“Be right back.” I sling my hair up in a clip and grab my purse. Peter's waiting in the passenger seat of the car for me. I want to continue our discussion (fight) from last night, but I promised myself not to do things like that. I'm taking a page out of Mom's book. So instead, I hop in the car and give him a smile.
“Hey, baby.” He makes a smile that pulls up just one side of his face. Oh. My. God. If I wasn't sitting down, I would have collapsed. I have no words for the desire and want and just, oh, that course through me. How the hell does he do that?
“How was that?” The smile drops away and his face goes back to normal. Composed. Calm. Like the smooth surface of an undisturbed pond. I'd sputter and say something if I could get air into my body to even make words with. “I will not call you that. I was trying to be human. I need more practice.” A sound that is akin to “ungh” comes from my mouth. Breathe, Ava. It's easy. You've been doing it for seventeen years.
“Shall we go?”
I close my eyes for a moment. It's like a hurricane of pure want and need and Peter crashes over me. And I can't take it anymore. I throw myself over the middle console, jamming the shifter into my hip. I'll feel the pain later, but now I can only think of my destination. His lips.
They are my only concern as I smash mine into his. I open my mouth and try to drink him in, savoring him, his smell and how he feels. His mouth moves against mine, and I hear sounds coming from me that sound kind of like a kitten, but I can't stop them and I can't stop. I'm in his lap and wrapped around him and I want to sear this moment on my brain like a brand so it can never be taken away.
And then reality crushes me in its claws and I leap back into my seat. Or at least I try. Peter has hold of my waist. Somehow his hands are against the bare skin of my back and my shirt's ridden up. I don't really remember that happening. Instantly, I start to babble.
“I'm sorry; that was stupid. It was the smiling. And calling me baby. You can't call me that ever again. Apparently, I have no self control when you say it like that. So don't do it again.”
I'm still panting, trying to fill my body with oxygen again. His unblinking eyes watch me. I hope he's as unsettled as I am. It's hard being the only one.
“I will not promise, but I will try.”
“Why won't you promise?” As much as I love, love, love hearing him call me baby, I love having him in my life more.
“I thoroughly enjoyed your reaction.” Oh that makes me want to smile and kiss him more.
“But it's dangerous. I shouldn't be kissing you. Not that just kissing you is going to lead to, well, you know, but I should stop doing things like that. I mean, I'm not really at my best right now anyway.” I point to the sweats. Not exactly sexy-making.
“You can do whatever you want. I desire you, as well.”
“You want me? Even when I look like this?” I squeak. Also not sexy-making.
“I will always want you.” It's so easy for him to say things like that.
“Well, wanting can lead to other things like that pesky word we're trying to avoid, so I'll stop doing things that make you feel that way.” I don't know what these things could be. If he could love me with my hair in a clip and wearing sweats, what's it going to require? Not bathing or brushing my teeth? Uh, skunk perfume?
“I will always feel that way. I desire everything you do.” Okay, that's not true because there are plenty of unsexy human things I do. But there he is, being all sweet and making me feel hot and gushy inside like a molten chocolate cake.
“We should get to the store. Mom's probably wondering why we're still sitting in the driveway.”
“She saw us kissing.” Of course, this does not concern him in the slightest.
“Oh no,” I say, dropping my face to the steering wheel. “How do you know that?”
“I saw her for a moment. The rest of the time I saw nothing but you.” I should give him a round of applause. Even when saying nothing he manages to slip in something that makes me want him. Is he trying to get me to tackle-kiss him again?
“We should go.” His voice brings me back. Right. Store. Items I need to buy.
“What do I need to get?” I can't even remember how to turn the car on, let alone the items. Luckily, Peter is often my brain when mine fails.
“Milk, eggs, tissues.”
“Thanks.” What would I do without him? I'd have no one to kiss and I'd forget everything I went to the store to get.
The trip is uneventful, apart from the fact that Peter stands behind me the whole time, reminding me of his presence. There's also the pervasive scent of blood that leaks out of anywhere humans are contained.
I'm so distracted by it that Peter has to hand me the items and steer me toward the front of the store. It's just a gas station, really. The shelves are made of plywood and the floor is so eroded you have to watch where you step. It's dusty and most of the candy has been there so long it's probably expired. But it's the only game in town.
I pay with a few crumpled dollar bills and drop a few quarters I find in the bottom of my wallet into the jar for the local animal shelter. The woman manning the counter is missing a few teeth and her hair has been dyed so much that it looks like it's trying to escape from her head in revolt. Or maybe she sprayed it that way.
She hands me my change and I thank her, trying to hold my breath. As the door slams, I picture turning around, leaping across the counter and using the pizza cutter on the counter behind her to slice her neck open. I inhale as deeply as I can when I get outside to dispel the image. It fades away, but not before it's burned on my memory.
“Stop thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?” Oh no, don't tell me...
“Killing her.” Nononono.
Peter
The bag of groceries drops from Ava's arms, but I reach to catch it before it smashes on the ground. No one is around to see.
“How did you know about that?” I have not told her that every now and then I receive mental images from her. Mostly when she is upset or angry. Or she has a desire. Whether that be to kiss or kill.
It has only happened a few times, and I saw no need to concern her with it. But the image I just got was so vivid that I could not let it go.
I tell her and she holds onto the car for support. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if she doesn't want to hear the words. Her lips form the word 'no' over and over. She repeats it as if it will help her keep her hold on reality. I set the bag down and reach out to her.
“Ava-Claire, look at me.” At the sound of her name, she meets my eyes. Hers are blurred with tears. I use my thumbs to wipe them away before slipping them into my mouth. Her sorrow is salty and sweet at the same time.
“What's happening to me? I didn't want to tell you, but I feel it all the time and I don't know what to do. I'm scared.” Her voice is soft, like the brush of a feather.
“You do not need to be scared. You would never hurt anyone.”
She pushes her fists into my chest, trying to push me away. “But I want to.”
“Wanting is not doing.” She tries to shake her head but I hold it in place. Trying something I've seen her mother do, I kiss her forehead. Her breath shudders out of her mouth, and I have to pull away so I don't kiss her lips.
“I'm scared,” she says again. I sense there is more she is not telling me.
“Get in the car. I can drive.” I take the keys from her hand and usher her to the passenger seat. She sits and lets me buckle her seatbelt.
“Ava.” I say her name to make sure she is still there. That she has not left me for the place humans call shock. Her eyes meet mine and I see that she is still with me. I get in the driver's seat and go to the first place that comes to mind. The cemetery.
Neither of us has been back in a while. I know she misses it. The calm quiet of it. A representation of mortality. The stones all in a row. The names lost to time.
I park the car and turn it off. Ava says nothing. Wiping her eyes, she turns in her
seat to face me.
“I don't know what to do. Why is this happening to me?” She holds her hands out, asking me for answers. I only have one to give her.
“The Claiming.”
“Obviously, but what can we do about it?” This conversation will not rest. She is determined to end her life. But there is something she has not thought of.
“Ava-Claire, if you became a noctalis, it would be like that all the time. And you would need it. You would not be able to stop yourself from going over the counter and killing her. It would take years to gain the control you would need to simply go into a store. I do not want that for you. I want you to grow and learn and make mistakes and have children and do all the human things you should. I want so much more for you than this.”
Sobs shake her body. I did not want her to cry again, but it cannot be avoided. I envy her tears. I envy the emotions that wash over and through me like dark, disturbed water.
She dives forward, throwing her arms at me. I let her. I see the want and desire and need in her mind. It is a bright red thing, pulsing and spreading. But what she wants is not what she should have.
We always want what we cannot have. Her reaching out to me reminds me of when I would stand outside of my parents’ house in New York and press my hands against the window. I knew I could break through the glass and be a part of the scene within, but I was not able to. I understand more than she can ever know.
“This is not a real existence.”
She grips my arms and tries to shake me.
“I'm prepared to do that if it means I get to have you. That's all I want. You. The other stuff doesn't matter.” But it does. It always will. There will always be a sheet of glass between us. We can feel each other through it, but neither of us can cross. I cannot become human; she cannot become a noctalis. This was not a problem when she did not love me, and I did not adore her.
“We are not going to agree.” I pull her arms from mine with little effort and place them in her lap. I cannot watch her run into that clear wall anymore today. The want and desire and anger from her are too much. It spurs my own want and anger, and I worry I might hurt her. The smell of her blood floods the car and it is all I can do not to bite her.
“No, we're not.” A brief laugh bubbles out of her mouth. I am relieved. If she can laugh, even a little, that is progress. The fiery feelings of just a moment ago cool and I am able to pull away.
“We should probably go home.” It doesn't escape my attention that she called it home and not her home. But ours. It is true. She is my home. I had nowhere else I would ever need or want to go. Even if I want to kill her most of the time.
“I can drive now.” I get out of the car to give her the seat. Before she gets in, she reaches out and embraces me. She wipes her face on my shirt, drying her tears and leaving damp patches.
Thirteen
Ava
After the revelation that Peter can sort of read my mind, things calm down for a few days. I go back to school on Thursday to little fanfare. I'm hopelessly behind, but with my newfound resolve to live in the moment and not regret the past, I start catching up. Peter helps me with some extra credit math assignments and starts reading aloud some of the books I needed to catch up on for English. Actually, he started reading aloud all of my books, including textbooks. Chemistry became way more interesting when he was explaining it.
Mom's doing better. She has no episodes, and I call her several times a day while I'm in school to check on her. She just laughs and says that she's glad for the solitude.
I go back to work at the bookstore and start putting money away for Jamie's truck makeover. Tex still thinks it's a lame idea, but I ignore her. She's still pestering me about the double date, but after I snap at her one night and tell her to leave it the *^$% alone, she does.
I spent two days trying to convince him to take me to see his friend, but he refused on the grounds that I needed to rest from our separation and he didn't want to make me sick by dragging me all the way to Florida in the middle of the night. No matter how much I begged, pleaded, protested, and snarked at him, he wouldn't budge. I even tried giving him the silent treatment, but that worked about as well as everything else. Meaning not at all.
Jamie's dad continues to be sober and less of an asshole, so I take Jamie out to Miller's for breakfast on Saturday to celebrate. Of course Peter comes too, but Jamie doesn't know that. I feel the pull to be with him, even though he is just outside the restaurant in my car. It seems our connection has gotten shorter.
Whereas before he could go at least a mile before I felt any effects, now he has to be within at least twenty feet for me to feel safe and comfortable. It sucks for me, but I feel ever worse for him. I have him on a really short leash. I try to give him more blood to make up for it, but he refuses. Such a martyr, that Peter.
~^*^~
There's a strange car in the driveway when we get home from Miller's and I instantly panic. My emotions are definitely getting the better of me lately. I can't blame Peter entirely, because 99 percent of the crazy feelings are mine.
“There's someone new in the house. A woman. She smells like honeysuckle and bricks,” He says. I think for a moment, but then it clicks. There's only one person I know that smells like both of those things and drives a VW Bug.
“What's Aunt Jenny doing here?” Just as I'm getting out of the car, the door bursts open and a voice calls out across the porch, a voice I'd know even if I didn't have extra-sensitive hearing.
“Oh. My. God. Is that a boy in your car?” Jenny stands on the porch, hand shading her eyes, staring at Peter. Oh dear. I wasn't prepared to make yet another introduction. At least Aj is way cooler than Dad. It is a wonder they are related at all.
I give him a look and he gives me a blink. Guess he's okay with it. “Yeah, it is. His name's Peter,” I yell back. I don't think too hard about the reason she's here. I've been e-mailing her at least once a week for years, but I haven't actually seen her in months. It doesn't take a rocket scientist (or a noctalis) to figure out what she's doing here. I just wish I would have had some warning.
“Well, get him on up here; I want to meet him!” She windmills her arms as if she can draw us up the porch just by force. This is one of the many reasons I love this woman. Suddenly, this day looks like it might not suck so much. It started out not sucking, but I shouldn't count my chickens. She hasn't met Peter yet.
“Hey, Aj,” I say, leaping into her waiting arms. Other than my mother, she's the easiest person on the planet to hug. Aj's taller than me, but somehow we make the hug work and her arms go around my back and I feel safe. If only for a second.
“How are you doing?” Her words are barely a whisper, but I know Peter hears them. I pull back and she studies my face. The way she does it reminds me of Peter. As if she's looking down into the well of my soul, searching for coins or sparkling things.
“I'm...” I struggle to find the right word. The thing is, there is no right word. “I don't know. Trying.” It's true. I am trying, but failing most of the time. She holds my face in her hands and kisses my cheek, like a blessing. I feel Peter behind me. He stayed back a bit to give us some privacy, because he is considerate like that.
My chest starts to feel tight and it's hard to breathe.
“Aj, this is Peter. Peter, this is my Aunt Jenny.”
She turns me so that she can keep her arm around me. Her fingers dig into my shoulder. This is not a good sign. I feel her fear. For the first time since I hugged her, I smell her blood. It's sweeter than Dad's — if I'm categorizing the smell of blood, which I'm totally not. I try holding my breath.
“Nice to meet you, Peter.” She says his name as if she's unsure. The hand that's not holding onto me sticks out, waiting for a handshake. Here we go.
“It is nice to meet another part of Ava's family.” Human hand, meet noctalis hand. I feel her flinch all the way through her body. A worse sign. She's got noctalis radar. Big time.
“What are you doing here?
” I say, trying to distract her attention.
“Claire called me.” Her eyes pull away from Peter's face and focus on me. I can almost smell her unease. I was so hoping they would get along.
Peter was right. She does smell like honeysuckle and bricks. The honeysuckle I knew about. It's her favorite scent, and she lives alone in an old brick house that she calls her castle.
“Did she tell you?” A weight presses on my chest, making air a precious thing. I try to take a deep breath, but it's not easy. Peter is concerned, sending soothing vibes my way. They're not working.
“Yeah, she did.” Her arm holds tight, as if she'll never let go. Eyes, absent of tears, search mine again.
“We should probably go in,” I say. Dad's at a charity golf tournament, so Peter's allowed inside.
The smell of blackberry jam cake fills my nose, tamping down the smell of blood. I trail my hand in the air behind me, and Peter briefly touches my fingers. Letting me know he's there and that I should stop freaking out. I really don't understand why I'm so stressed about Aj being here.
“Hey, baby, look who came to see us!” Aj laughs and Mom plants a kiss on her cheek. They look like they could be sisters. With her dark brown hair and similar height, Jenny and Mom are two peas in a pod. Except for the eyes. Jenny's are a lovely brown. They remind me of chocolate with gold swirled through it.
“I know. How long are you here for?”
She rolls her eyes. “Just today. I have to get back to work, but I'm going to come more often. I miss you. I miss knowing what's going on in your life.” This is a direct jab at Peter, who lurks in the doorway. He's out of place in this situation, but I don't want him going anywhere.
“Who wants cake?” Mom says.
Peter
“Don't you want some cake?” Ava's aunt asks.