A.N. Hey guys/girls….mostly girls…. I'm gonna update this now I guess, in honor of summer (late I know) and because some of you guys (and other people) actually liked my story so yay ^_^
Hanging From Your Heart: I appreciate the fact that you kept reading. My original intention was to just do exactly as you suggested and "copy" the twilight book. But then as I kept writing I realized that Edward is an a** and I have no idea why in the h-e-double hockey sticks Bella would ever put up with that. So I do plan on putting more…original, stuff in there as the book goes on to actually make it my own, worth reading, and better able to fit the story line. So thanks :) I'm glad you didn't decide to shoot me or something :D
Naya's Snixxx: I freakin love you. You're like an overexcited fangirl (not a bad thing) who keeps me wanting to write :D so thanks to you too!
She could drive well, when she kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit. Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to her. She barely looked at the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter from the center of the lane. She drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat, fire tingled from her cold touch. Sometimes she gazed into the setting sun, most of the time she was gazing at me—my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together—and I was becoming self-conscious.
She had turned the radio to an oldies station, and she sang along with a song I'd never heard. She knew every line.
"You like sixties music?" I asked.
"Of course, Fleetwood Mac was one of the best things to come from that era. They were much better than most of the seventies or eighties." She shuddered.
"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, not wanting to upset her buoyant humor.
"Does it matter much?" her smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.
"No, but I still wonder…"
"I don't want to upset you," she whispered to me. I waited as she gazed into the sun; the minutes passed.
"Try me," I finally coaxed.
She sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the road completely for a time. Whatever she saw there must have encouraged her. She looked into the sun—the light of it setting seeming not to trigger her "sparkle defense"—as I'd dubbed it—but simply bathed her in an orange glow that brought out her beauty even more as she spoke.
"I was born in Chicago in 1901." She paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for the rest. She smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Will found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanish influenza. Irony huh?" she smirked, making a joke I guessed.
She heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my own ears. She looked down into my eyes again.
"I don't remember it well—it was a really long time ago, and human memories fade." She was lost in her thoughts for a short time before she went on. "I do remember how it felt, when Will saved me. It's not an easy thing, not something you forget."
"Your parents."
"They had already died from the disease. First my father, than my mother, I was alone. That was why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."
"How did he…save you?"
A few seconds passed before she answered. She seemed to choose her words carefully.
"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Will has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us…I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history." She paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."
I could tell from the set of her lips, that she wouldn't say anything else about the subject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. There were many things I needed to think through on this particular issue, thing that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt her quick mind had already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.
Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Will's family, though he found Emma soon after. She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."
"So you must be dying, then, to become…" We never said the word, and I couldn't frame it now.
"No, that's just Will. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." The respect in her voice was evident when she spoke of her father figure. "It is easier he says, though," she continued, "if the blood is weak." She looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel the subject closing again.
"And Puck and Quinn?"
"Will brought Quinn to the family next. I didn't realized till much alter that, after he found out about my sexuality, he was hoping she would be to me what Emma was to him—he was careful with his thoughts around me." She rolled her eyes. "But she was never more than a sister and we butt heads so much that we would have destroyed the world in our first fight if we had even wanted to be together. It was only two years later that she found Puck she was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." She threw a pointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still folded together, to brush my cheek with the back of her hand.
"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beauty of her eyes.
"Yes," she murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. God knows what," she laughed, "that dead squirrel on his head would have made me think of food rather than love. But they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to e, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled I high school." She laughed. "I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, again."
"Blaine and Kurt?"
"Kurt and Blaine are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Blaine belonged to another…family, a very different kind of family. He became depressed, and he wandered on his own. Kurt found him. Like me, he has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."
"Really?' I interrupted, fascinated. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."
"That's true. He knows other things. He sees things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."
Her jaw set when she said that, and her eyes darted to my face and away so quickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.
"What kinds of things does he see?"
"He seen Blaine and knew that he was looking for him before he knew it himself. He saw Will and our family, and they came together to find us. He's most sensitive to non-humans. He always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."
"Are there a lot of…your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them could walk among us detected?
"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—a sly glance in my direction—"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found on other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live…differently tend to band together."
"And the others?"
"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then, because most of us prefer the North."
"Why is that?"
We were parked in front of my house now, and she'd turned off the truck. It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off so I knew my father wasn't home yet.
"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" she teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one of the most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outside in the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."
"So that's where the legends came from?"
"Probably."
"And Kurt came from another family, like Blaine?"
"No, and that is a mystery. Kurt doesn't remember his human life at all. And he doesn't know who created him. He awoke alone. Whoever made him walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, they could. If he hadn't had that other sense, if he hadn't seen Blaine and Will and known that he would someday become one of us, he probably would have turned into a total savage."
There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But, to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, I hadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.
"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."
"I'm fine, really."
"I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forgot."
"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowing as I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to her.
"Can't I come in?" she asked.
"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this goddess-like creature sitting in my father's shabby kitchen chair.
"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almost simultaneously she was outside my door, opening it for me.
"Very human," I complimented her.
"It's definitely resurfacing." She smiled at me.
She walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at her constantly to be sure she was still there. In the darkness she looked much more normal. Still dreamlike in her beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.
She reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.
"The door was unlocked?"
"No, I used the key from under the eave."
I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at her with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of her.
"I was curious about you."
"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage.
She was unrepentant anyway. "What else is there to do at night?"
I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. She was there before me, needing no guide. She sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture her in. her beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.
I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.
"How often?" I asked casually.
"Hmmm?" she sounded as if I had pulled her from some other train of thought.
I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"
"I come here almost every night."
I whirled, stunned. "Why?"
She looked away, briefly before capturing my eyes with hers. "Originally, it was because I hated you. I wanted nothing more than to have you gone. You were hurting my family's happiness, my happiness; I thought we would be better off if you left again. So I came here to convince myself of that. Who were you to ruin what we had? But I didn't want to give in. You were an innocent and I needed a reason to make you leave.
So I snuck into your room, your window squeaked horribly by the way," she smiled at me and I had to smile back even though she was confessing her past hatred of me. "But now I come because I have this unsustainable urge to see you always. I shouldn't and I know that but, after you said my name—"
"No!" I gasped, interrupting her as heat flooded my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.
Her expression instantly switched from one of almost shame to worry. "What? Are you angry with me?"
"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.
She waited.
"On?" she urged.
"What you heard!" I waited.
Instantly, silently, she was by side, taking my hands carefully in hers.
"Don't be upset." She pleaded holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.
"You miss your mother," she whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green'" she laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.
"Anything else?" I questioned.
She knew what I was getting at. "You do talk about me sometimes."
I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"
"How much do you mean by 'a lot', exactly?"
I groaned and buried my head in my hands.
She pulled me against her chest, softly, naturally, and I was instantly encompassed by her unique smell that relaxed me minimally.
"Don't be self-conscious," she whispered. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in her arms.
"Should your father know I'm here?" she asked.
"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.
"Another time then…"
I felt the softest of kisses against my hair and I was alone.
"Santana!" I hissed.
I heard a chuckle that came from somewhere upstairs, than nothing else.
My father's key turned in the door.
"Brittany?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.
"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walked in. his footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Santana.
"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Santana's chair for support.
I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire in my mouth. As I sat the glass down, I noticed the milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Robert sat in the chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.
"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.
"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.
"Good. The fish were biting…how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"
"Not really—it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.
"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself.
Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.
Robert surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?"
"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."
"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?
"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.
"It's Saturday," he mused.
I didn't respond.
"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.
"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."
"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" he was suddenly suspicious, but trying to play it cool.
"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful to Robert.
"I thought maybe that Finn Hudson…you said he was friendly."
"He's just a friend, Dad."
"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.
"Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, awaiting for me to try to sneak out.
"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.
I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked u pthe stairs to my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear,, and then sprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out into the night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of the trees.
"Santana?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.
The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"
I whirled, one hand flying to my chest in surprise.
She lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, her hands behind her head, her feet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.
"OH!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.
"I'm sorry." She pressed her lips together, trying to hide her amusement.
"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."
She sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then she leaned forward and reached out to pick me up, gripping the top of my arms like I was a toddler. She sat me on the bed beside her.
She let go of me and slid one hand down my arm to intertwine with my hand. "How's the heart?"
"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."
I felt her quiet laughter shake the bed.
We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about having Santana in my room, with my father in the house.
"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.
She nodded and gestured with her hand to proceed.
"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.
"Yes, ma'am." And she made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of my bed.
I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.
I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged the bathroom door loudly, so Robert wouldn't come up to bother me.
I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough and speedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the shower couldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse. The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the same person I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Santana, sitting in my room waiting, because then I had to start all over with the calming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water, toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey white t-shirt, almost a size too small for me, and gray sweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silk pajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags on them in a drawer somewhere back home.
I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brush through it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, putting my brush and toothpaste back into the medicine cabinet. Then I dashed down the stairs so Robert could see that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.
"Night, Dad."
"Night, Brittany." He did look startled by my appearance. Maybe that would keep him from checking on me tonight.
I took the stairs two at a time, trying to be quiet, and flew into my room, closing the door tightly behind me.
Santana hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, a carving of Aphrodite perched on my faded quilt. I smiled, and her lips twitched, the statue coming to life.
Her eyes appraised me, taking in the damp hair, the tattered shirt. She raised one eyebrow. "Nice."'
I grimaced.
"No, it looks good on you."
"Thanks," I whispered. I went back to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. I looked at the lines in the floor. She copies my stance.
"What was all that for?"
"Robert thinks I'm sneaking out."
"Oh." She contemplated that. "Why?" as if she couldn't know Robert's mind much more clearly than I could ever guess
"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."
She lifted my chin, examining my face.
"You look very warm, actually."
She bent her face slowly to mine, laying her cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still and the burning feeling shot through the spot where our skin touched.
"Mmmm…," she breathed.
It was very difficult, while she was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.
"It seems to be…much easier for you, now, to be close to me."
"Does it seem that way to you?" she murmured, her nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt her hand, lighter than a butterfly's wing, brush my damp hair back, so that her lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.
"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.
"Hmm."
"So I was wondering…," I began again, but her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, leaving their own little burning trail to accompany the one now on my neck, and I lost my train of thought.
"Yes?" she breathed.
"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"
I felt the tremor of her breath on my neck as she laughed. "Mind over matter."
I pulled back, as I moved, she froze—and I could no longer hear the sound of her breathing.
We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as her clenched jaw slowly relaxed, her expression became puzzled.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No—the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.
She considered that briefly, and when she spoke, she sounded pleased. "Really?" a triumphant smile slowly lit her face.
"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.
She grinned.
"I'm just surprised," she clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," her voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with…in another way than my brothers and sister. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it…at being with you…"
"You're good at everything," I pointed out.
She shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.
"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon…"
"It's not easy," she sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still…undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave like that."
"Not unforgiveable," I disagreed.
"Thank you." She smiled. "You see," she continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough…" She picked up our interlaced hands and pressed mine lightly to her face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be…overcome"—she breathed in the scent at my wrist—"I was…susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would…that I ever could…"
I'd never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was so…human.
"So there's no possibility now?"
"Mind over matter," she repeated, smiling, her teeth bright even in the darkness.
"Wow, that was easy," I said.
She threw back her head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.
"Easy for you!" she amended, touching my nose with her fingertip.
And then her face was abruptly serious.
"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice pained. "If it gets to be…too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."
I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.
"And it will be harder tomorrow," she continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."
"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice.
"That suits me," she replied, her face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner..."—she shook her head—"just…wanky." She laughed her quiet, musical laugh. She'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with her.
"You seem more…optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."
"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" she smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. But jealousy…it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Robert asked you about that idiot Finn Hudson…" She shook her head angrily.
"Of course you were listening." I groaned. "That made you feel jealous, though, really?"
"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me, and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."
"But honestly," I teased, "for that to bother you, after I have to hear that Quinn—Quinn, one of the two known incarnations of pure beauty, Quinn—was meant for you. Puck or no Puck, how can I compete with that?"
"There's no competition." Her teeth gleamed. She drew my hands behind her neck, not letting go when they were secure. "Of course Quinn is beautiful in her own way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Puck didn't belong with her, she could never have a tenth of the attraction you hold for me." She was serious now, thoughtful. "For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours…all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."
"It hardly seems fair," I whispered, chancing to let my fingers tickle her neck lightly. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"
"You're right," she agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you definitely." She released her left hand from my wrist, only to gather it carefully with the other into her right. She slowly reached out and stroked my wet hair softly, playing with it when she reached the end. "You only have to risk your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity…what's the worth?"
"Very little—I don't feel deprived of anything."
"Not yet." And her voice was abruptly full of grief.
I tried to untangle a hand but she locked my wrist in an unbreakable hold.
"What—" I started to ask, when her body became alert. I froze, but she suddenly released my hands and disappeared. My hands falling with a small thunk against the soft covers.
"Lie down!" she hissed. I couldn't tell where she spoke from in the darkness.
I rolled under my quilt, balling up on my side, the way I usually slept. I heard the door crack open, as Robert peeked in to make sure I was where I was supposed to be. I breathed evenly, exaggerating the movement.
A long minute passed. I listened, not sure if I'd heard the door close. Then Santana's cool arm was around me, under the covers, her lips at my ear.
"You're not a very good actress—we'll have to work on that."
"Looking forward to it," I muttered. My heart was crashing in my chest.
She hummed a melody I didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby.
She paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"
"Right," I laughed. "Like I could sleep with you here!"
"So if you don't want to sleep…," she suggested and my breath caught.
"If I don't want to sleep…?"
She chuckled. "What do you want to do then?"
I couldn't answer at first, the small circles she was tracing on my stomach not helping my train of thought.
"I'm not sure," I finally said.
"Tell me when you decide."
I could feel her cool breath on my neck, feel her nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling.
A thousand ideas ran through my mind but of course we couldn't do that. "I-I thought you were desensitized."
"Mmmm, doesn't mean I can't enjoy what's been given to me," she whispered tightening her arm slightly drawing me back into her. "You have a very enticing smell, it's like lavender…and vanilla," she noted. "It's mouthwatering."
"Yeah, it's an off day when I don't get somebody telling me how edible I smell." I say, trying to make a joke to distract me from the way her raspy voice sends butterflies to my stomach.
She chuckles, and then sighs.
"I've decided what I want to do," I told her. "I want to hear more about you."
"Ask me anything."
I shifted through my question for the most vital. "Why do you do it?" I said. "I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you are. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."
She hesitated before answering. "That's a good question, and you are not the first one to ask it. The others—the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been…dealt a certain hand…it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above it, to stop what done of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."
I lay unmoving, locked in awed silence.
"Did you fall asleep?' she whispered after a few minutes.
"No."
"Is that all you were curious about?"
I rolled my eyes. "Not quite."
"What else do you want to know?"
"Why can you read minds—why only you? And Kurt, seeing the future…why does that happen?"
I felt him shrug in the darkness. "We don't really know. Will has a theory…he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Kurt had some precognition, wherever he was."
"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"
"Will brought his compassion. Emma brought her ability to love passionately. Puck brought his strength, Quinn her…tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," she chuckled. "Blaine is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."
I considered the impossibilities she described, tying to take it in. she waited patiently while I thought.
"So where did it all start? I mean, Will changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on…"
"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey?
"Are you ready to sleep?" she asked, interrupting the short silence, "Or do you have any more questions?"
"Only a million or two."
"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…," she reminded me. I smiled, euphoric at the thought.
"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" I wanted this to be certain. "You are mythical, after all."
"I won't leave you." Her voice had the seal of a promise in it.
"One more, then, tonight…" and I blushed. The darkness was no help—I'm sure she could feel the sudden warmth under my skin.
"What is it?"
"No, forget it. I changed my mind."
"Britt, you can ask me anything."
I didn't answer, and she groaned.
"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and worse."
"I'm glad you can't read my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."
"Please?" her voice was so persuasive, so impossible to resist.
I shook my head.
"If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something much worse than it is," she threatened darkly. "Please?" Again, that pleading voice.
"Well," I began, glad that she couldn't see my face.
"Yes?"
"You said that Quinn and Puck will get married soon…is that…marriage…the same as it is for humans?'
She laughed in earnest now, understanding. "Is that what you're getting at?"
I fidgeted, unable to answer.
"Yes, I suppose it is much the same," she said. "I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."
"Oh," was all I could say.
"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"
"Well I did wonder…about you and me…someday…"
She was instantly serious, I could tell by the sudden stillness of her body. I froze, too, reacting automatically.
"I don't think that…that…would be possible for us."
"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that…close?"
"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you are so soft, so fragil, I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you.k I could kill you quite easily, rittany, simply by accident." Her voice had become just a soft murmur. She moved her icy palm to rest it aainst my cheek. "If I was too hasty…if for one second I wasn't paying attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly breakable you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."
She waited for me to respond, growing anxious when I didn't. "Are you scared?" she asked.
I waited for a minute to answer, so the words would be true. "no, I'm fine."
She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I'm curious now, though," she said, her voice light again. "Have you ever…?" she trailed off suggestively.
"No," I flushed. "I-I mean I've done stuff but never, never…uh…"
She laughed, "It's ok Britt, I'm not going to judge you. I was just curious. I know that love and lust don't always keep the same company. At least we have something in common."
Your human instincts…," I began. She waited. "Well, do you find me attractive, in that way, at all?"
She laughed and returned her arm to resting around my waist. "I may not be human but I'm still a lesbian." She assured me.
I yawned involuntarily.
"I've answered your questions, now you should sleep," she insisted.
"I'm not sure if I can."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No!" I said too loudly.
She laughed, and then began to hum that same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in my ear.
More tired than I realized, exhausted form the long day of mental and emotional stress like I'd never felt before, I drifted to sleep in her cold arms.
A.N. There you go. Sorry again for the wait but softball sub-sections went longer than I thought and I've been sidetracked by Random Dice's Princess Of Darkness and Only In My Nightmares and MGMK's Mayaverse stories, they're amazing go check them out and…..yea that's it :) have a good night/day/afternoon/whatever *heart*