A/N: Sorry it's been a while since my last update! I've been pretty busy with my original work and packing for vacation (look at the note in my profile if you're confused.) Anyway, this is the longest chap yet, even though it's probably not that long lol. It's very important, and sorry for the cliffhanger...Please review!

Disclaimer: Only Emmie is mine. Everything else is AHAR's. Oh, and the song belongs to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Chapter 5: Confession

"Who you following?

Who you starting to move like?

Who you falling for?

Who you falling for? Who's lies?

Who you following? Who you falling for?

This sounds on your side."

"The Sweets," the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I dress in a jean skirt, black platform sandals, and a low-neck black tank top. I let my dark gold hair hang loose to my hips, the curls just shy of wild, and black mascara accents the black rims of my indigo irises. The only jewelry I'm wearing is a pair of diamond stud earrings and five wire-thin, silver bracelets that make a sound like a windchime when I move my arm.

I'm staring at my reflection again, and I purposefully move so my face is split again by the crack in the mirror. I'm dressing up my beauty for Jager, but why? There's nothing special about him, except for his being a vampire. It was only when I was in college, hooking up with boy after boy after boy, that I showed myself off.

My the face in the mirror blinks and its eyes reflect the light, making them seem empty. Forlorn.

I shake my head and will the thoughts away. Jager is different. Maybe if I let myself trust him, I won't want to die anymore.

A funny thought: Isn't Jager dead?

-vVv-

He picks me up at exactly five o'clock. I slide into the car's dark interior; the leather seats of his black Lexus are cool against my skin and I look over at him shyly. Shyly? "Hey," I say, and my voice is loud in the muffled silence of the car.

He puts the car into drive. "How are you?" We pull out of my driveway and turn onto the main road.

"Fine," I say, and hope he doesn't hear the tremor in my voice.

He glances over at me rather affectionately, says, "Don't lie to me anymore, Emmie. I don't like it," and turns his eyes back to the road in front of us. I look at him, confused. But he doesn't ask any more about how I am.

He asks me about my publishing job, and I tell him. But he doesn't give any information about himself in return, and a part of me deep inside is grateful. I'm not sure I want to know what vampires do during their immortal lives.

The ride is only about fifteen minutes, and then we pull into a parking space in front of a slightly fancy restaurant; already the guilt is swamping me, as I'm hoping desperately that it isn't expensive. I hate it when people pay for me, but I know Jager will insist. We walk into the building; it is chilly inside, and the lighting is dim, as if meant to be romantic. I glance to the side at Jager and his profile is serious. Romantic my ass, I think, and then Jager turns his head to make eye contact with me, his eyebrows raised. In his eyes there is laughter, and my face turns pink because I know he heard that thought.

A waitress, skinny-waisted but curvy in other areas, shows us to our table, smiling and laughing with my immortal companion. I watch on with an interested expression; I don't prefer to flirt, but it is always fun to watch other girls when they do.

After she leaves, the rest of the evening is a blur to me. I order a Coke and I think Jager does, too, but I can't be sure. We talk, but I can't remember what about. And I know for a fact that I order food and eat, but Jager doesn't.

He pays, like I knew he would, a couple hours later, and then we leave for the bar he'd mentioned.

It is dark out now, but only a few stars have risen and I can barely see the moon, a tiny silver sliver in an ocean of black sky. Suddenly I want to feel the wind on my face; the car is moving so fast, and speed is tempting to me.

"Jager?" I ask softly. He turns toward me briefly to let me know he's listening. "Is it all right if I roll down the window?"

"Sure," he replies, but his face is unreadable and I can't tell if he's happy with me.

The wind feels wonderful on my face, and it plays with my curls as it rushes over my skin, over the leather seating, to ruffle my vampire friend's dark hair. I grin into the breeze, and feel Jager's presence in my mind. He's smiling.

My first instinct is to shy away, get him out of my head. But his presence is gentle, and I realize I don't mind it. You're beautiful, did you know that? he says.

I make a point not to turn from the window and look back at him. So are you, I think pointedly as a reply, and he chuckles aloud.

Something about you reminds me... His voice drifts off. I want you to stay with me. The change of subject is abrupt, and confuses me, too.

"What do you mean?" I inquire, turning to stare at him.

His head turns, and for one excrutiatingly long second I'm trapped in his enchanting eyes. I almost panic, but then he speaks, and I know he's not inside my head anymore. "I don't feel much like going to a bar anymore, do you?"

I know I'm supposed to agree with him, so I shake my head. "No. I don't."

We turn onto my street instead, and in moments he has parked his car in front of my house and turned to look at me.

"Emmie," he begins slowly, "I am used to knowing everything about the people I meet. It isn't a question of whether or not they'll tell me; the information is in their minds, at easy access for my taking."

I shudder at this thought, but unclasp the seat belt buckle and turn my whole body towards him, listening with sharp attention.

"I've respected your privacy for the most part, only bothering to find out what is important to you, the things you keep on your mind all the time." Well, thanks, I think, but say nothing., and he continues. "There's something about you, Emmie, that I know is important, that I should be able to find out, but I can't. I just know it is there."

He looks at me expectantly, as if he wants me to blurt out this thing he doesn't know so he can leave. I give the tiniest shake of my head; I still don't understand.

"You aren't happy," he adds, as if that will help me.

"Do you know about--" I'm thinking about the boys, about not feeling complete, about that stupid song...

He nods. "Yes, that I knew after the first time I met you," he replies offhandedly; it is nothing.

Suddenly it hits me: Jager doesn't know how I hate the way I look. He doesn't know that I'd rather be the Picasso painting the crack in my mirror makes me.

He doesn't know about me and my wish to die.

I wonder, thoughtfully, what he would do with that information.

Kill me? Make me bleed for him again? Or make me into one of his kind?

As clearly as if I was back in school and had read it in a textbook, I know I don't want to even consider this last option. Sure, I'd be dead, but wasn't the whole purpose of my wish to be able to leave my body?

I return my gaze to Jager, and I open mouth to confess my thoughts in one sentence: "I used to want to die...because I hate being pretty." There. It is out. Jager is silent for a few long moments, but I refuse to let myself fidget in the awkward silence.

"'Used to?'" he finally repeats, and I look him in the eye straight-on, and nod. Because now I realize that I don't want that anymore. I want to live, even if it means enduring the stares every time I go out in public.

And suddenly I am afraid, because Jager knows my secret. My fingers are trembling, but I don't notice, because I'm still staring him in the eyes.

And somewhere in the depths of all that emerald, I see what he plans to do.

I see it, I know it, and isn't what I want at all.