The days ran by quickly, but I was determined to make every day perfect with Christian. While I mostly had to keep him to his room, we still found ways to stay occupied. I explained Russian TV to him. I drew beautiful birds to paste onto his darkened window. I brought him a beautiful ring of platinum. He'd smile sometimes and I'd feel like I was flying. Other times, we'd get in nasty arguments. But he was here, he was mine, and thus I was overjoyed.
On a dark evening, we were laying together in his bed silently. I often stayed after he fell asleep, just watching his peaceful face in the dark. He looked so young like that, like ten years of trauma had been washed away. I was admiring the shape of his lips when he broke the silence.
"Why didn't you love me enough?"
"I do. I did." The words slipped out of me almost unwillingly. He rolled over to face me, opening his eyes.
"If you loved me more, you wouldn't have done this to yourself."
"After Rose…" I paused, trying to word it as carefully as I could, "It was like there was nothing to hold back the spirit. There was nothing to tether me to goodness and light and humanity. The bond snapped and I just… let go."
"And by let go," he drawled, "You mean you killed someone and turned Strigoi."
"If you're looking for an apology, you won't get one." I snapped.
"I'm not–"
"I think you are." We locked gazes for a moment before he rolled over to look at the ceiling.
"Am I not allowed to be angry?" His voice was aggressive, but I could tell there was another layer underneath it. Scared. Vulnerable.
"You can feel however you'd like. But I found peace being like this. You could too."
"Maybe I could." I caught the look of physical pain on his face before he turned his face away from me. The admittance cost him, so I didn't push it. I simply smiled at the ceiling, listening to his breaths slow and even out into a sleepy rhythm.
