With You in My Head

My eyes were weary and strained to focus as I forced them to gaze on book after book. Some of the titles printed on the spines were hard to make out as they were obviously much older than the others, and since trying to decipher them was too much work at this point, I'd resorted to skipping over them. I wished there was more light in the room, as the sun had gone down a long time ago and there were only a few lamps available.

My fingers could have had blisters considering how many pages I'd flipped through. I started to wonder if Mary had sent me on a blank mission or perhaps she'd even played some cruel joke on me. Yet somehow I knew Mary had been onto something by recommending the library. The thought couldn't be so far off. My rationalization was that if Ethan had left the flowers, he had to have gotten his knowledge somewhere.

And if he hadn't left the flowers, then there would be a bigger mystery on my hands.

I continued to scan the books. It seemed as if the books were at least organized by subject, and I had yet to come across anything pertaining to flora.

My finger ran across the spines of the books on the shelf as my eyes struggled to keep up. My finger hit a book that was sticking out a little further than the others, as if someone had put it back in place but didn't push it all the way in. My eyes immediately flashed to it, my hope dwindling on the edge.

I felt my heart almost jump out of my chest as I read the title, A Contemplation Upon Flowers. I had no idea if this would have the answer to my question, or even be helpful in the slightest, but I grabbed the book anyway and yanked it off the shelf. We stared face to face for a moment until I flicked the cover open and scanned the table of contents.

Hyacinth. 208. I practically cried in relief. I flipped to the page while drifting to an armchair and falling into it (the book balanced nicely in the crook of my wrist brace). A picture of a hyacinth, much like the ones currently sitting in my room, was drawn on the page, accompanied by a few paragraphs. I began to read:

"Hyacinths are bulbous plants that have undergone various taxonomic changes in the last few decades. Currently, plants commonly called hyacinth are scattered over several genera…"

I groaned inwardly at the boring text. After skipping a few lines, I began again:

"In the Victorian language of flowers hyacinths suggested sport, game, and play; the purple hyacinth meant sorrow; and the blue hyacinth was the symbol for constancy and fidelity."

Sorrow? I grew angry as I realized I was still confused, even after all of my efforts and searching. After all of the time I'd sacrificed to deciphering Ethan's silly hidden message, I still wasn't entirely sure why he'd left the flowers in the first place.

Was his gesture supposed to mean he was sorry? And what was he sorry for? Maybe for the argument, or that it resulted in my injury. Or maybe even because he hadn't given me warning about his leave. Was he sorry for bringing me here to begin with?

I set the book on the table beside me and rubbed my eyes with a sigh. I wasn't sure why I even bothered to do this in the first place. I didn't care what the flowers meant, or whether it was Ethan who'd left them. Nor did the fact that he'd left them change my mind about him.

Ethan was impossible and infuriating. He was completely blind to manners and values, as evidenced by his constantly grumpy attitude and short temper. There was barely a moment in a day that he wasn't glowering at me or smiling that egotistical smirk that made my stomach squeeze.

The way he regarded humans as walking blood banks was exasperating, to say the least. Just imagining him cornering someone in a dark alley made my blood boil.

Perhaps it was different. The way he and Isaac spoke about their night out seemed to steer in that direction. They would probably bait young woman with their impeccable elegance, luring them with their charming personalities. They would probably pretend to be perfect gentleman, holding the door for their prey and pulling out their chairs for them. They were only perfect predators.

I started imagining Ethan with another human girl. I imagined he would sit close to her and whisper in that husky voice he used when he could hear my heart rate spiking. He would probably graze her leg with his fingertips or brush back her hair so she could feel the jolts of electricity in his touch. I didn't want to think about what happened before he got around to finally biting her.

Surprisingly, I was growing angrier with every thought my overactive imagination threw out. Maybe the general lack of concern towards humanity wasn't the only aspect of feeding that I didn't agree with.