Demetri
The boat is ready and waiting for us when we arrive in Calais. I have no idea how she did it, but I have to hand it Alice, her ability to orchestrate a getaway even from thousands of miles away is astounding. Not only is the captain able to disembark as soon as we've boarded, he also presents me with a case of blood bags to keep us well fed throughout our journey.
"Are, you hungry?" I ask Alexa once we've settled in below deck
"We just ate in Milan. I did anyway." She tells me. I suppose human food has sustained her for now.
"Well let me know if you want some." I reply, opening up the first blood bag and drinking. I can feel the slight burn in my throat subside.
"No thank you. I don't like the taste." She winces.
"I can't blame you, it's never as good from a bag." I smile, making her blush. For the first time since this morning, the silence is uncomfortable. There are so many things that need to be said, and yet I have no idea where to even begin. "How do you feel?" I finally settle on.
"Confused." She answers me concisely.
"That's understandable. I'll do my best to answer your questions. But, there's a lot to discuss. We don't need to talk about all of it today." I assure her, fearing the whole truth might break her. The thought of her in any sort of pain is almost unbearable, but I know it's inevitable. There will be no shortage of sorrow over the coming days and weeks as she begins to understand her own history. I wish more than anything I could protect her from it, but I can't. Not without lying or at the very least shielding her from the truth. And she deserves to know, deserves to understand, no matter how difficult it might be.
"Why did we have to leave?" She asks.
"You were in danger." I reply.
"Yeah, everyone keeps saying that, but what danger?" She presses.
"Alexa, you're still very young." I start.
"Don't do that. Don't tell me I'll understand when I'm older." She commands.
At first I'm taken aback by the strength and resolution of her tone. But she is her mother's daughter. When I look at her all I can see is Alexandria. Yes, I'm sure there's a bit of Aro in there, but his features are outshone by her mother's deep eyes and bright smile. "I wasn't going to. There are things you need to know, because you're still in danger. We both are." I explain. Grabbing her hand to comfort her I continue, "Do you know how children are brought into the world?"
"Yes, I've read everything there is to know. The girls replaced my entire library with books on human biology and reproduction last week." She tells me, clearly proud of her intelligence.
"That's a good start, but the truth is, you can't read everything there is to know. To truly understand what it takes for a child to come into being, there's things you won't learn in books." I try to explain.
"So you can teach me." She suggests, illustrating just how little she currently understands.
"These are lessons you're not supposed to learn until you become fully grown." I tell her.
"But I am, I've started bleeding and—"
"No, Lexa. You're not. When your father and I were young men, it was believed that a girl became a woman when she started her monthly bleed. A lot has changed since then. We know better now. For a girl to do the things necessary to have a baby before her mind and body are ready, it's very unhealthy for her. It can be incredibly damaging, and I would never want to do anything that would damage you." I explain.
"So when will my mind and body be ready?" She asks.
"That's not something that anyone can tell you. It's something you'll have to decide for yourself."
"So why can't I decide right now? If it's my decision why can't I say I'm ready now?"
"Because there are so many things you still need to learn."
"So teach me." She pleads.
"These aren't things you learn in a day or two, it's all part of the process of growing up. It'll take time."
"But you will teach me? Over time?"
"You'll learn." I promise her, hoping she won't call me out for dodging the question.
"That's not what I asked." She replies. I shouldn't be surprised, I doubt she ever misses anything.
"You don't know what you're asking. As you begin to learn and understand, your wishes might change. I don't want you holding yourself to any preconceived notions your father might have put in your head."
"Why do you keep talking about my father? I don't even know my father. I know you. Only you." She says, illustrating the point I'm trying to make.
"Exactly. There's a whole world of people out there Lexa, people who are going to adore you. Don't chain yourself to me because I'm the first person you've met. You deserve more than that." I reply, feeling a pang of something in my heart at the implication that she'll want someone else. I know it's jealousy, but I can't let myself think like that.
"But I don't deserve you?" She asks, nearly breaking my heart.
"You will always have me. I will always protect you and care for you. You mean the world to me." I rush to assure her. "But you can't burden yourself with expectations for the future. Take it one day at a time, okay?""
"Will you tell me about him? My father?" It's a question I'm not fully prepared for. One I've been fearing since this morning.
"What would you like to know?"
"I've heard the girls speak of him as if he were the bogeyman."
"They're not far off." I laugh trying to lighten the mood before a conversation that I know will be anything but light.
"You don't seem to hold him in very high regard." She says, ever observant.
"I used to. But I'm afraid his thirst for power has clouded this judgement."
"What did he do to earn your respect in the first place?" She asks, surprising me. If anything I had begun to worry she was a bit too trusting. It's somewhat reassuring to hear her question my reasons for loyalty.
"He saw a need for a civilised order among our kind. He created that order and for years, it ran like a well-oiled machine. He formed a guard of only the most talented to protect it. Or so I thought. But the more I reflect, the more I see that the guard is simply there to protect him and his authority." I explain, hoping this answer will suffice for now. In time, I know she'll expect me to elaborate, but these are thoughts and feelings that I'm still grappling with in my own head.
"Where do I come into all of this?"
"For centuries, we believed that someone like you was impossible, that we could not have our own offspring. But Bella and Edward's daughter proved that theory wrong. Aro abused this knowledge."
"By having me?" She asks, sadness apparent in her eyes.
"No, Lex, you're not the problem. He is." I reassure her. " You were supposed to have siblings, nine of them." I continue.
"What happened to them?" She questions, a fear in her tone that tells me she already knows the answer.
"They didn't live long enough to see the outside of their mother's womb I'm afraid."
"Why did I? What makes me special?"
"Many things." I smile, hoping it will be returned. The side of her mouth curls up a bit, but the expression never reaches her eyes. "I wish I could answer your questions but the truth is I don't know. I do know your mother was a fighter. She fought so hard to bring you into this world."
"But she didn't survive herself?" She asks, the guilt written all over her face. I wish I could take away all of her pain, but unfortunately all I have to give is more answers, each more painful than the last.
"No, that would have been impossible without intervention."
"So why didn't anyone intervene?" There's the million dollar question. The one that's haunted me for the past six years. The one I'm terrified to answer.
"It went against Aro's wishes." I say, reluctantly, questioning if now is the right time to tell her. Wondering if maybe I should have waited for another day. But delaying the inevitable won't make it any less painful.
"My father killed my mother?" She asks. Immediately reducing the ugly truth down to its simplest form.
"Yes." I reply, searching her eyes for any hint as to how she might be coping with this knowledge. Luckily her eyes are incredibly expressive. Right now, however, they seem to be expressing a myriad of emotions, none of them positive.
"Maybe it's best to continue this conversation at another time." She finally says after what feels like years of silence. She's hit her limit. I'm equal parts concerned about her, and proud of her emotional maturity. Over the past several years her messages have portrayed child-like wonder and impetuous frustration, emotions that I've seen illustrated through her words and actions today. But now, here in this moment, I can see something different, something new growing within her as we speak. Perhaps she's not as far from adulthood as I once believed.
"Right now all you need to know is that the farther we get you from your father, the safer you'll be. As you grow and learn, you'll need to know more. And I will tell you when you're ready. Do you trust me?" I ask.
"Yes." She says. But I can tell it's not the same easy and unconditional trust she had this morning. Something has changed. Everything has changed.
"We're here." I hear the captain shout from above.