11 – Port Angeles
Once Emmett and I rejoin the rest of my family, it's clear we are all well fed and it's time for some sports. However, we only found a small clearing, not nearly big enough for our usual games (a diamond for humans is too small for us). But Emmett, undaunted, proposes a quick football game instead. The small field will make it more about strength, or cunning, than pure speed, but usually I don't complain; my mind reading can come in handy, although some of the others insist on calling it cheating. I disagree; it's not my fault I was born with special abilities. In a small field, however, the game will be too fast for Alice's gift and mine to make a big difference. This should be fun.
My brothers resume their trash talking, with Rosalie and Alice rolling their eyes at them, and flip a coin. Emmett goes first and picks Carlisle. I join Jasper's team. When it comes to football, Esme only officiates. The game is back and forth, but in the end our opponents triumph. Their captain, of course, gloats to no end, exasperating Jasper. It was a nice distraction, but I soon become restless again, wondering if Brandon is okay. I also wallow a little in the afterglow of being the one he wants to be with, of defeating my rivals. It's rather ironic, isn't it; I always mocked their high school romance and drama rolled into one, pitied them really, but now I'm just as involved and manic as the greenest among them. Me! A vampire who already lived longer than any of them can ever dream of...
My family have decided to spend one more night here. I acquiesced with reluctance; I'd rather go back right now but I can't; if I do that, they will think I'm really losing it. It's true. Carlisle has started another fire, and Jasper decides to regale us with some horror stories from his life as a soldier in an army of vampires. Once again, a little fear does make us shiver at times; maybe we are more human than we think. Alice also reminds me that she's starting to get feelings, or visions, about Brandon's life, and she's convinced he will be fine. In fact, she thinks we will soon spend some time together. I peek inside her mind, but the images are still muddled; it's hard to catch any details beyond the fact that Brandon and I are sitting close to each other, at a table, somewhere. The rest of the room is a blurry absence of meaning. I thank my sister.
We finally return to Forks the next morning. I help the others and then take off in the direction of Brandon's house on foot; it doesn't take me long to get there and these days running is more fun than driving.
When I get there, his father's cruiser is not the driveway, but his truck is. If he's alone in the house, I could talk to him. But I remember the chief is famous for his fishing expeditions on weekends. Maybe Brandon went with him. I approach the house through the forest, and I soon hear his heartbeat; he's here then. Maybe I could talk to him, after all. I'm sure Alice doesn't foresee any issues; she would have warned me otherwise. The table seemed like a restaurant booth but…. I hesitate. Isn't it strange for me to just show up unannounced? Should I make up some kind of excuse? What could I say? I'm sure he knows I don't need his help to do my homework…. Maybe I could just brazenly say that I wanted to talk to him. And then I facepalm. I can't go out in the open. It's sunny today.
My inner debate is rendered moot when the quiet is shattered by the grinding and groaning of his truck's engine; the sun prevents me from coming out of the trees and waving to him; his vehicle splutters out of the driveway and heads north. I follow him through the forest, running parallel to the road but well out of sight. When I realize he's heading for the Quileute reserve, I desist. Carlisle asked us to take the ancient treaty that prevents us from treading their ground seriously, and I have no choice but to comply. I wonder why he's going there, and decide he probably just wanted to enjoy a sunny day at the beach. A pang of jealousy skewers me when I wonder whether he might meet some other girl over there, but no, I quickly remind myself, he turned them all down.
I spend the whole day in the forest waiting for him to come back, just to be sure he's fine. When he does, I'm also relieved to see he's still alone, and no other cars seem to follow him. No matter. I will only be with him as long as he wants me too. If he has feelings for somebody else, I will accept that and let him be. I owe it to him and to my family. For now I can still hope we will become closer. That brings me some solace. It's all I can really ask for.
I spend the whole night in the forest, listening to Brandon and his father as they have their dinner and go about their normal life. His dad watches TV while he goes upstairs and gets to work on his guitar playing. Tonight, though, he's not playing Debussy. Instead, he listens to a song by some indie band I don't recognize over and over, slowly figuring out how to play it on the guitar. He must really like it; he works on it for a long time. By the time he goes to bed, he can play the whole tune. Impressive. I spend the night on my usual bough, listening to the rustling of his sheets and more fragments of dream speak. Every time he mentions my name, I feel like my ghost heart leaps out of my chest.
When morning comes along, I follow him to school, but today I can't go in. The sun is reclining on cushions of pure blue sky and the likes of me cannot show themselves, lest they reveal their true nature. My hearing, though, catches scraps of his conversations despite the distance. Jessica chirps at him about a trip to Port Angeles and I wonder whether she still thinks she can sink her hooks in him; but no, a quick scan of her mind tells me that she is just excited about visiting the biggest town in the peninsula and an evening out with her friends. Brandon agrees to join them, but he seems distracted and slightly annoyed about something. I grit my teeth and ignore a sudden impulse to walk to him right now.
Some of the lunch conversations tell me their trip has been postponed to the next day; Brandon's voice is still strangely listless. Could he possibly be upset because I'm not there? Do I dare to hope that too? Don't my fantasies have any boundaries then? I banish the thought before my ghost heart goes all aflutter.
After school I follow him home, like a guardian vampire or an obsessed teenager, or both. He's only inside for a few minutes, and I barely manage to hide when he suddenly walks outside. Luckily, he doesn't spot me lurking among the trees behind his place. He surprises me when, instead of getting in his truck, he heads straight into the forest; he likes to go hiking. Maybe he likes to spend time away from people, like me. How I wish I could just reveal myself to him right now, and walk with him for a bit. Maybe I could tell him about the kinds of plants that thrive in this corner of the world. One of my degrees is in botany. But no, there's too much sunlight, even here. We don't go too far. He must know there isn't much daylight left; soon, the twilight will smudge the colors of the day, before the night reweaves them into a different, darker palette.
When he reaches the top of a hill he sits on a log and appears to think really hard about something. What could he be pondering so intently? My inability to read his mind is still maddeningly irksome. He just sits there for a long time, lost in thought, while I let my frustration consume me, still hidden.
Finally he stands up and starts walking back, apparently more relaxed. He looked rather glum on the way here, but now he smiles, maybe unconsciously, as he traipses toward his home. I walk back too, but stay well behind, wondering what his change of mood might be due to. The questions never end; they crowd my brain and push away any other thought. I'm still tempted put together some excuse and go talk to him, but when we get to the house his father is parking his cruiser in the driveway and I just end up spending the night in the forest again, watching over his safety and hoping it will be cloudy tomorrow, despite forecasts to the contrary.
The Gods do not cooperate, and the morning quickly fills with light spilling from the untarnished, unfettered sun; there are no clouds in sight. The forecast was dead on. Assuming he'll be safe at school, I decide to go home. I haven't been back in a couple of days and if don't show up much longer Esme will worry about me.
When I back, I see Alice and Jasper strolling by the lake nearby, hand in hand. They wave at me and Alice commands me to go home to see our mother. Esme was waiting for me, and I spend the rest of the day with her. At first she asks for my opinion about her sketches for our next home (which thankfully won't be needed until we move away from Forks, years from now), and then she asks me to play some music for her; I'm glad to oblige. When I tell her how frustrating it is to stay away from him she laughs and hugs me really tight.
"It will all work out, baby. You'll see." I don't think she had ever called me baby before, but I find I don't mind it today.
When Carlisle returns home I head to school, in our BMW, a little later than I had planned, and Brandon has already left for Port Angeles with his friends. I consider returning home and maybe watching a game with Emmett and Rosalie, but when I imagine Brandon walking around alone or with a group of teenagers, in a strange town, I am the victim of another bout of anxiety. Is he really going to be okay? Port Angeles is not particularly dangerous, but some areas are a little rough. For some reason, I keep thinking he could get into trouble. Yes, falling in love was definitely bad luck. This is agony.
When I look at the sky, however, I feel immediately better; an army of clouds is swiftly gathering along the edge of the horizon, and the wind will herd them toward us in a hurry; soon I will be able to interact with humans again; darkness will come early tonight. I get back in the car and drive toward Port Angeles, the sky beautifully filling with churning gloom that turns the light of the sunset into an ashen wraith as I progress.
When I reach the town, I head straight for the strip mall; Jessica mentioned some shopping and it's a logical place to look.
I find Mike, Eric and Angela easily enough. They are browsing sporting goods and chatting about the dance. I read in their minds that Jessica and Jeff's sister are looking for dresses, while Brandon took off on his own mumbling something about a bookstore. I puzzle over that one, but I usually go to Seattle when I want something new to read. I could search the address on my smartphone but decide to employ other methods. His scent is easy to recognize and follow, as long as I drive with the windows down.
I find the shop, close to the harbor. The whole area looks rundown; I see brick walls, rusting padlocks, rotting cornices, gutters filled with urban debris. There aren't many people around. Brandon is not at the store, but I know he was here; I can smell faint traces of his uniquely tantalizing smell. I walk back outside, and drive aimlessly away from the harbor and back toward the strip mall; Brandon is probably going to meet his friends there, but I still feel ill at ease.
I drive slowly, still sensing his olfactory spoor and searching for passersby whose minds have memories of encountering. I could definitely talk to him now. Maybe I could pretend to meet him and his friends by accident. Yes, that's a thought. I could even involve Alice. If I give her a call now, she might be happy to join me here with Jasper. Part of my mind is already fretting over what I might want to say to Brandon, the rest keeps searching for signs of his passage.
When I come to a stop at a traffic light, I sense the presence of human minds somewhere around a corner, behind a bricks and cement warehouse; in one of those I see Brandon, hurrying past the guy. He doesn't know much more and I scan the other minds I sensed in the vicinity.
I realize that Jessica and a friend, Jeff's sister I imagine, are also there, but they haven't seen him. I search the minds close to them again and I freeze, my hands clasping the wheel and threatening to rip it off its column. There are three men, and they've cornered my classmates; worse than that, one of the men has some of the vilest, most despicable intentions. Before I can wrench away from him, I catch glimpses of those foul, nasty designs, and his cold lack of empathy. Fear is mounting in Jessica and Rachel, inching toward overwhelming their rational mind, turning them to easy prey for those men.
I finally shake off my momentary paralysis and gun the engine before drifting around the corner and coming to stop a few inches from one of the beast. The girls shriek. The men gasp and stagger backward, stunned by my unexpected appearance.
I jump out of the car, my muscles shaking with the intense effort I'm making to slow myself down, to contain my anger. I couldn't care less about Jessica and Rachel, but they don't deserve to be treated like this and the sociopath leading this pack of rabid dogs makes me sick to my core; he doesn't deserve to live.
I glare at the men, now a little taken aback by my bellicose stance and my diminutive physique. Then I hiss at the women.
"What are you two waiting for? Get in the car." They obey my instructions while muttering words I don't pay attention to. I look at their leader, and search the dead ponds of his eyes and the void hurtling behind them, or his grisly memories, for signs of human empathy; I find none.
A red veil creeps across my eyes, bathing the world in blood or a vision of Hell.
I can't kill him. But I want to, so, so badly. His very existence is a menace to anybody around him, and his sick fantasies are the instrument he will employ to sculpt their flesh and their soul into something I do not dare contemplate.
My anger grows like a red tide, surging, roiling the oceans of my psyche.
I want to kill him, and the justification is simple. It would be an act of justice.
But no, I can't, a voice in my head, maybe my own, reminds me. There are witnesses; Rachel is trembling in fear, crying. Jessica, to her credit, comforts her despite being pretty shaken up herself. They would see me do it and my family would have to leave Forks.
I growl. it's a low, barely audible sound, but as soon as they hear it, the men scatter in every direction, running as fast as they can away from me. I might not look fierce, but they could somehow grasp the danger I pose to them.
I close my eyes and listen in vain for my heartbeat. I could still easily overcome them, one by one, and put an end to their miserable lives. My throat burns with a thirst for justice rather than blood. I'm a warrior, and this is how we resolve our issues.
Jessica breaks the spell.
"Lynn, how did you find us?" Before I can answer she buries me in heartfelt thanks. Rachel pulls herself together and manages to thank me as well.
"I didn't find you, Jessica. I just happened to be in town and I noticed your presence while I was driving by. I bet you're happy I stopped and came to fetch you, aren't you?" I tell them as I head for the strip mall."
They are, and they keep thanking me until they realize where we are,
"How did you know the others are here?"
Okay, that was a mistake. I'm supposed to have met her by accident. But I can fix it.
"This is Port Angeles. I just assumed you'd meet up here; what else is there to see in this town? Speaking of which, what were you two doing in that area, by the docks?"
"We went to a dress they just opened, just off the strip mall, but on the way back we got lost." Jessica explains, still a little breathless. Jeff's sister still looks pale.
I enter the lot and park not far from where Brandon is discussing something, a little agitated, with Jeff and Mike. They soon notice our presence and approach us. We all leave the car and I watch the girls run into Lauren and Angel's arms. Mike wishes he could console Jessica; maybe he will. I cast a glance behind me; there is a nasty piece of work out there, somewhere in the thickening darkness. The girls I just rescued will never know how lucky they were tonight. But my anger won't abate, and now that they're safe there's nothing to prevent me from looking for the leader of that pack and put him down like the rabid dog he is.
And yet, something tells me I shouldn't. What gives me the right to anoint myself judge, jury and executioner? But if I don't do anything, there will be other girls lost to his darkness, other victims. I know the names of the women he has already killed, the memories so vivid in his mind. I want to rip his body to shreds with my own hands, but I mustn't. I mustn't.
The chatter emanating from the girls and their clearly relieved friends is only white noise to me. I need some other distraction. I look at Brandon; he's just staring at me, slightly puzzled, but not unhappy, I think. Yes, this might help. Questions about his real thoughts already quell the fires of my blood lust.
I'm afraid the man will get away and I cast glances toward the harbor, but Brandon is still gazing at me, almost transfixed. A sudden thought sends shivers down my spine; maybe we could spend some time together, just the two of us. His presence would allow me to rein in my homicidal instincts, I know it. And I want to talk him so much. It's been days since the last time….
"Brandon….." He seems to have forgotten how to talk, and I know how shy he is, so I take the initiative. "Have you had dinner yet?"
"No." He replies, a tiny smile forming on his lips. The strip mall and his other friends are extras outside the spotlight, out of focus and indistinct; I only see his green eyes, and their liquid depths.
"Are you in a hurry to go home?"
"Not really." He's definitely very articulate right now, but that might change if we are alone. I surprise myself when I add:
"Would you like to have dinner with me? I can drive you home afterwards."
I watch him, dizzy with hope he will accept and fear he will reject me, teetering on the edge of another abyss. I vaguely realize that everybody else has gone quiet; we are the stars of our high school's soap opera now.
"Sure." Amazing, he managed to make his answer even shorter, but I'm so happy it's positive that I don't mind.
The guys surround him. Eric punches his arm while Mike and Jeff look a little awed. Boys…. I think to myself. Will they ever grow up? How can Brandon be so much more mature?
"Is that what you want man?' Jeff whispers to him, but it's obvious he already knows Brandon's answer.
He nods, mock-solemn. Speech appears to have completely deserted him.
His friends all laugh and take off. We stand there and watch them leave, side by side, only a sliver of air separating our bodies. And yet, I don't dare touch him. He would notice how cold I am. More thanks from the girls as they pile in the cars remind me of the beast still at large. Anger threatens to overwhelm me.
"Brandon, talk to me about something…"
"Huh?" This won't do. I need to get him to do most of the talking. It's the only thing that could allow me to stay in control. If I went out into the night, there would be no witnesses this time…..
"Anything. Please, distract me. Those men really made me furious. Just jabber on about anything you want." I plead with him, and it seems to work.
"Okay, so, I managed to find a bookstore in this forsaken town. Not great, but slightly better than the one in Forks. I bought one novel there. Have you read any of Chandler's books?"
"Yes, sure," I was right, this is better. I think I can already sense my body relax a little. And we like some of the same authors…. "Which one did you get?"
"The Long Goodbye. I heard it's good. I really liked 'The Big Sleep'. There is something uncanny about his writing, aside from the outdated slang. If it wasn't clear yet, I'm a bit of a bookworm."
"Tell me about other writers you like…" My fascination with him knows no bounds. I feel a lot better already.
"David Mitchell, I suppose. He's British, so at times a little too flamboyant for my tastes, a bit of a show-off really. Still, he can write. He can create very powerful images."
I let him talk and drink in every word. He's usually not that talkative but he's making an effort for me, to make me feel better. Something inside me melts and oozes, pleasantly so.
"Brandon, I have a bit of a temper." I say when I feel like my rage has been tamed.
"Those men…. They were thinking such filth, it's disgusting. They're sickening. Thank you for staying with me… I really don't want to be alone right now. I might go back and kill them. They deserve it, but I really shouldn't."
Maybe I'm being too honest now, but I can't really help it. His smile frays at the edges and another stab of curiosity harpoons my brain. He must be hungry.
"What would you like to eat? You choose." After looking around, he picks a Japanese restaurant and we sit in a booth at the back. He orders some sushi and, to keep up pretenses, I order an appetizer."
"You're not hungry?" he asks intently. He must still be trying to figure me out. I don't blame him.
"Not really." I reply, smiling inwardly. "Besides, I'm on a special diet." Honest enough, I suppose, if a little misleading.
"You look slender enough." He blurts out, and blushes soon after.
"You noticed." He really did. I'm so glad. Alice is right; he likes me too. I never imagined life could be this enjoyable, or that cold, dead things could feel such happiness.
"Well, yeah, I'm not blind." He stutters, his face turning crimson. Fire floods my throat and I fight a different type of thirst for a moment, but it's soon forgotten.
"So, anyways, why did you come to Port Angeles?" I was hoping to be the one asking questions, but I bet he has many for me too. I wish I could answer them, but being too honest about this one could lead to trouble.
"Let's talk about something else."
"Okay. How was your camping trip?" That's better, or at least safer.
"It was fine. The weather was pretty good. How was your weekend?"
"It was rather interesting…." It was? What does he mean by that?
The waitress brings our food. I look at him, wondering what he's really thinking, whether he's come up with new theories about me. And of course he has more questions that could be difficult to answer.
"Earlier on you said that those guys' thoughts were gross, depraved….. How do you know? Can you read minds? I mean, obviously you can do some pretty amazing things….."
The anger is gone, for the time being, but what can I tell him….?
"You can trust me." His eyes are open, clear. He wants me to tell him the truth, to believe in him. I can't say no. I bite my lip and answer him.
"Yes, I can. But there is one exception. You." I feel guilty about being so honest, but I justify my candor by calling it misdirection; telepathy is definitely not part of vampire canon.
"Really? I'm the only one whose mind you cannot read? How is that possible?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe your brain works differently from other humans." I say that casually, eliciting another unpredictable response, as if his very presence in this booth, with me, wasn't miraculous enough.
"Oh, right. I've always known I'm a freak." He replies calmly, shrugging, the way some people would complain about natural phenomena like rain or snow.
I shake my head, unable to hide my surprise.
"I tell you I can read minds and you think you're the freak? Don't worry. It's just a theory."
Our food is waiting, and Brandon looks famished. I shovel the contents of my plate into my mouth and that encourages him to slow down with the questions and pounce ravenously on his serving of sushi.
"There is one thing I don't understand. How did you know the girls were in trouble? Did you happen to drive by at the right time?"
He manages to mouth in between morsels. He won't let it go. After a long sigh, I finally give him a clearer answer.
"I was driving around and I read the minds of some of those guys. Most of them are harmless pigs full of dirty thoughts but little action, really, but their leader is a nasty piece of work. No empathy. No compassion. Please don't make me think about it. I'm still tempted to go look for him."
"But why were you driving around Port Angeles? Were you bored of Forks? Not that I'd blame you, but if that's the case Seattle is much more interesting and not that far."
He seems to be measuring me up, searching for something. I want to be honest, but I'm not sure how he will react if I confess that I was stalking him.
"What is it, Lynn? Tell me, please."
His eyes quiver, and I lose myself in their swirls of green for an instant, feeling a hint of vertigo. I give up. I will tell him the truth and let the chips fall where they may.
"I was looking for you, Brandon." There it is; my capitulation is almost complete.
"You were looking for me?" He looks stunned, his eyes wide, but he's also smiling a little.
"But why?" Okay, this is interesting. He doesn't realize how much I like him? I suppose I wasn't as obvious and out of control as I thought. Granted, I didn't talk to him a whole month. Still, he must have noticed we never sit or spend time with kids outside our family. If I wasn't infatuated with him, why would I invite him to Seattle or spend lunch with him?
"I, well, I was just worried about you. You were almost killed by that van, and then the soccer injury… Come to think of it, why did you finish the game? You were clearly in pain."
He looks a little dazed, and my impatience is killing me.
"We didn't have any subs left and I didn't want to leave my team shorthanded. Besides, it was a close game and I'm not a quitter. It will take more than a cracked rib to make me leave the pitch. There is something you should know about me, Lynn. I'm stubborn."
I add another piece to the puzzle of his personality. He's shy, and maybe not that perceptive with girls, but he has some inner strength, or determination.
"But, you said you were driving around….?" The questions never end. But maybe I can get see how smart he can be, switch the field of play.
"Let's say that, hypothetically, you could read minds, hear people's thoughts. Well, all minds except one, so you wouldn't be able to search for that person directly. What would you do if you still wanted to find him?"
I wait for his answer literally without breathing.
"Maybe read other people's minds? Just in case they saw the person I'm looking for? But…."
"Yes. You're quick."
I already knew he was sharp. This only confirms it.
"Maybe too quick. Too observant." I say it out loud without meaning to. Still, I like it. His emotions shift and he shakes his head.
"At times, Lynn, what you say to me sounds like an enigma wrapped in a riddle and then stuffed inside a charade. How do you even learn to talk like that? I asked you that before but you still haven't answered me."
I have a good laugh. He can be funny as well. But then I feel contrite. After all, I never gave him the explanation I'd promised.
"I wish I could speak more clearly…." I really do.
"So, you were reading Jessica and Rachel's minds?"
I huff and finally give in for good. I might as well give him something about tonight. I already admitted to mind reading, let's see what he thinks of the rest.
"When I arrived in Port Angeles I tried to listen to minds I was familiar with, of people I thought would be with you. I knew that you were in a shop with Mike and other guys, but that you had left. I knew you went toward the port but I wasn't sure of your location. I got a little frustrated." To say the least, but I have to try and keep it light.
"You were alone in a place you are not familiar with. It made me uncomfortable, a little anxious." I finally admit it, and yet now I'm not sure the subtext is even clear to him yet. I really wish I had brought Alice along, she might understand humans better. I keep talking.
"I started driving around, listening for other thoughts that were familiar, and even the minds of strangers, in the hope they had spotted you."
"Wait, how could you know I headed that way?"
Yes, he's definitely too quick. Or maybe he just pays attention to me….
"I followed your scent." I finally admit, my lips practically moving of their own accord.
"Wow."
I might as well get it over with. I want to earn his trust. No, I must, and I must be worthy of it.
"I saw in a man's mind that he had met you, but then I also saw that he was stalking two girls from the school. I saw some of his plans…" I feel echoes of the hatred that filled me when I touched his thoughts.
"I drove to them as fast as I could. Luckily, I was in time. But, you see, at first I wasn't just planning to take them away. I wanted to rip those guys' heads off. But your friends would have seen me do it. It's bad enough you know I'm not your average human but this would have been a disaster. My family would have been really upset, forced to disappear. And then, when we met, I thought that you could distract me from my homicidal thoughts and that it would be nice if we could spend some time alone… Talk a little."
I blab too much, as usual. But he already knew of my strength. It doesn't matter. Maybe the anger will chase him away though. I wonder if he can feel how much that saddens me.
He strokes his chin, pondering something. I can almost hear gears engaging in his skull.
"You were worried about me. You wanted to look after me…."
At first, I can't read his face but eventually his eyes and mouth smile.
"I should be mad, you know. I can't stop vans with my hands but I'm usually pretty good at staying out of trouble. But, really, I'm glad. Thank you, Lynn. Thank you for caring."
He seems on the verge of tears, but soon recovers his composure. He surprises me by laying one of his hands on mines. His skin is soft, and so warm. But humans usually shy from physical contact with our kind, although there are exceptions. I close my eyes; I don't want to see how much this minimal contact might repulse or disgust him.
His hand lingers on mines. For a few brief but unforgettable moments, I feel the quivering caress of his pulse and the diffusing heat of his blood. I bite my lip, but even though I feel uncomfortable with the desire to feed, there is something else nagging at me, rippling the pond of my consciousness, altering my perceptions. I don't understand it.
For a minute we just remain silent, our eyes locked. Is it normal for humans to gaze at each other like this? Not unless they're very close, I don't think. But I don't want to push my luck and slowly withdraw my hands and hide them in my lap, under the table. He left a little heat in my own skin, now tingling as if electric.
"Things are not so simple for us, Brandon." I wish I could say more, but my family relies on me.
"Why not? Because of your mood swings?"
I chuckle at his joke and peer at him. He seems to deflate a little… Worried about something.
"You still don't know what I am…." I whisper, hoping he won't really hear me, but he does. I can read it in his eyes. I hope he can fathom the sadness that it brings me, the depth of my emotions. Will he heed my warnings? Is this the last time I see him?
"Actually, I think I do."
What did he just say? Outwardly, I remain calm, but inside I'm a sea whipped into a frenzy by a storm.
"You have more theories?"
He couldn't possibly know the truth… But if he did, without learning it from me, it could be such a relief. At least, I wouldn't have to hide it anymore. But no, it's impossible. How could he?
"Let's not talk about it in a restaurant…."
It's something he doesn't want to be overheard. No super heroes then. Something darker. I shiver.
"Will you tell me in the car?"
My eyes beg him for a prompt answer. He doesn't disappoint me. He can't say no to me.
"Yes. Let's get out of here." I nod, relieved, and call the waitress. He insists on paying and I decide to let him. That's what my competitor, Jessica, would do. She might be an airhead, but she knows how to be a human female better than me. Where he touched my hands, my skin still seethes with feelings I can't describe. I wonder if my siblings have ever experienced anything like this.
