whatever humanity I have left. Nothing matters more to me than keeping you safe. You make me feel alive. If that is not love … what is?”
I feel as if I’ve grown so weightless that I might float up to the ceiling, then out the window and into the sky. “You’re my first love, too,” I say, and our mouths come together.
As his cool tongue dances with my warm one, William’s fingertips stroke up and down the side of my acrylic sweater, from the waistline of my jeans to the band of my bra. His caresses make me feel sensitive all over.
His lips stray from mine, trailing kisses down my chin, jaw, neck. His fangs’ proximity to my throat sends a shiver down my spine, even though I know he’s not going to bite me.
I trust him.
His lips start to slow when they reach my collarbone, and when he gets to my chest, his chin grazes the top line of my cleavage.
He doesn’t go any lower, recapturing my mouth with his own.
I reach for him, resting my hand on his bicep and sliding it up his arm to his shoulder.
Then I brush my fingers across his chest, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric.
We only come up for air when my stomach’s gurgling becomes too loud for William to ignore. “We should get you some lunch,” he says.
“I’m fine right here,” I insist, but he pulls me to my feet and presses a kiss to my hand.
“To be continued.”
TIFFANY DOESN’T show up to the dining hall again.
“Is she still in your room?” asks Zach.
“Yeah,” says Salma. “She said to tell you hi.” Zach’s tense expression eases a little.
While Sal and I are filling our plates at the buffet table, she asks me, “So? How was it?”
“How was what?” I ask coyly, and she pins me with her knowing stare.
“Spill.”
“He can hear us, you know,” I whisper, and the two of us turn to peek at William. He’s walking back to our table with his plate, and he twists his neck to wink at us.
Salma snorts, and I laugh. So, after we’ve finished eating, she asks, “Lore, wanna go to the bathroom?”