Til Death (Immortal Memories)

by R. M. Webb

  He’s studying me again, with his gray eyes like ice on the lake. “I can speed the healing of your injuries. Your physical ones at least. The emotional ones are beyond me. At least at this point in time.”

  What’s he saying? His words pulled my gaze back to his lips. I wrench my focus back up to take in his whole face. “What do you mean?”

  “My blood will heal you. If you want, you can feed from me and your bruises will fade. But the injuries to your spirit … those will take a different kind of healing.” Injury to my spirit?

  “Will it be like last time?”

  “Yes, you’ll feel different for a few days.” I mouth the words as he speaks them, my lips moving in time with his.

  His smile breaks serenely across his face as he recognizes his own trick. “I knew I liked you.”

  “Will I be … will you …” I take a breath and force the question into existence. “Will drinking your blood make me a vampire?”

  “No,” he says. “Not like this.” It’s clear he’s not going to say anymore, so I nod my acceptance to his offer. He bites into his wrist and I take it in my hands. Press it to my lips and close my eyes as I drink. Pain I didn’t know I was still feeling eases and I sigh, my shoulders dropping away from my ears, my thoughts line up all straight and clear for the first time in weeks. Way before I’m ready, he pulls his wrist from me. His touch is that electrifying combination of strong and gentle as he wipes a bit of blood from my chin and presses his finger past my lips. I suck on it, running my tongue across the pad, not willing to waste one drop.

  He lifts me off of him and helps me to stand before standing up himself. He’s leaving, and I don’t want him to. I turn and press against him, turning my face up to his. He kisses me one last time. Deep. Passionate. Wonderful. When he pulls away, I can’t help myself.

  “Will I see you again?” There’s a need in my voice that I don’t try to hide. Last time I asked the question, he disappeared without bothering to answer. This time, however, he smiles and sighs.

  “Yes, Rachel of the mahogany hair, mistress of cupcakes. Yes, you’ll see me again.” And with that, he’s gone. As if he vanished. As if I’d dreamed the whole thing.

  Chapter 10

  I wake up ravenous. My stomach is growling and gurgling, reminding me that it’s been too long since I’ve had a real meal. I bound down the stairs, ready to pillage my kitchen, but stop halfway down. What about my face? The bruises? Thomas said they’d heal. I pause and sigh, leaning against the wall, loving the way it feels to know his name. To use it when I think of him.

  The light in the bathroom shows just how much grime I’ve let accumulate during the past few weeks. Not like me at all. I’ve got more than my fair share of projects ahead of me, getting things back in order. I peer into the mirror, my fingers tracing my perfectly healed cheek. The hand the man had left on my throat is gone and with it a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I release a breath I think I’ve been holding since my trip to Club Diablo and race back down the stairs to scour my kitchen for food.

  I don’t find much. Nothing appealing anyway. I want eggs. Bacon. Coffee, strong and black and bitter. I want toast. I have none of those things here. Looks like I’m going to have to make a trip to the store. My belly rumbles its agreement but then does a little flip flop of fear when I remember my dwindling bank accounts.

  Just then, two precise knocks sound on my door and excitement flares through my body, lighting up my extremities. I run through my apartment to the door - apparently I’m operating on high speed today - and throw it open, not even bothering to leave the chain and peer through the crack first. There’s Thomas, his arms laden with groceries. Apparently he can be out during the day. I’ll have ask him about that later.

  I step aside, making room for him to enter. “What have you done?”

  “I thought you’d be hungry. I brought stuff to fix it.” Without another word, he steps passed me and drops the bags on my counter. Part of me wants to protest, to remind him that I can take care of myself, but I’m too hungry for all of that nonsense.

  “Thank you,” I say, digging through the bags next to him, pulling out eggs and sausage and bacon. When we’re done, there’s enough food on the counters to make breakfast for months.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought it all.” There’s fresh fruit and yogurt, hearty breads and donuts. “But I also don’t know how to cook, so I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

  I forget, for a moment, what he is. “Not even eggs?”

  “I have no need for eggs.” There’s a bit of an apology in his voice and I feel awful. He has no need to feel sorry for what he is. I think part of what makes him so appealing is that he has no need for human things, like eggs.

  “Well my friend, I have all kinds of needs for eggs.” I hit him with a wide smile, making certain he’s aware that I’m not uncomfortable because he’s a vampire. “Want me to teach you how to cook?”

  He’s taken aback by the question, like it never crossed his mind. “My sister knows how to cook …” Pain flits through his eyes.

  “Your sister?” I can’t help but notice he used the present tense. Knows. His sister knows how to cook. And therefore she must still be alive.

  “Yes. She’s embraced the traditions of each generation we’ve lived through, inserting herself into society, living amongst mortals …” There’s pain in his eyes again.

  I’m eager to bring back his smile. “I’d love to meet her someday.”

  Thomas swallows hard. “She and I are estranged. For now.” Well that’s not the way to his smile. I murmur my apology and he shakes it off. “But,” he says lifting his eyebrows, “if you teach me to cook your favorite breakfast, then I can surprise you with it another time.” Another time. More mornings spent with Thomas means more nights spent with Thomas.

  I show him how to crack an egg, how to pierce the sausage so it doesn’t burst open while it cooks. We laugh at the things he doesn’t know. Like whole bean coffee needs a grinder. I dig through my cupboards and find some instant coffee, but the next day, he arrives with both a grinder and ground coffee.

  We move through a series of late nights and early mornings. We talk, taking turns asking questions. I ask about his ability to walk in the sun and he laughs at the superstitions of mortals. He asks about my childhood, and bit by bit, piece by piece, I open up to him, telling him the things I’ve kept tucked away in the furthest reaches of my heart.

  And when I scrape together the money to pay my electric bill, I find it’s already paid. For the rest of the year. And I get a thank you note from the apartment manager for paying the remainder of my lease up front. And Thomas learns to cook and he shows up on my doorstep proudly bearing more and more exotic meals. He’s taking care of me and I let him. I soften the hard walls and sharp lines I’ve built around my heart and I let him in.

  “It doesn’t make you weak to accept help, you know,” he says one night after a scrumptious dinner. We’re curled up on my couch, a tangle of arms and legs, and I’m leaned into him, sipping wine from a glass he’d bought just for me.

  “How doesn’t it make me weak? If I’m incapable of taking care of myself, that certainly doesn’t make me strong.” The wine is good and has gone to my head.

  “Think of a handful of spaghetti.” Thomas has fallen in love with food. All his analogies revolve around it now. “Take just one strand in your hand, uncooked of course. This only works when the spaghetti is firm, yet brittle. Now bend it. What happens?”

  I roll my eyes. “It breaks, of course.”

  “But if you hold many noodles, gather them all together and try to bend them, it takes much more force to bend them, and even more force before they break.”

  “I know, I know, I get it.”

  “Do you?” He touches my chin with his finger, his lovely eyes waiting until I’m completely focused on him. “Because I don’t think you do. Humans are meant to work together. You’re weakest when you’re alone.” I de
finitely notice his use of the word ‘human.’ You’re weakest when you’re alone. He recognizes that he lives outside of humanity, that he’s strong enough to operate without any help from anyone. Does he know how much I want to be strong like him? Outside humanity like him? I don’t dare bring it up, so I put my wine glass down and press my lips to his. I’m afraid I’m falling in love with him.

  More days and nights pass and more secrets are shared. I’ve gained some weight. My smile comes easily. I laugh often and I’m either with Thomas or anxiously awaiting those two precise knocks on my front door. I see Mia watching us as we move in and out of my apartment. Sometimes she’s peering through her windows, watching as we stroll hand in hand through the courtyard on our way to wherever it is we’re going. Other times she’s with Mr. Sexy Coffee Man - Elijah - on their way to wherever it is they’re going.

  We don’t speak. We don’t even really wave. Our eyes bounce nervously off each other, afraid of what the other might say.

  After a few weeks, I’m no longer afraid I’m falling in love Thomas. Because I am in love with Thomas. I’ve offered him my blood time and again. He continues to refuse, kissing me, holding me, but keeping that part of him separate. The thing that I found the most appealing about him is the thing he won’t share with me anymore.

  “But don’t you see?” I ask. “Sharing my blood with you makes me feel close to you in a way I’ve never felt close to anyone. Ever. And having your blood?” I blush. Afraid he’s going to think I want it only because of how good it makes me feel physically. How can I word it so he knows that it’s the most intimate feeling I’ve ever known?

  “I know you enjoy it.” Thomas won’t make eye contact. I’ve learned he really doesn’t like this conversation. But I press on anyway.

  “I do enjoy it. But not just because it makes everything about life … better. More vibrant. Thomas, I enjoy it most because it’s my chance to understand how you see things. To get to know you.”

  He presses his lips to mine and I know the conversation is officially over. Whatever it is that keeps him from wanting to drink my blood isn’t going to go away. But I have to continue trying because if he won’t agree to drink my blood then he’ll never agree to the thing I actually want.

  To become a vampire.

  To escape the confines of normal human life. To operate outside the norm. To truly be the master of my own fate. And to spend the rest of forever with Thomas. The only being I’ve ever let know me. The only being I’ve ever let help me. The one person I’ve ever felt safe with.

  “What’s it like?” I ask one night as we stroll through the city at twilight, watching the streets come alive.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, you. Being what you are. For as long as you have.” No one’s paying us any attention, but I’m vague anyway.

  Understanding causes him to nod and look away. “Ahh.” He doesn’t answer right away, but I’m patient. Stay quiet and let him mull over his thoughts.

  Just as I’ve decided he’s not going to answer, he does. “The years pass quickly, little blips of time, yet when I look back over the entire span of my existence, it seems to stretch on and on, so long. So much time has passed while I roam the earth.”

  “Have you been lonely?”

  “No.” I cringe from his answer. I don’t want to hear about centuries of women, just like me. I want to be his one in the way he’s my one. “Up until recently, I’ve had my sister.”

  “Your real sister?” That sounds awful. Disrespectful. “I mean … like …” Someone leans heavily on their horn as we cross the street, giving me a chance to gather myself.

  Thomas just laughs. “Yes. In both ways, she’s my real sister. We were born of the same parents and made by the same vampire. She’s kept me company for all the long years of my life.”

  “Where is she now?”

  His hand tenses in mine. “She’s not here.” He stops walking and leans against the brick wall of a building, pulling me towards him. “I don’t like to talk about her. It makes me sad.”

  “I want to know you, Thomas. I want to know the good parts and the bad parts and the happy parts and the sad parts. I -”

  His phone vibrates in his pocket, silencing me just as I found the courage to utter the three words that have been on the tip of my tongue for the last few days. I love you. I want him to know that I love him.

  With a murmured apology, he draws me close with one hand, pressing me against him while he reaches for his phone with the other. I snuggle in, content, while he slides his fingers across the screen and reads the text he’d just received. His entire body goes rigid and the arm that’s wrapped around me crushes me to his chest. I gasp for breath, unable to breath.

  Thomas curses and I’ve never heard his voice sound this way. Tight and strained. Thin with worry. “I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to run. Hold tight and don’t watch.” I don’t like the way he sounds, but I nod and gulp for air when he releases me, bury my face when he scoops me up. I feel movement, and there’s the rush of air in my ears, cold and biting as Thomas picks up speed. We jolt to a stop after just a few minutes and he puts me on my feet in front of my apartment.

  “I have to go. For a while. Get inside and keep your door locked. Don’t let anyone you don’t know inside.”

  “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. Nothing. Probably nothing. Just be cautious, ok?”

  “Thomas, I don’t want you to go.” I say it and I mean it with every ounce of my being. I can’t fathom facing my life without him, if even for a few days.

  “I have to. For your sake. For everyone’s sake.” His eyes are distant and I’m so afraid that what I’m really hearing is goodbye.

  “Will I see you again?”

  His eyes zoom back into focus, pinning me with the weight of whatever’s going on. “Yes.” His eyes shift. “No.” He sighs. “Maybe. If it’s safe.” He kisses me as my heart breaks because all I hear is him saying ‘no’ over and over and over again.

  Chapter 11

  I wake, curled into my couch, a thin blanket pulled tight around me. I barely remember stumbling inside last night, reeling, worried. I don’t remember falling asleep. Could he really mean what he said? Is there a chance that I’ll never see Thomas again? I refuse to believe it. I get up and go about my morning, readying myself as I normally do, one ear perked up, listening for those two precise knocks that never come.

  I wait on the couch until I can’t stay awake any longer and wake each morning, curled into a tight ball, cold and alone. This goes on for a while and Thomas never shows up. Finally, one night as I perch on the edge of the couch cushion, staring at the door, willing him to arrive, I cry. I cry because I gave myself to him and made myself vulnerable to him and put aside all my fears for him. And now, after all that, he’s gone and proven that I was, after all, right to try and do this alone. Right to hide my heart. Right to keep pushing people away.

  Take that, Max. I was right all along.

  I haven’t been eating well but I’m not even hungry. The thought of going into the kitchen where there are so many happy memories of Thomas brings on a fresh wave of tears. I cry for the loss of him. The loss of what I thought could be a happily ever that might actually be real. I loved him. Still love him. And he’s gone and I don’t know how to be whole without him. I bloomed with him in my life and all that’s left for me is for colors to fade and petals to dry up and fall to the ground.

  Eventually the tears dry up, leaving nothing but numbness in their wake. I’m really not hungry, so I can put off stepping foot in my kitchen and facing all the bits of Thomas I’ll find there. But what do I do? How do I live in his wake? Why should I even try? All I have waiting for me is more of the life I can’t stand, made all the more harsh after actually having been happy.

  I pad up the stairs and take a shower, hoping to wash away some measure of sadness, to find the girl who worked so hard at being a strong, independent w
oman and get to know her again. Wear her mask until I remember how to be her again. I’ve cried enough to last a lifetime. When I step out and dry off, I dress myself in pj’s and crawl into my bed for the first time since he left me. Pull the covers up to my chin and fall into a long, dreamless sleep.

  I’m pulled awake by the feel of skin against my skin. Fingertips, cold and supple brushing hair from my face. “Rachel,” his breath against my cheeks makes me think of a breeze dancing in treetops as he whispers into my ear.

  My eyes spring open. “Thomas?” My heart is pounding and tears are gathering and please God don’t let this be a dream.

  “I can’t stay.”

  My heart stutters to a stop. Disappointment and exaltation doing strange things to my pulse. “Why?” I don’t like the desperation in my voice but this is what he’s done to me, broken down all the walls I’d built around the scared little girl at my core.

  “I only managed to break away for a little while and I don’t want to put you in any more danger than you’re already in.”

  “What?” Sleep is a mile away, but my thoughts aren’t ticking along like they should.

  “I had to see you. I had to know you’re ok. I had to tell you …” He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, each eyelid as I close my eyes and tilt my face up to his.

  “Had to tell me what?”

  He takes too long to answer. “I missed you is all,” he says finally. And then his lips are on mine and his hands are traveling across my body, cupping my breasts and running down to my hips. I return his kiss with all days of pent up sadness. I’m needy. Greedy for him after missing him day after day for so long. I tilt my chin up, offering him my throat.

  He pulls away, presses his forehead to mine. “I have to go…”

  “No! Please!”

  “But I’ll be back. I had to come tell you that yes, you’ll see my again. No maybies. No doubt. As soon as things are safe, I’ll be back.”