Picking Up Pieces #3
“Yeah, I guess.” She half smiled. “I mean it about Dennis, though. He’s creepy as shit and I’m pretty sure a legit serial killer, but he’s different with you. He’s been pretty great.”
“Yeah.” I twirled a lock of hair, my eyes straying back to his door. “Really, Ari. Thanks for always putting up with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“But I do,” I insisted, grabbing her arm to shake it for emphasis. “I really do. Even if we had any other cousins, you’d still be my favorite.”
“You’re so dumb.” She laughed as I dropped her arm and pouted. “But you’d be my favorite, too. Stop sitting on me. We have an entire couch, move over.” She tried to push me off, but I stayed put with vampire strength.
“No. Go to sleep.” I stared at her intensely. “I can tell you’re tired.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to put you to sleep with vampire hypnosis,” I said.
It always worked in movies. She blandly stared back, making me doubt the power.
Maybe I hadn’t developed that skill yet.
“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out eventually.
Like right now.” I held up my hands in a magical gesture.
“Go to sleep.” I dragged the words out to see if that would have more effect.
“It’s not working.”
“Fine.” I dropped my hands as she laughed. “But you should really go to sleep. You have class in the morning. Did you even finish studying?”
“No. I’m gonna fall behind.” She glanced at the book that was still sprawled across the floor.
“You will not. Aren’t you like three months ahead in each class? Who does that? You’re such a nerd.”
“I like to get my work done early. Otherwise I might not stay at the top of my class. And I’m not three months ahead anymore.
My last midterm is tomorrow and then I have Thanksgiving break, then after that a few more weeks of class before finals, and then I graduate.
So I can’t be three months ahead if I don’t even have three months left. ”
She kept going about the nerd timeline but I stopped listening. Dennis’ door was cracked and I could feel his worry for me. It was almost overwhelming. I wanted to talk to him. It was becoming an emotional pull. Like I needed to talk to him. Or even just be around him.
“Go talk to him.”
“Hm?” I glanced at Ari, who’d been watching me stare at his door.
“I said go talk to him.” She nudged my leg. “I’m okay. Promise.”
“Okay.” I detangled my legs from hers and stood. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. I’m gonna sleep in here tonight. Wake me up if you need anything.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She smiled and waved me away. I went to my bag and got Frankie, then straightened up but didn’t go anywhere. “Stop being nervous,” she said, waving a hand again for me to leave. She grabbed a blanket and lay down as I walked away.
I went to Dennis’ room and pushed the door a smidge. “Hi.” I took the tiniest step past the doorway. His room was dark and daunting as ever, but somehow warm and inviting. To me, at least.
“Hi.” He looked up from the lighter, eyes dancing with amusement at the way I didn’t move.
Several seconds passed before I worked up the courage to ask, “Can I come in?”
“Please do.” His voice was possibly sarcastic, but I took it as an actual invitation and came inside before shutting the door.
I went to the open coffin and sat beside him, setting Frankie on the smooth satin sheets.
He let the flame die out and set the lighter aside.
Just in time, too, because I pounced on him almost simultaneously.
He fell back but I didn’t let go. I snuggled into his neck, taking in his familiar scent even though it might seem creepy.
I smiled when his hands finally closed around my waist.
“Thank you,” I murmured into his neck, then sat back to look at him. “I’m sorry I messed up your shirt earlier. I know I cried all over it.”
“Just a little.” His teasing smirk did nothing to help my sudden shyness.
“You’re gonna have to get the blood out of your clothes too, huh?”
“Yeah. And makeup.” He put my legs across his lap to keep me from guiltily sliding away.
Suddenly, I realized how much damage I’d done to his clothes. Gross crying, smeared makeup, so much blood and who knows what else. He’d obviously taken a shower by the lack of blood and his damp hair, but his clothes would be a lot harder to clean. Just like my own clothes he’d volunteered to fix.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, gently tugging my hair. He stayed silent, watching me intently. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” He took my hand away from the lock of hair.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He seemed perfectly content to keep doing it. His eyes were back to their lively, mesmerizing hazel. It seemed like he was determined to make me uncomfortable. Or maybe he didn’t even notice.
“Oh, I notice.” He laughed as I yanked my legs from his lap. “What? You’re sitting in my coffin. You’re in my line of sight. What else am I supposed to look at?” He pulled me back when I halfheartedly tried to move away. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I fidgeted and leaned against the open coffin’s lid.
“Do you have type one or two?”
“Like diabetes?” I was so confused. I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“No.” He chuckled. “Bipolar disorder.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly. That made more sense. “I have type one. With psychotic features, if you haven’t noticed.”
I was curious how he knew to ask. Most people didn’t know about the different types. It was usually an assumption that we were all the same with the same triggers and simplified symptoms. Always fluctuating between happy and angry with no normalcy in between.
And then a thought hit that wasn’t my own: do the hallucinations and suicidal ideation happen all the time?
“It happens a lot, but not too often,” I answered quietly. “I promise I’m not as crazy as you think.”
“What happens a lot?” he asked. “And I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Yeah, you do. I heard that.” I motioned to my head.
“You were wondering if I get this extreme every time, with the voices and seeing things and wanting to die. I could hear it, and it happens every once in a while.” I bit my lip at his less than happy expression.
“I guess emotions and feelings that strong come through?”
“Yeah.” He obviously hadn’t wanted me to hear. Hadn’t expected me to hear at all. “I don’t think you’re crazy, though. I was joking when I said it earlier. It made you laugh, didn’t it?” He smiled when I nodded. “Even if you were, I wouldn’t care. You’re still you. I already told you that.”
I looked down to hide a smile, playing with Frankie’s ears while I mulled over his words. I believed him so much more than I ever thought I would. But then my mind changed direction and the happiness left.
“Did you know this would happen?” I asked. “Me killing someone if I went to get blood alone?”
“I had a feeling it might happen. Since you can be a little…”
“Mentally unstable,” I finished, saving us both the trouble of phrasing it nicely. I avoided his gaze and kept playing with Frankie’s ears.
“You’re a new vamp. It happens. Things might set you off when they normally wouldn’t, like a small taste of blood starting a bloodlust you can’t control. It’s easy to lose control at first. Plus, you being bipolar makes it that much harder. So I didn’t wanna take any chances.”
“I should’ve listened. I thought you were just being mean.”
“It’s okay. I probably should’ve explained why,” he said. “I should’ve known you’d flirt your way into running off without me. I have to say though, I didn’t expect it to happen the way it did.”
“Who would have?” I laughed humorlessly.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere and she had to come here, of all places.
I never would have expected…” I trailed off as he started tracing patterns across my leg.
“Is that also why you had us stay here after my change?” I tilted my head, wondering if I’d stumbled upon a real explanation for his insistence on us staying after my change.
“Mostly.”
“But partly so you could get me in bed.” I narrowed my eyes at his expression. That must be it.
“What kind of person do you think I am?” he asked in mock offense, clutching imaginary pearls. It was cute, but I had other things to worry about.
“You’re still not gonna stop talking to me because you got what you wanted, right?”
“No.” He looked me over when I went silent. “You still don’t believe me.”
“I do,” I said hurriedly. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I still didn’t trust him. Especially after today. “I really thought I ruined everything and you were gonna be done with me forever, like unbinding and everything.”
“I’m not unbinding you for that.”
“For that?” I couldn’t keep the panic from my voice.
“Relax, Vixen. That’s not what I meant.” He smiled at my relief. “I’m not unbinding you at all.”
“Oh. Okay.” I tried to keep my voice casual. “I have a question, too.” I paused until he gestured for me to go on. “When was your first unnecessary kill?”
“A while ago. It wasn’t anything serious.
It was the guy who bound me when I was seventeen.
He killed my family, then bound and turned me.
I don’t remember my family much. Not at all, actually.
I assume he fucked with my memory somehow, but I never figured that part out.
What I do know is he wanted complete loyalty.
Someone he could control. So I killed him. ”
It took a moment to realize he was waiting for my reaction.
“You can keep going,” I said. “I’m not scared this time. I know you’re not gonna kill me.” I was confident he would never hurt me now, no matter how much he purposely—or naturally—freaked me out sometimes.
“Good.” He seemed pleased by my response. “I killed him with fire.”
“With fire?” I made a face at the mental image. What a way to go.