Chapter 9
The Truth
We went through the drive-thru of a fast food restaurant and Ian ordered me a drink and some fries. I tried to insist that I didn't need anything, but he flatly refused to listen. He insisted that I wasn't eating enough. I argued that missing lunch once in a while was hardly going to kill me. He gave me such a dark look that I gave in. When he didn't order anything for himself, I dug out my wallet to give him the money for mine, but he glared at me until I took the hint and put it away. Okay, I thought, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. Got it.
We drove north, past the neighborhood where I had purchased my car, to where the forest started in earnest. There was a little park area at the start of a trail and he pulled into the graveled parking lot and stopped. It was a little cool for a picnic, so we sat in the car while I munched on my fries. Ian watched me thoughtfully, as if observing the eating habits of a chimpanzee. It was a little off-putting.
I finished my food and then dug out a mint from my purse. I didn't want McDonald's breath to ruin a perfectly lovely moment, if that moment should happen to occur.
"Becca," Ian began and I nearly swallowed my mint. "Have you given any thought to the discussion we had last night?"
I hesitated. I had been thinking about nothing but that conversation, but somehow I didn't think that was what he really meant.
"Which part, exactly?"
He smiled. He could probably guess what part I was thinking of. I hated being so obvious.
"The part about the prophecy."
Well, being predictable was not a problem for Ian. The poem assignment was not what I had expected him to talk about here, alone.
"I'm stumped," I admitted. "What are you talking about?" I was starting to feel like "What are you talking about" was becoming my byline.
"Becca, do you remember when I said to stick to the hypothetical?"
"Yes."
"Hypothetically, if the prophecy were true, how would the…"
"Vampire?" I supplied.
He smiled. "Thank you…vampire in question go about fulfilling it? Remember the lines about the girl? About her gift that saves him? How would a vampire, who falls in love with a human girl, convince the girl to fall in love with him, knowing what he is?"
"Hypothetically?" I asked skeptically. He nodded. "Well, for starters, why are you presuming she is human? Maybe she is another vampire." He was shaking his head in denial before I could even finish my sentence.
"Innocent blood, remember? She is an innocent, probably in more ways than one, I'm betting." It took a minute for his implication to sink in. Then my face colored in embarrassment. Luckily, he wasn't looking at me, but staring at his hands on the steering wheel.
"Okay," I allowed. "So if she's human, wouldn't he just be able to do that hypnotizing thing that vamps always do in the movies and make her fall in love with him?" He was shaking his head again.
"Love's first gift, given while
Free of deceit and free of guile.
Gifted in love, accepted in truth
Only then will soul be loosed."
He quoted the poem perfectly, I was sure. His honey smooth voice turned the words into a caress and I found myself leaning towards him having made no conscious decision to do so.
"Do you have a photographic memory?" I asked, distracted.
"No, why?"
"How did you…? Never mind. Okay so he has to tell her the truth, then," I concluded. "He is just going to have to suck it up and tell her the truth and have faith that she will love him for who he is, not what he eats."
"What if she can't accept the truth?" he asked somberly. "What if she thinks he's crazy?"
"There are ways he could prove it to her," I offered. "He could show her his fangs, or he could…um…Oh! He could bite something. Not a person!" I blurted at his horrified look. "Just, like a rat, or a cat or something. Although, that might be a little gross. Well," I sighed, exasperated, "what else do vampires do, besides drinking blood?" I was running out of options. How would you convince a skeptic you were a vampire, other than doing that which makes a vampire so unique?
He didn't answer, he just sat with his eyes closed and his head hung.
"Maybe just telling her is enough, maybe she doesn't actually have to see proof, as long as he was honest."
"What if she believes him?" If possible, he sounded more distressed by that possibility than if she didn't believe him.
"If she believes him, then doesn't that solve the problem?" He shook his head.
"What if she is scared of him, or disgusted by him? What if she thinks he's a monster and wants nothing to do with him?"
"Then she doesn't deserve him." He looked at me, unconvinced. "Ian, if she can't accept him for who he is and love him the way he is, then she is not the one for him. It's not his fault he is what he is," I insisted. "He was made that way. If he is trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't hurt people, then who is she to judge? It's like saying you won't date someone for being Catholic, or black, or for having a broken arm."
"Well," he chuckled. "It's not exactly the same thing. I doubt the Catholic boy would be tempted to tear open her throat and drink her blood if he was feeling a bit peckish."
"He would NOT!" I fumed, defending my imaginary hero. "He wouldn't hurt her! He loves her! He wouldn't kill the one he loves for an afternoon snack!"
"Becca," Ian said sarcastically, "he's a vampire! That's what he does! What do you think he eats? Even if he doesn't kill people for food, he still needs their blood. Sure, he can get it without actually attacking anyone, but that wasn't always the case. Before there were blood banks, he would have had to actually bite people. That isn't the kind of instinct that just goes away." I looked at him in shock.
"Blood banks?"
"Yeah, blood banks." He raised one eyebrow in that insufferably superior way of his. "A guy's got to eat, Becca."
"Wow," I said flatly. "A vamp who takes blood from a blood bank. I never considered that."
"Come on, Becca. It's not like there's a blood isle at the supermarket on the corner. Where else would he get it?"
"I don't know," I huffed. "But he shouldn't just take it from sick or hurt people who need it."
"Oh," he said and the sarcasm died from his voice. He smiled now, a genuine smile. "What if he doesn't take it? What if he buys it from people who specialize in supplying for vampires?"
"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "Who would do that?"
"Well, Becca," he said, as if stating the obvious. "If vampires are real, then someone has to provide services so that they can remain secret, right?"
I mulled that over for a while. "I guess so," I finally allowed. "Why did you want to talk about that?"
"There's something about…me…that you should know. You have a right to know, if we are going to be together.
"Tell me," I said and I braced my self. I didn't look at him, but stared unseeingly at the windshield and the gray blanket of clouds beyond it. I clenched my hands in my lap and waited for him to tell me whatever had prompted him to ditch school and bring me to the middle of nowhere to talk about the dining preferences of the undead. I was remembering a theory that I had once heard for delivering bad news: Make up a lie that is worse than the truth, then when you tell the truth, it isn't as bad by comparison. I was now wondering what could possibly be so bad that Ian felt the need to begin by discussing methods for acquiring consumable human blood.
"Tell me," I insisted again when he remained silent. "Whatever it is, just say it. I can deal, really. Just tell me straight out." He still remained silent.
"Are you dying of cancer? Were you in jail for murder? Are you an internet con artist who takes money from old people? What is it?" I was becoming frantic, his silence unnerving me more than his imminent revelation possibly could. I looked at him from the corner of my eye. His whole body radiated tension. His hands were clenching and unclenching. He kept opening his mouth as if to begin, only to shut it again.
"Ian?" I questioned. I turned to him. He was obviously distraught. I reached out to touch his cheek. He turned to look at me, desperation in his eyes. Slowly, I shifted in my seat to lean toward him. "You can trust me," I whispered.
I leaned closer, and he did the same. We were only a breath apart. I could smell the spicy-sweetness of his breath fanning my face. I could feel his eyes probing my own, searching for reassurance. I tilted my head slightly and pressed my lips to his. I let my eyes drift closed as his hand slid into my hair, cupping the back of my skull and adjusting the angle of the kiss. His other hand gently caressed my neck, his fingers grazing the pulse point that beat erratically against my skin there. He sucked in a shaky breath, let out a soft groan, and deepened the kiss.
I shuddered when I felt his tongue glide along the seam of my lips, teasing. I gasped in pleasure and he took advantage of my parted lips to press further. My world focused in minutely on the movement of his lips and tongue and hands. He began to explore my mouth, tempting me to follow suit. Hesitantly, shyly, I touched my tongue to his, slid it along the length of his. He caught my tongue and sucked on it gently. I moaned and his hands tightened on my head and neck. I let my head drop back, gulping in air. Undeterred, his kisses slid down the line of my jaw to the hollow behind my ear. I felt his teeth delicately graze my skin and shivered, momentarily reminded of the subject of our earlier conversation. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think at all. My whole world was comprised of the feel of his mouth on my neck and his arms sliding around me to crush my body to his. His hands roamed over my back, one going up to the back of my neck to position my head at precisely the right angle, the other sliding down to my lower back, pressing me closer.
Abruptly, he pulled away and I felt abandoned, cold and drifting in the sea of emotions rushing over me. I was panting, trying to catch my breath. My vision finally focused and I looked at him.
He, too, seemed shaken. He was leaning against the car door, his head lying back on the head rest and his eyes closed. His hands were fisted on his lap and he seemed to be muttering something to himself, though it didn't sound like English.
"Ian?" I whispered. I heard the low oath he uttered. "I'm sorry," I whispered. Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Wrong?" He sounded angry. I turned away so he wouldn't see the first few tears that escaped before I could stop them from falling. "Wrong?" He seethed. Then he laughed humorlessly. "Wrong. No, Becca, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything that is wrong is all on me." I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
"It's okay," I mumbled. "I understand. Could you please take me b-back to s-school now?" I was desperate to get away before I lost control completely and started bawling again. That would only embarrass us both.
"No," he said grimly. "I haven't told you the truth yet. That's what I have to do, right?" His tone was bitter and resentful. "Even if you think I'm crazy, or disgusting? I have to tell you the truth."
I waited.
"The truth, Becca, is that I am your worst nightmare. I am the thing that goes "bump in the night." I am the monster, and there is no excuse for my existence. I am everything that you should be afraid of and you are in danger right now, just being alone with me."
"What are you talking about?" I asked tiredly. "Ian, if you don't want to be with me, you just have to say so. You don't have to try to scare me off. I won't go all Fatal Attraction on you." I sighed, disappointed that it had all ended so abruptly. My first kiss. What a disaster.
"Becca, I want you to listen very carefully to me." He still wasn't looking at me, but his voice had taken on an intensity that sent chills down my spine. "I am not making anything up. I am not crazy. I am not trying to scare you off, although if I did, it would only be to protect you. What I am doing, is being incredibly selfish to ask you to risk your life to be with me."
My heart stopped; just for a second. I forgot to breath. "Risk my life how?" I breathed.
"Becca, the bad guys are real. Monsters are real. I'm one of them." He turned to look at me and his eyes burned feverishly.
"Ian, th-this is…is…Oh, my God. What are you?" I could feel fear welling up in my chest and I fought to suppress it. Ian reached a hand toward me, but seemed to think better of it and dropped it to the consol between us. I stared at his hand, strong hands that had fought to protect me. Then I looked up into his deep, penetrating eyes. He always seemed to see more clearly than I. He always seemed to be able to talk me into or out of anything, as long as I was looking into his eyes. I quickly shifted my gaze lower.
His lips were pressed into a taught line. The pale skin on his cheeks was tightly drawn, emphasizing their sharpness. I reached out my own hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart, but there was no answering "thump". There was no rise and fall of his chest to accompany breathing. The minutes ticked by in silence. Only my own labored breathing and the pulse rushing in my ears relieved the stillness.
"What are you?" I repeated. I thought I was sure what he was trying to convince me of, but I needed the words. I needed his affirmation. I needed him to tell me the truth.
"Vampire," he whispered. I could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. He was ready for my reaction. He was ready to spring from the car if I should run screaming in terror. He was braced to accept any blow that I felt the need to deal him. He was a man preparing himself for any possibility, save one.
"How old are you?" I asked softly.
"Eighteen," he answered, surprising me.
"So young," I sighed. "When were you born?"
"Eighteen eighty-one."
"When did you die?" He hesitated. "When?" I asked again, still staring at my hand on his chest.
"Eighteen ninety-nine."
"Where?"
"Ireland."
"Who was it?" He looked at me questioningly. "Was it a woman that did…this…to you?" He nodded. "Did you love her?"
"No!" was his adamant reply.
"Tell me about her."
"She was…beautiful, seductive, evil. She used her beauty and her powers of …persuasion… to lure me into the dark one night, away from safety. I was young and drunk and a beautiful woman was trying to seduce me. I was stupid."
"Are you going to kill me?" I asked bluntly.
"No!" he nearly shouted. "Becca, how could you think that? After all that I've told you? After I told you how I feel about you, how could you think I wanted to kill you?" I could feel his body practically vibrating with tension.
"I don't," I answered calmly. "But I had to ask. If you are harboring any desire for my blood, I think it's best if we get it out there now."
He was quiet for a long time. I waited.
"I won't hurt you," he said finally, and I didn't miss the subtle distinction between my question and his answer.
"You are harboring a desire for my blood?'"
"I won't hurt you," he insisted.
"Ian," I warned. He reached out to me, his fingers tracing the planes and angles of my face.
"Becca, you are my destiny, I'm in love with you. But I can't change what I am. Your blood calls to me. I can hear it coursing through your veins. I can see the subtle jump in your throat where your pulse throbs. I enter a room and your scent is like a trail enticing me to follow, to hunt. Every instinct I possess is pushing me to taste you. Every instinct except the one that pushes me to protect your life with my own. That is the one that compels me. The rest is just the urge to survive. I have other ways of surviving. If I hurt you…" he stopped, and I held my breath. "I would cease to be. I can't exist without you."
I took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay."
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I believe you."
"What do you believe?" he asked, almost desperately. "Okay, you believe I'm a vampire? Okay, you believe I love you? Okay, you believe I won't kill you? What?" He sounded frazzled.
"Yes," I answered. "I believe it all." He looked at me searchingly. His eyes probed mine.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you love me?"
"Y-yes," I whispered, my breath hitched.
He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to refuse. His hands gently cradled my head and his eyes stayed on mine as he lowered his lips to mine. "I love you," he whispered against my lips. He kissed me softly, sweetly. It wasn't nearly as heated as the kiss we had already shared, but the underlying current of emotion brought tears to my eyes. Slowly, he ended the kiss and pulled back slightly.
"When's your birthday?" he asked, in the same serious tone. I stared at him uncomprehendingly. "When?" he persisted.
"June eleventh," I answered, confusion written clearly on my face.
"You'll be, what? Seventeen?"
"Yes?"
"That doesn't leave much time," he muttered, no longer talking to me. He had focused inward, on some secret dilemma.
"Time for what?" I asked, already expecting that he wouldn't answer, and I was right. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove back to school distractedly. I wished I could read his mind, to see what was weighing on him so heavily.