Preface

Love can cripple. We promise ourselves we won't let love cripple us, and it's frowned upon in society if we do. No one is worth such pain, we say, and we should be whole enough on our own to be able to survive it. But when it's deep, true love, love cripples.

I'd been through a lot of bitter trials in my life, especially in the love department. A lot of close seconds that I thought were potential for true, life-altering, soul-shifting, earth-shattering love. But they weren't. A few boyfriends, a few romantic acquaintances, a divorced husband and subsequent lost custody battle, a dead musician lover. I was pushing thirty, and had no will to fight anymore. No will to fight for anyone.

Or so I thought.

I wasn't about to stand there helpless as the last shred of hope for love I had left was about to die. The enemy's bloodlust was almost overpowering as he held the silver dagger over my savior's heart. A shriek of fear, agony, and rage shredded through my vocal cords, ripping through the silence and echoing through the cavernous room as I lunged forward with all of my strength and speed. Not him. Not him.

Love can cripple, as can fear. Love can also empower. I was just as bloodthirsty. There would be hell to pay if Viktor's bloodlust won over mine.

"LUCIAN!"

Chapter 1- Endings

I restlessly threw my large Sudoku book to the floor. It wasn't that I couldn't solve the puzzle. It's that I couldn't concentrate enough to solve it. Every time I sat down to work on it I heard his words, his lyrics- his voice. So many bits and pieces of his soul could be found in the words and lyrics. Emery's dead, Maya. He was in a car crash last night. I tried to call you but your cell phone was busy. I couldn't get through. What the hell were you doing anyway?

I had been fighting with Alex about Misha, as always. That's what I was doing. I had been fighting for her, rather. The custody battle had not ended well all of those years ago. I had recently graduated and hadn't found a job yet, as there were no German translator jobs out in the job market post- 2007 recession. I was deemed unfit on a technicality. I had no job, so how could I raise a two-year-old little girl? So he won the custody battle, hands down. Full custody. It was around that time that The Odd Men Out came back to town, back in 2011, and I met Emery for real that fateful December. I found it bitterly ironic that around that time five years before, I had first become a fan. But that night, I was single again, and I ended up sharing more in common with Emery than I could have ever hoped for. And I had loved him more than I had ever believed was possible. And he had loved me back more than I thought was even fathomable. It had been a cruel twist of fate- and car metal- that had bereaved me of him forever. It would have been an unstoppable tragedy, but nonetheless I had lost my chance to see him one last time. He would not have held it against me, had he known the reason. None of the members of the band did either. And I didn't hold it against Misha. She was the one other fight in this world worth fighting for anymore. But Emery was gone, the memories weren't, nor was the pain. It was still raw and grinding as ever, pushing and carving away at what was left of my iron-cold heart, hardened over time. And Maya, the only other fight worth fighting for, was lost on me. She was stolen from me just as cruelly as Emery had been.

It's just- whatever. I sighed. Whatever. C'est la vie. I stared right past my coffee cup, past the patio and the umbrella, and past the lawn chairs to my back neighbor's house, the shades drawn as usual. What the hell? It was always like that. I was probably bitterer than he was, yet here I was outside and somewhat approachable. Actually, that was probably as blatant as a lie anyway. I had a permanent scowl fixated on my face. But at least I didn't keep the shades drawn day after day. I tried to let as much sunlight in as I could, hoping to soak up the sun in all of its glory and happiness; in hopes of finding healing through its sunlight. Well, everyone has their bad days, and today it wasn't working. A shadow passed by the drawn shade of the back window, presumably the kitchen, and the lone figure seemed to be hunched over as it passed, staggering slowly with a hindered gait. This pulled my frown lines deeper into my face, as a familiar pain passed through my heart in addition to the constant one- sympathy, maybe even empathy. Whatever pain the figure was in behind the veil ever present over his house, I felt it too. It looked as real and deep as mine, and the thought of anyone hurting as badly as I caused the second pain to ripple through me in waves of pity and agony. Whenever I saw any indication of deep pain in anyone, I felt it too. I recognized the body language as well in others as I did in myself. I understood fully in that moment why his shades were always drawn- he had lost someone too. I dared not venture to the house behind me though. I knew all too well also that approaching the pained was not the right response. They'd reach out when they wanted to be reached out to. Until then it was best to let them wallow in their own pain. I understood this concept very well, and respected it, and his wishes. I also had a new definition to the word "wallow." It had a negative connotation to me still, as grieving and wallowing mean suffering deep pain, but it didn't seem pathetic to me. When people talk of others wallowing it was often with disgust, as though going through the motions of pain wasn't respectable or dignified, and it was meant to be buried and concealed as the person pushed through each day. I didn't see it that way. I didn't see it as pathetic or in need to be concealed or ignored. I saw it as necessary to wallow. I hoped it meant his pain would actually go away faster if he did. Pushing back feelings was just poison to the soul. I knew my heart was gone, but my soul would heal at least, and I'd be able to function again someday.

But today I would not function. Today I would sit outside and wallow in my own way. I snapped out of my reverie as I saw the shade to the kitchen lift just an inch, and a pair of eyes momentarily peeked out at me and my lowered head, and my slouched shoulders. The eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not in animosity or irritation, but seemingly in understanding, and perhaps also in empathy, reading my body language just as I had read his shadow's posture a moment before. Indeed, then, he suffered the same pain as I. He also knew how to recognize the pain in others, and he had read mine in an instant. He paused for a moment, holding my startled but intent gaze with an understanding softness, and then slowly drew the shade back down. I sighed, and stirred my coffee in desolation with my index finger. It had grown cold over my time spent outside. I picked up my abandoned and abused Sudoku book off of the wooden slats where it had fallen, apologizing to it internally for its undue flight to the ground at my hand and rage, and went inside to my kitchen to dump my coffee out into the sink, and put my favorite Starbucks mug into the dishwasher. I leaned forward against the sink toward my window to the backyard, gazing again in puzzlement and minute interest at my mysterious neighbor's house. It seemed so weird that two grieving people should become neighbors. Perhaps it was fate, that we might be two hurting people in proximity of each other for support. Or perhaps we'd never encounter each other again; despite our obvious understanding in that brief moment our eyes had met. Perhaps that one brief moment of kinship would be all we'd need to carry on again, stronger than before. While I seriously doubted that, still feeling the stabbing wound in my heart, I held on to the smallest shred of hope that perhaps that one glance of sympathy would heal me.

Just then a magnificent pendant caught my eye, made of some type of precious metal, with gorgeous deep blue-green stones set in the middle. The chain hung delicately off of a hook fastened under the roof, away from where precipitation could touch it. How strange though, I thought, that he would still leave it subjected to weather changes and frost and such. But I didn't think about it much further. I simply wondered what its significance was, and why it was there. And then I wondered why I cared. I relocated to the great room, lighting a single lavender candle on the wood and glass coffee table, and curled up on the leather couch under a fleece afghan, drifting off to a dreamless and restless sleep in the early evening sunlight. I breathed in the comforting scent, the heaviness of grief and sleep causing my breath to enter and escape my body in irregular shudders.