I Am Forever (What Kills Me)

by Wynne Channing

  I waved the frilly sleeves at her; they swished like jellyfish tentacles. She frowned at her companions as she wiped my face with a moist towel.

  When I returned, Lucas was sitting on a transparent plastic chair as if nothing had happened. The couch, the coffee table, the glass, the blood. It was gone.

  My mouth made a wet, smacking sound as it shot open. “What the...? How did...?”

  I’m hallucinating. Where did it all go?

  Lucas didn’t respond. His face was hardened by concern. I released the tension around my eyes and forced a lighter tone. “Did you just turn back time? Snap your fingers and make it all go away?”

  “The Monarchy cleans very efficiently,” Dr. Femi said. “My lady, would you like to join me in my office?”

  I looked to Lucas, who remained seated, and then back at the doctor. “Sure.”

  “My maids will make sure that your companion is comfortable.”

  She moved aside so I could step past her. I put one foot in her office and hesitated. It was almost empty. Four white armchairs were arranged in a circle in the center of the space. Light streamed in through a wall made of glass blocks. It was like being in an igloo—and it seemed equally cold.

  “Go ahead, my lady,” she said, softly. “You may sit anywhere you like.”

  I walked to the chair closest to the door.

  “Is this your first time to therapy?”

  I nodded.

  Dr. Femi strode around the chairs, and for a moment it reminded me of playing duck duck goose with Tiffany. The memory prickled my nose. Dr. Femi cast me a sympathetic look with her deep-set brown eyes and sat in front of me.

  “It must be difficult to come and talk to a complete stranger about things that are very personal.”

  “I talk a lot to strangers, actually. It’s gotten me into trouble before,” I said with a forced chuckle.

  I talked to Paolo. That’s how I ended up here.

  “So what has brought you here today?” She rested the clipboard in her lap and clicked open her pen.

  “Well, where do I begin?” I said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “I had a really bad nightmare,” I told her, twirling the end of my sleeve around my index finger.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a dream like that before. Someone or—something was attacking me, pulling me out of the bed. It was pitch black and just...super scary.”

  Dr. Femi emitted a low hum and nodded. “That must have been quite the nightmare. How did you feel now?”

  “I don’t know. Confused? And horrible because I had hurt people. I stabbed Lucas in the gut with a shard of glass, thinking he was the thing attacking me.” I mimed clawing and then added, “Thank goodness he heals fast.”

  “Were you able to fall back asleep afterward?”

  “No.”

  “It sounds like this has been an unsettling experience for you. How are you coping?”

  “I don’t know. Fine, I guess. I’m just trying not to think about it.”

  “Is that how you normally deal with these kinds of situations?” The corners of her mouth were slightly upturned but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “No. I usually say something stupid to lighten the mood. My sister is diabetic and when she was little and getting her needles, we would tell each other jokes and then rate them on our own ‘funny meter.’ She never let me win.”

  “So you use humor when you’re upset?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like outside in the waiting room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me what happened there?”

  I swallowed and shifted in my seat. The back of the chair curved inward slightly, forcing me to sit up straight. Looking around I struggled for words. “I...I heard something.”

  “Something?” She cocked her head.

  “I heard screaming. I heard the voice of someone I cared about. I saw his face, moments before he died.”

  “You heard screaming and imagined his death.”

  “No, he died in real life. It was Lucas’s father. We were trying to escape the Aramatta and he—he was killed because they came for me.”

  “So you were in the waiting room and you experienced a vivid memory of his death?” Her pen wagged as she scribbled on her clipboard. “Would you say it was like experiencing a flashback?”

  “I guess.” A powerful flashback.

  “Have you experienced something like this before?”

  I remembered my bath. The general. “Yes. Once.”

  “What happens before these flashbacks occur? In the waiting room, were you talking about the tragic event or thinking about it?”

  “Not really. I was talking to Lucas about being back at the palace. He used to train with the Aramatta and make weapons here. I hadn’t thought about how difficult it might have been for him to be back here.”

  “Do you often talk to Lucas about these things or about what troubles you?”

  “I try. But he’s not the most chatty person. He definitely is not going to talk to me about his feelings.”

  Unless he’s feeling like I’m acting idiotic.

  “Lucas is your mate?”

  “What?”

  “Is Lucas your mate?”

  Embarrassed and flustered, I crossed my legs and my arms. The truth was I didn’t know. We didn’t date. We’d escaped death. We kissed once, in the desperate heat of a moment when we were just so grateful to be alive.

  “She is mine,” he’d told the Empress when she said that I belonged to no one. That I had no creator. That I was alone and unworthy of love or life. But did that mean he loved me? He never said.

  And did I love him? I’m seventeen. How am I supposed to know what love is?

  If we had been human, we would’ve started with going to the movies. Then one day he’d introduce me to someone as his girlfriend and I’d say, “I’m your girlfriend?” And we’d have this awkward but cute moment of togetherness.

  That’s how I pictured it, anyway.

  How did vampires date? I thought of two vampires biting the arms of the same victim, like that spaghetti-eating scene in Lady and the Tramp where the dogs suck on the same string of pasta. The vampires would meet at the neck and say, “Oh! You first.” “No please, you first.”

  Dr. Femi scribbled something on her clipboard, interrupting my thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” I finally admitted.

  “How long have you known each other?”

  I winced. “Almost two weeks?”

  Her pen wiggled as she wrote.

  “Would you say that you know each other well?”

  “Yes. I mean, I think so.”

  Except that I never know what he’s thinking.

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He’s a swordsmith with the Monarchy. He can be a bit of jerk sometimes. But he’s loyal and brave. I feel safe around him.”

  “Feeling safe is good, especially with what you have been through.”

  What is she trying to say?

  A strange knot formed in my chest, a tightness that spread throughout my body: maybe I was confusing my feelings for Lucas with wanting to be safe. I wanted to live and I could not have survived without him. Was I that selfish?

  “It sounds like he’s very protective of you. Would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  He first protected me because his father told him to. And then his father died. Maybe he protected me now because he had failed to protect his sisters from the Aramatta six hundred years ago. Maybe I was his attempt at redemption.

  “It’s common for people to connect during stressful situations,” the doctor said. “Having to go through a trial often bonds people.”

  So outside of fighting and panic, what we have may not be real? Because what the heck does a gazillion-year-old vampire have in common with a seventeen-year-old girl?

  These thoughts ravaged my brain. I felt assaulted, hurt, con
fused. There were too many things running through my mind. I shook my head and rubbed my forehead.

  “How are you feeling about all these things that have happened?”

  “I don’t know how I feel.”

  “Let me understand. You’re saying that you’re having nightmares and flashbacks. You’re having a difficult time feeling anything and are confused about your emotions.”

  “Yes.”

  “These symptoms that you have described are similar to what others experience when they have been through a very traumatic event. This is all very normal, my lady. However, if untreated these symptoms could lead to post-traumatic stress disorder. Have you heard that term before?”

  “Yes.” I had heard of the term in relation to soldiers returning from war.

  “If you’d like, we can work together on limiting the impact of these issues.”

  “Okay.”

  “Many of my clients have a hard time cognitively making sense of what has happened. For example, some have experienced a death in their family and they’re not able to grieve. To be able to deal with a difficult time or event or memory, you have to be able to recollect, to process, and to understand your own emotions. It sounds as if you feel guilt, shame, and fear. A lot of these things can manifest physiologically. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to try to deal with these concerns so they don’t develop into more serious things. Part of dealing is talking about it. How would you feel about coming back for another session?”

  “That would be great, thank you.”

  “Perhaps next time we can talk about how you feel about your new role? I’d be interested to hear how you’re doing with that.”

  I stood up, dizzy with thoughts.

  When she opened the door to the waiting room, Lucas wasn’t there.

  “Do you know where Lucas is?” I asked Brogan as she and two other maids I’d never seen before led me back to my room.

  She shook her head.

  Did he hear anything we said in that room? Did he just leave? Would they have taken him? I hope he’s all right.

  Uther and Pavone were waiting for me and bowed on my arrival. I reflexively bowed back. The maids exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Oh my lady, you bow to no one,” Pavone said. She was wearing an asymmetrical aubergine pantsuit with one long sleeve on the left side. The other side was strapless, exposing a shoulder as pale and smooth as an eggshell.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It just feels weird not to do anything back.”

  “You may acknowledge with a slight, proud nod,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  Someone had replaced the furniture in my room and added fresh bouquets of lilies to every table. The fragrance was suffocating, but at least it masked the sour smell of the blood still in my hair.

  “How was your session with Doctor Femi?” Uther asked.

  “Fine. Do you know where Lucas is?”

  “No, my lady. He wasn’t waiting for you after your appointment?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t know. But I’m sure he is all right. He is not a prisoner here. He is free to move around the palace and the Acropolis at his own will.”

  “So you guys didn’t take him away or anything?”

  “Of course not, my lady.”

  “Well, could you ask if anyone has seen him? I’m a little worried.”

  “I will see to it immediately.”

  “My lady, we need to start preparing for the ceremony,” Pavone said.

  “When is the ceremony?”

  “In twelve hours.”

  “We need to start preparing now?”

  “Do you need to rest?” Uther asked.

  “No, I’m not tired,” I said, afraid of my nightmares.

  Pavone eyed me. “Then, please, we have a lot to do.”

  Brogan waited at the door with an armful of white towels, folded and tiered like a wedding cake.

  “It’s time to bathe again, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Yes, my lady,” Pavone said.

  “Honestly, I would really prefer to shower myself, if that’s okay.”

  Pavone furrowed her brows. “But wouldn’t my lady be more comfortable if—”

  “I’d be more comfortable if I had some privacy, please.”

  “As you wish,” she said with a bow.

  I gave Pavone an obvious nod and a wink, and her laugh was rich and throaty.

  “Brogan?” I asked, following her out of my room.

  She slowed her pace and glanced over her shoulder through her red hair.

  “Could you please come tell me once Uther finds Lucas?”

  She curtsied her consent.

  Uther seemed genuinely surprised that Lucas wasn’t with me. But would he even know if Lucas had been snatched away? Then again, Lucas would never go without a fight. I would’ve heard heads rolling if they had tried anything. But then where would he go? Why would he just leave? Did he see something in the Acropolis, or someone that he knew? Or is he just tired of waiting around for me all of the time?

  As Brogan pushed open the doors, I could already smell the hot milk in the bath and the burning candles. She set the towels down on a chair in the corner and backed out of the room.

  “Thank you,” I said as she pulled the doors closed.

  I peeled off the dress over my head, yanked my arms free from the sleeves, and kicked my heels off. I slid into the steaming tub and sank under the milk.

  For a moment, all sound was muffled. It was just darkness, warmth, and quiet. But I couldn’t think straight. My mind was a mess.

  The thought that Lucas might abandon me was depressing. Loneliness set in.

  I bobbed to the surface, careful not to swallow any of the liquid, remembering the gut-wrenching stomach ache that twisted my innards when I once tried to eat human food as a vampire. I wiped my face and rubbed the skin on my arms. It was as flawless as the milk and silken to the touch.

  After I’d become a vampire, Uther had said, “You’re beautiful and you’re powerful. You will never age or die. You will exist now, as perfect as you are, for all eternity.”

  I couldn’t imagine living forever. How would I live it? Here? Without my family? I missed them so much. I needed their comfort.

  My eyes burned and two bloody tears dropped off my cheeks. The white bath swallowed them.

  What I wouldn’t give to hear my dad’s voice. To have my mom hug me or my sister tease me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to tell my best friend Ryka about Lucas.

  Uther had said that I could not return to them; today’s humans didn’t know about vampires. And then I was on the run with Lucas.

  But maybe I could see them again.

  I wrapped my hands around my body, grabbed my shoulders, and buried my face in the inside of my elbows. I squeezed myself and tried to fill my loneliness with memories.

  My dad on the couch in the living room, his lips moving as he reads the newspaper. My mom beside him, scrolling through recipes on her tablet. My sister sprawled on the carpet with her books, her fingers twirling a pen like it’s a mini baton. This is how I wanted to remember them.

  In my mind I called their names from the kitchen. But no one heard me. So I wept.

  The Empress wants me to be a symbol of strength. And I’m crying into my milk.

  Brogan opened the doors, letting in a cool draft and releasing the mist from the room. She pushed the doors shut with her back and waited. I looked at her, my chest laden with sorrow.

  “I’m missing my family,” I whispered. “My dad, my mom, my sister. They’re probably so worried about me. It just kills me to think that they’re suffering. It kills me that they’re so far away and I can’t see them. Do you know what that’s like?”

  She clasped her tiny hands over her heart and held my gaze.

  “I’d give anything to know that they’re okay,” I said. “I just want to know how they’re doing.”

  Brogan
’s bold hair color did not match her small features—her slightly upturned nose, her downturned, sad-looking eyes. She appeared to be about eighteen. But I wondered how long she’d been a vampire. I wondered if she was an introvert as a human, or if the years as a maid had caused her to retire into herself.

  I cleared my throat. “Did they find Lucas?”

  She shook her head.

  “Where the heck did he go?” I said mostly to myself, splashing my face to remove the blood from my cheeks.

  Brogan opened a towel and when I went to her, she put her arms around me and enveloped me in the fuzzy fibers. “Thank you, Brogan.”

  She blinked twice, unmoving; she always seemed taken aback to hear her own name. “You’ve been very kind to me,” I told her. Her lips parted and I waited for her to speak.

  But the rustle of clothing in the other room interrupted us; we could hear Pavone ordering the maids around in another language.

  “Ahh!” Pavone exclaimed when I emerged into the round, softly lit room. She pressed her hands together as if in prayer and grinned. “Are you ready to look more amazing than you’ve ever looked before?”

  “You’ve got quite the challenge ahead of you, Pavone.”

  She sniffed. “Nonsense. You are a masterpiece. I am but providing a frame.”

  She pointed with her two hands, as if directing air traffic, at a tall stool in the center of the room. One maid helped me into a white terrycloth robe. After I sat down, she draped a black cape around me.

  Another maid had wheeled in a four-foot-tall rectangular case. With the snap of several latches, she unfolded the case to reveal dozens of drawers, filled with stacks of colored pots and rows of lipsticks.

  Pavone leaned into me and picked a strand of hair that had become trapped in my eyelashes. She moved it aside, as slowly and carefully as if she was turning a thin, delicate page, and then pursed her lips at me.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she murmured. Without looking away she put her hand out. “The ten please.”

  A maid approached wearing a smock covered with pockets; each pocket was filled with brushes and she plucked one from her chest. As Pavone chose a container from the trove of makeup, I heard Uther’s shuffling footsteps down the hall.

  “Did you find Lucas?” I asked before he was even inside the room.