She pulls away from my arm. “I'm going to wash my face.” Clearly, I did not say the right thing. I struggle to find what that might be.
“You are beautiful no matter what is on your face.” She stops and turns around. I enjoy her shocked expression.
“Really?” She wraps a lock of hair around her finger and crosses one foot in front of the other, twisting back and forth. It strikes me how truly beautiful she is. I am allowed to think she is beautiful.
“Really,” I say, using her word. She looks down, trying to hide a smile. It is so easy for her to make facial expressions. As easy as waves rolling over a beach. I try to make my face do the same thing. Ava catches me trying to mold my face into a smile. She studies me for a moment before answering.
“Still serial killer, but it's getting better,” she says going into the bathroom and turning on the water. Until I started spending large amounts of time with her, I had no idea how much upkeep the human body required. It takes hours to bathe and feed it and many hours of sleep. I do not remember things like that from my life. Those were the memories I had to let go when I changed. It was enough effort to keep the memories I cherished. My eyes rest on the trunk that stood at the foot of her bed. My trunk. My memories.
She comes back with her hair in a knot on the back of her head, and her face clear of make-up.
“I don't think I'm going to keep up with the eyeliner. My washcloth was practically black and my eyes hurt from all the scrubbing it took to get it off. I don't know.” She shrugs and gets into bed. Her face is fresh and clean. I like it better this way.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her forehead contracts, making little peaks and valleys. I want to run my finger along them.
“I am not looking at you any special way.”
“Sure.” She doesn't believe me. She yawns, and I see the tiredness in her eyes. It has gotten worse the sicker her mother gets. Every now and then she shivers with a little emotion, and I can tell she is thinking about her mother.
I fold myself into a sitting position. She does not like it when I stand while she sits. “I really don't want to go to school.” Tomorrow is Monday, the beginning of another week of school for her. And another day of running and waiting for me.
“I could come with you,” I suggest. She laughs.
“Yeah, that would go over well. I don't know what it was like when you were alive, but nowadays you have to have a social security card, birth certificate. All that stuff. You can't just show up and go to school. Besides, you look way too old to be even be a senior.”
“I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I could work it out. If you wanted.” It could be easily done, with Viktor's help.
“You would go to high school to be with me.” Her energy is skeptical. A curl flops over her ear. I tuck it away and she blushes. The need for her blood surges, but I push it back. It hovers in the back of my mind, beating its black wings at me.
“Yes.” Of course I would. I experience that soul-tearing coldness every time I am not within twenty feet of her. I have not become used to it yet, but I am willing to go through the pain of leaving her because I do not want to own her.
“That's really sweet, Peter. But I wouldn't subject you to the horror of modern high school. Even if it would be hilarious.” She giggles, laying back on her pillows.
“You should get to sleep.”
“I know.”
According to our nightly routine, I pick a book from the stack she gets me at the library. It's the most recent book in the series about the time traveling woman and her Scottish warrior. Time travel intrigues me.
She is restless, having disturbing thoughts. I can't pinpoint what they are, but I have an idea. Her mother.
For a moment, I think about my own mother, Ellen. That last time I saw her. I try not to think about that last time. I try to think of her as she was. Putting her pearls on in the mirror before an evening out dancing with my father, her black hair tumbling from many hairpins. I let the memory drift away, like mist.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight, Peter.” Her thoughts continue to swirl, like water going down a drain. I go back to my book, listening to her breathe. Instead of slowing down, it speeds up, and I recognize she is in distress. I wait until she thrashes in her blankets to intervene.
I touch her warm shoulder. When she's sleeping is when I want her blood the most. “Ava?” Her arms curl around her stomach, and her eyes open reluctantly.
“Mm?” She pretends to be sleepy. As if she doesn't want me to know she is having a hard time.
“Talk to me.” I want her to believe I am the one who needs her.
Her voice is muffled against her pillow. “About what?”
“Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
She rolls over to face me. “Why? You want to kill me.”
“Always.” I will never lie to her about something like that. I have Claimed her, which protects her from any other noctalis. Except me.
“What are you thinking about?” I want her to share her turmoil with me. Let me take some of it from her.
“I'm just...” She wipes her hand across her forehead, looking for the right words. “I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of losing my mother and losing you and I'll have nothing left.” Her voice is full of tears. I can smell them on her cheeks. I did not think that I was what she was worried about.
“You are not going to lose me.” Where would I go?
“How do I know that?” She sits up, tears streaming from her eyes. “You tell me I'm beautiful and then you keep looking at me, and it scares me. I told my mother about you and she got sick. I just ruin everything. You should just go.” She wipes her tears with the edge of her comforter.
“And Di is going to come up with something or Ivan will do something –” I cut her off.
“Ivan is in Las Vegas. And you need not worry about Di.” She shakes her head.
“Ava,” I say. I get up and sit on the edge of her bed. She reaches out for me and I draw her toward me. I must pick the right words, like ripe apples from a tree.
“I feel for you. I feel so many ways about you. So many other things than what would hurt me. I adore you. I cherish you. I desire you. I care for you. That is all I need. It's more than I thought I would have, in this existence. I don't need more, so I will not seek it.” She grips me tight.
Her head goes under my chin, fitting like a key inside a lock. “How can you stop it? How can that other stuff be enough?”