“You want me? Even when I look like this?” I squeak. Also not sexy-making.
“I will always want you.” It's so easy for him to say things like that.
“Well, wanting can lead to other things like that pesky word we're trying to avoid, so I'll stop doing things that make you feel that way.” I don't know what these things could be. If he could love me with my hair in a clip and wearing sweats, what's it going to require? Not bathing or brushing my teeth? Uh, skunk perfume?
“I will always feel that way. I desire everything you do.” Okay, that's not true because there are plenty of unsexy human things I do. But there he is, being all sweet and making me feel hot and gushy inside like a molten chocolate cake.
“We should get to the store, Mom's probably wondering why we're still sitting in the driveway.”
“She saw us kissing.” Of course, this does not concern him in the slightest.
“Oh no,” I say, dropping my face to the steering wheel. “How do you know that?”
“I saw her for a moment. The rest of the time I saw nothing but you.” I should give him a round of applause. Even when saying nothing he manages to slip in something that makes me want him. Is he trying to get me to tackle-kiss him again?
“We should go.” His voice brings me back. Right. Store. Items I need to buy.
“What do I need to get?” I can't even remember how to turn the car on, let alone the items. Luckily, Peter is often my brain when my own fails.
“Milk, eggs, tissues.”
“Thanks.” What would I do without him? I'd have no one to kiss and I'd forget everything I went to the store to get.
The trip is uneventful, apart from the fact that Peter stands behind me the whole time, reminding me of his presence. There's also the pervasive scent of blood that leaks out of anywhere humans are contained.
I'm so distracted by it that, Peter has to hand me the items and steer me toward the front of the store. It's just a gas station, really. The shelves are made of plywood and the floor is so eroded you have to watch where you step. It's dusty and most of the candy has been there so long it's probably expired. But it's the only game in town.
I pay with a few crumpled dollar bills and drop a few quarters I find in the bottom of my wallet into the jar for the local animal shelter. The woman manning the counter is missing a few teeth and her hair has been dyed so much that it looks like it's trying to escape from her head in revolt. Or maybe she sprayed it that way.
She hands me my change and I thank her, trying to hold my breath. As the door slams, I picture turning around, leaping across the counter and using the pizza cutter on the counter behind her to slice her neck open. I inhale as deep as I can when I get outside to dispel the image. It fades away, but not before it's burned on my memory.
“Stop thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?” Oh no, don't tell me...
“Killing her.” Nononono.
Peter
The bag of groceries drops from Ava's arms, but I reach to catch it before it smashes on the ground. No one is around to see.
“How did you know about that?” I have not told her that every now and then, I receive mental images from her. Mostly when she is upset or angry. Or she has a desire. Whether that be to kiss or kill.
It had only happened a few times, and I saw no need to concern her with it. But the image I had just gotten was so vivid, that I could not let it go.
I tell her and she holds onto the car for support. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if she doesn't want hear the words. Her lips form the word 'no' over and over. She repeats it as if it will help her keep a hold on reality. I set the bag down and reach out to her.
“Ava-Claire, look at me.” At the sound of her name, she meets my eyes. Hers are blurred with tears. I use my thumbs to wipe them away before slipping them into my mouth. Her sorrow is salty and sweet at the same time.
“What's happening to me? I didn't want to tell you. But I feel it all the time and I don't know what to do. I'm scared.” Her voice is soft, like the brush of a feather.
“You do not need to be scared. You would never hurt anyone.”
She pushes her fists into my chest, trying to push me away. “But I want to.”
“Wanting is not doing.” She tries to shake her head but I hold it in place. Trying something I've seen her mother do, I kiss her forehead. Her breath shudders out of her mouth and I have to pull away so I don't kiss her lips.
“I'm scared,” she says again. I sense there is more she is not telling me.
“Get in the car. I can drive.” I take the keys from her hand and usher her to the passenger seat. She sits and lets me buckle her seatbelt.
“Ava.” I say her name to make sure she is still there. That she has not left me for the place humans call shock. Her eyes meet mine and I see that she is still with me. I get in the driver's seat and go to the first place that comes to mind. The cemetery.
Neither of us had been back in a while. I knew she missed it. The calm quiet of it. A representation of mortality. The stones all in a row. The names lost to time.
I park the car and turn it off. Ava says nothing. Wiping her eyes, she turns in her seat to face me.
“I don't know what to do. Why is this happening to me?” She holds her hands out, asking me for answers. I only have one to give her.
“The Claiming.”
“Obviously, but what can we do about it?” This conversation will not rest. She is determined to end her life. But there is something she has not thought of.
“Ava-Claire, if you became a noctalis, it would be like that all the time. And you would need it. You would not be able to stop yourself from going over the counter and killing her. It would take years to gain the control you would need to simply go into a store. I do not want that for you. I want you to grow and learn and make mistakes and have children and do all the human things you should. I want so much more for you than this.”
Sobs shake her body. I did not want her to cry again, but it cannot be avoided. I envy her tears. I envy the emotions that wash over and through me like dark, disturbed water.
She dives forward, throwing her arms at me. I let her. I see the want and desire and need in her mind. It is a bright red thing, pulsing and spreading. But what she wants is not what she should have.
We always want what we cannot have. Her reaching out to me reminds me of when I would stand outside of my parent's house in New York and press my hands against the window. Knowing I could break through the glass and be a part of the scene within, but not being able to. I understand more than she can ever know.