Bram Last October
Bram
Last October
“Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!”
—Dracula by Bram Stoker
Bram Abbott’s body temperature always ran cold. But by the time he and Mariana reached the house, his hand was so sweaty, he couldn’t wait to release hers. He was parched too.
“Ugh,” Mariana said, a smile on her lips even while complaining. “What happened to fall weather?”
“I’ll grab some water.” Bram gestured for his girlfriend to settle on the living room couch. Before turning to the kitchen, however, Bram hurried upstairs to his room to grab the paperback stuffed behind all the rest of the books on the shelf.
“Thanks,” Mariana said when he handed her the icy glass. She pursed her lips expectantly, and he lowered his head to kiss her.
Mariana’s trigonometry textbook was open on the cushion beside her, spiral notebook on her lap.
Her backpack with half its contents spilled out occupied the only other cushion.
She was a lovely little mess—that was what he’d endearingly called her the first time he saw her bedroom.
Mariana was beautiful and never obsessed over the details.
There was always a hair out of place, a button she’d missed.
Maybe her bedroom was a disaster, but she’d baked three pies for the book club that met in the library on Wednesday nights. Bram admired that about her.
He settled in the chair next to the couch, sliding the novel from the crook of his arm.
“You’re not going back to the shop?” Mariana asked, leaning forward to rest her water glass on the coffee table.
“They can handle it for a few minutes.”
“Why are you all the way over there?” she asked, giggling as she reached her foot out to nudge his leg.
“Hm, I wonder.” He arched a brow coyly.
“I can move all of this if you—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I won’t be here long anyway.
” A moment ago, Bram hadn’t bothered asking her to move her things.
Now he realized why, feeling a dash of relief mixed with a creeping sense of guilt.
Being close to Mariana hadn’t felt quite right in weeks.
There was something he needed to take care of, something he had to do before things could go back to normal. Only he’d been too weak thus far.
He wondered if Mariana sensed it too—this chasm he had created between them—as she shrugged and turned back to her notebook.
Bram opened Dracula. He’d chosen the novel, of course, because he shared a name with its author.
Bram Abbott’s full name was Abraham, after the one in the Bible, only his mother never liked shortening it to Abe.
So she’d settled on Bram. This had drawn the obvious comparison to Mr. Stoker over the years, mostly by old people asking if he’d been named after the author.
And more recently, asking if he’d read the novel.
Once, when he’d visited Mariana at the library, the elderly employee who took over her shift had actually thrust this worn copy at Bram.
“Keep it,” he’d said. “Read it, then tell me what you think.”
The man’s insistence had needled Bram, and up until now he’d intentionally avoided reading the book.
Maybe that was why Bram had kept quiet when his brothers asked about his book selection for the assignment. They would’ve laughed.
At least now he could say he’d read it the next time some old man made a joke. If he could get through all these pages.
Before long, though, Bram found himself immersed in the tale of Jonathan Harker, an accountant who’d been sent to work for a shady figure in a Transylvanian castle, where only terrible things could possibly happen.
At some point, Bram heard Mariana moving, and he mumbled that there were snacks in the pantry and sodas in the refrigerator. It wasn’t until his phone buzzed in his pocket that Bram looked up from the book.
Frustration mounted in his chest as he reached for the phone. It was probably Adam, whining about how Bram couldn’t expect him and Henry to work on his girlfriend’s car for free without him.
The message hadn’t come from Adam, though.
Bram’s neck heated as he closed the text conversation. He looked over at the couch, hoping Mariana was too preoccupied with her homework to notice.
Only she wasn’t there. Bram listened for the sound of her footsteps but heard nothing. Her belongings were still sprawled out. Maybe she’d gone to the bathroom.
But when he went to check, Mariana wasn’t there either.