Chapter 12 #2
They didn’t need light to see, and after so much overstimulation at the accident scene, even the vampire-friendly, lower luminescence of the fixtures in here seemed too glaring.
Claire left them off. Tai paused a moment to take in the room, though there wasn’t much to see—the usual counters, sink, table, and chairs along with a refrigerator, microwave, toaster oven, and coffeemaker.
The appliances were stainless, and Claire had picked out an indoor/outdoor carpet in navy and had one wall painted to match, again to mitigate the glare a too-white room could inflict on sensitive vampires.
Tai nodded appreciation at her choices. “It’s a comfortable space, even for us.”
“That’s what I wanted. For every space in the building.” A detail he’d have known, been part of, if he hadn’t run away.
They sat on opposite ends of the charcoal-gray couch. Their fangs had retracted in the minutes after slaking, and the predatory focus in Tai’s gaze had receded as his pupils constricted back to normal size.
“Are you actually okay now?” she said. “Or do you just fake it really well?”
He flinched. “I haven’t faked anything all night.”
“So you’re okay. Not hiding some dramatic aftermath or whatever.”
“No aftermath. I needed to slake. I slaked. That’s it, Claire.”
Rage like an ice bath poured over her. Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she let her eyes flash at him with a full-on glare. He flinched again. Good.
“That’s it,” she said. “That’s…it.”
“I know there’s more to—”
“No.”
He went silent and still. He met her eyes and waited.
“I have questions,” she said. “You owe me answers. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Okay, so, first things first. Were you ever going to tell me you have the bloodfiend condition?”
His mouth twisted as if her question tasted sour. “Of course not.”
She sprang up from the couch, paced while the icy fury coursed through her limbs, spread through her chest and stomach. “Okay, new rule. True or false questions. No commentary. Agreed?”
Tai was an utter statue on the couch now, his face blank in a way that made her want to do some somersaults or a whole lot of shouting. His voice was just as flat. “Agreed.”
“Great. So, you were never going to tell me. Ever. That’s a true statement.”
“Yes,” he said, and when she hurled a glare at him, “True.”
“And I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as late onset for a bloodfiend. I’m pretty sure you’ve dealt with this since your other vampire traits emerged as a kid. True or false?”
“True,” he said.
“So you didn’t develop this condition in the last three years. You were dealing with this before we fell out. True or false?”
“True.”
“And this is why you walked away from Slake It Off.”
“True.”
“It wasn’t because you’re fickle, or a liar, or any of the other things I called you. It was this.”
He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His voice was quiet now, small. “True.”
“You chose letting me slander you to my friends and your friends and think the absolute worst of you for three years. You chose that over telling me the truth.”
“Claire, it’s not—”
“I said no commentary.”
The statue surged to life. He latched one hand onto the back of his neck and sprang to his feet.
His blank expression crumpled up like a ball of foil.
“True. True, true, true, I chose not to tell you the weakest, vilest thing about me, because you’re you, and I…
” Tai pressed a hand to his eyes, then dragged it down his face. “I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t be honest with me?”
“Couldn’t stand knowing you see me for…what I am.” He dropped back to the couch and covered his face with both hands.
“It’s a condition, Tai. It doesn’t make you worse as a person.”
“How can you say that?” he whispered.
“Because it’s the truth. It’s what any decent vampire would say if they found out their friend struggles with…with…shoot, whatever it’s called officially. Bloodfiendism. Or whatever.”
He looked up from his hands. “Hematorexia.”
“What?”
“That’s the scientific name for it.”
“Humans consider it a disorder?”
“Well, they had to categorize it somewhere, put some Latin together. But peer-reviewed literature recognizes it isn’t a psychological disorder. It’s biological, genetic.”
“And correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t it translate to ‘blood eating’? As if all vampires don’t consume blood.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was the most accurate Latin.”
“You’re not going to sidetrack me with terminology, by the way.”
His eyes pinched at the corners. Yep. Guilty.
“So let me repeat,” she said. “Any decent vampire would tell a friend struggling with hematorexia that this condition doesn’t make him a worse person.”
“You sound like Ryker.”
“Well, good. I’m glad someone besides me is talking sense to you, since you’ve robbed me of the opportunity for the last three…” Wait. “Ryker knows?”
Tai nodded.
“What about Leslie?”
Another nod.
“Well, gosh, just how far out of the loop am I? Did everybody at the banquet tonight know too?”
He seemed to be trying to regain his lack of expression, but he couldn’t get it back.
Instead the lines of his face were wrought with a depth of hopeless shame that began to thaw Claire’s fury despite her best efforts.
Tai wasn’t manipulating her. She had demanded honesty, and he was finally being honest. This struggle went all the way to his deepest, most hidden core.
Did she want to know that deep core? Did she want the truth more than she wanted to rake him over justified coals?
Yes. She did.
She sank onto the couch beside him, so close their thighs brushed.
Tai shuddered and shrank from her, and instead of allowing her frustration to freeze over again at the ridiculous reaction, she tried to understand it.
If she was in, she was all in. She wouldn’t let him hide from her, not ever again.
She leaned into him, wrapped an arm around his back to keep him from pulling away.
“Okay,” she said. “You’re a bloodfiend. Now I know. What happens next, according to whatever your brain is telling you?”
“You kick me out.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m weak, Claire. I’m weak and defective and—and vile.”
Hearing him use such cruel words against himself left Claire without any words of her own.
But she could hold him, so she did. Those words were why he needed to be held.
Someone in his life had done the opposite.
Thrown him away. Weak, defective, vile. Someone in his life had used those words against him before he did.
When he resisted her embrace, she tightened her arms around him. “Does this look like I’m kicking you out?”
He began to relax, bit by bit.
“We could have been friends,” Claire said.
“Maybe not partners, because look, I wanted to open a blood bar, and if you’d come to me and explained why that was the one business you couldn’t help me run, I probably still would have chosen Slake It Off over our record store.
But Tai—we could have been friends anyway.
We could have found our own little haunts downtown, hunted for a record store with good vibes. ”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me too. It has really sucked, keeping my grudge alive and not being able to have you around because I don’t do friendship with liars.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I want to understand,” she said. “I have more questions.”
“Ask me anything.” His voice strengthened as he continued. “I… You’re right, I’m having a hard time believing this is real. But if you want to know me, then I want that, Claire. So if you have questions about me, or—or about the…”
“The condition,” she said. He needed a word to replace the others.
He nodded. “I’ll answer whatever you want to know.”