by A. M. Hudson
and I’d never have t o let go of the one thing in this world t hat made my heart soar—made me feel
heavy and yet weightless, consumed and yet aware.
We could’ve been happy together—if he were human.
David listened carefully to my thoughts as t hey danced around my head like a short film. I
played out our wedding day, how it’d be if there was no such thing as vampires; I smiled at the boy
standing by the altar. His eyes reflected the awe in his heart as he watched me, in my white gown,
walk slowly toward him.
Everything in the dream was black and white; my dress, my skin, the rows of empty pews
and even the green in his smiling eyes.
The only colour among the timeless image was a single, immaculatel y blossomed scarlet
rose—set at the very centre of my completely white bouquet.
“What’s that one for?” David asked in a soft, warm breath against the top of my head.
“The part of my heart that will never belong to anyone else; the part of me that will always
be only yours.”
With a long exhale, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and rested on my stomach; I
rolled my head back against his chest—turning it slightly so my ear rested against the place where
his heart should be beating.
“Ara?”
“Mm?”
“I have something for you,” he whispered.
My eyes opened to the golden light of the afternoon sun on my walls, and I looked down at
David’s hands, hovering just above my lap. He unfolded his fingers, revealing, in the cup of his
palm, a pool of delicate silver chain, and on the end, a heart-shaped locket.
“So you may never forget that you—” he pointed to the engraved rose, “are in my heart.”
“David, it’s beautiful.” I turned the locket over and ran my finger over the fine inscription on
the back; though I wasn’t sure, it looked like it was written in French. “What does it say?”
“Tu m’appartiens.” He kissed my cheek and smoothed my hair away from my shoulder,
leaving a cool tingle behind where he linked the chain around my neck.
As it fell onto my chest, just below my collarbone, my hand flew up instantly to hold it tight.
“What does that mean?”
He paused, slowly pressing his lips to my ear. “You belong to me.”
“For as long as I live?”
“No, mon amour. For all time.” David’s soft, deep voice filled my soul. He wrapped both
arms across my waist again and held me tight.
Both of us exi sted silently in the world of our own thoughts until the sun went down,
stealing away the last day of our forever.
Chapter Six
Chapter Six
The sun stretched orange sha dows across the highway, and I leaned my weary head on the
glass of the car-window, releasing my mind to th e deeper thoughts about life. Today, for the first
time, I woke to the sting of normality; coffee, with its unusual ability to make everything seem okay;
toast on the table when I came down, feeling the earl y morning chill on my bare arms, and quiet
conversation with Dad—trying not to wake the rest of the house.
Even though Mike’s ar riving today, excitement was not the first feeling I had as my alarm
startled me from peaceful slumber; it was devastation, weighed down with a tight ache in my throat
called sorrow.
It’s kinda fitting really, that the last time I saw him, I was in exactly the same state of mind as
I am now—miserable.
I really thought Mike’s coming to stay would ease the pain I’m feeling for losing David. But I
was wrong.
Dad moved his gaze f rom the road and smiled at me; I blew out a breath and forced a grin,
but the world couldn’t make me sm ile for real, and in two weeks, when David would leave forever,
I’d never smile again.
Two weeks, that’s all I get—two weeks of days with Mike, and two weeks of David at night.
And in that time, I still have a chance to change my mind about immortality.
But how is that possibly enough time to make the decision between life or love?
When I asked David to give me more time, in the hopes that coming to terms with what he is
might change my opinion on the whole matter, I was a li ttle right. With th e days of losing him
coming closer and closer, the idea of killing for love seems less horrific. But not enough that I’m
ready to tell him that—or think it around him.
The music in the car became louder when one of Dad’s favourite songs came on. His tenor
voice made me wi sh I’d brought my iPod. I’m sure Mike will probably sit in the front seat on the
way home and talk to Dad. If I’d had my own music, I could’ve at least ha d a decent soundtrack to
my contemplations.
As we turned onto the long stretch of highway toward the airport, a black billboard with a
white circle of light caught my attention. I spun in my seat and read the words as we whizzed past:
Let Fate Decide.
Dad turned the radio off when his song ended, leaving me feeling as though my t houghts
were being shouted out through a megaphone.
Let fate decide?
I sat back in my chair.
That’s actually not a bad idea. Funny thing is, I didn’t even catch the product the sign was
advertising, but I totally buy the fate thing.
So, in a conversation with myself, I determined that, if Mike magically confesses his undying
love for me, I’d stay human, live my life, have babies and one day die.
But, if I was right, if he rea lly only loved me as a friend, th en it’d be a sign that I should
throw away childish beliefs about meeting ghosts of the past in the hereafter, and let go the dream of
one day being a mother, discard all my moralistic beliefs, and go with David—become a vampire.
It’s perfect; like rolling a dice and saying ‘seven’.
Dad looked sideways at me and changed gear s as we slowed—coming into the airport car
park. “You excited?” he asked.
“Kinda nervous, actually.”
“Nervous?” he said. “Why—it’s just Mike?”
Yeah, but I haven’t seen him since I tried to kiss him. “I know—it’s just been a while, is all.
I’m not sure if we’ll be friends like we used to.”
“Honey.” Dad placed his hand on mine when he stopped in the pick-up zone. “I’m sure you’ll
be fine. You may have been apart for a while, but Mike’s been there the whole time. I talked to him
every couple of days—gave him updates on you.”
“Dad?” I groaned. “Really? I mean, I knew you were talking, but—updates? Come on—”
Dad shrugged. “He asked. I told.”
“I don’t know how you thought telling me that would make things better.” I fol ded my arms
and looked out the window.
“Because I don’t want you to feel li ke he abandoned you by not pushing you to talk to him.
He’s just been giving you some space.”
I unfolded my arms and looked beyond the glass entrance of the terminal—to the people
flooding the airport and gathering around the baggage collection for flight 728. Mike’s flight. “He’s
here.” I sat up in my seat and unlatched my seat belt, ignoring the intoxicating surge of adrenaline
seeping into my arms and chest, making my heart pick up about ten paces.
I wished I could see him—just make him out among the crowd so I could sneak up on him—
see how differen
t he looked before he saw me.
“Go on.” Dad grinned, watching me edge in my seat.
“I’ll be back soon,” I beamed as I sprung from the car.
People gathered their bags from the conve yer belt and hugged their famili es. I pushed
through the tightly packed bodies, using my elbows to almost swim through the crowd. I wanted to
call to him, but it was so noisy. He wouldn’t’ve heard me, and I’d probably just look like a dumb,
lost little girl—especially since I wore my yellow dress.
Shifting my gaze from side to side, I walked more slowly, searching the face of each tall man
I passed.
Let’s see…dark hair, orange hair, bald—nope, none of those are him.
“You lost, sweetie?” a man asked when I studied his face car efully under his sandy- blonde
hair. I shook my head and hurried past him, stopping dead when I saw a man on his phone by the
Coke machine; sandy-coloured hair, broad shoulders. I squinted, jutting my neck for ward as I took
baby steps in his direction—seeing only flashes as the crowd of people stole my view several times.
Then, certainty flooded through me when he threw his bag over his s houlder and flipped his
phone in the air before stuffing it in his back pocket.
That’s him!
I stopped walking; he was so much taller than I remembered, and bigger, too. His blue shirt
fit tightly around the well-defined muscles in his arms and torso, but there was still that something in
the way he held himself—a sort of tall stance with a confidence that came from being an officer of
authority. He looked good. Good en ough that I felt my cheeks flush as the perfect word to descri be
him entered my head... sexy.
“Ara?” He spun around suddenly and his eyes lit up.
I couldn’t move. I’d imagined this moment so many times in my mind; how I ’d run into his
arms, and he’d lift me off the ground and kiss me—like he loved me.
However, that was always only a dream, a nd I left that behind—found another reason to
exist. But, as I looked upon my old crush for the firs t time in so long, my new reas on to exist
seemed to fade for that one moment, and whether it was by habit or longing, I wasn’t sur e, but for
that moment, I still wanted Mike just as bad as before.
“Ara? Baby?” He ushered me to him, tilting his head. “What ya waitin’ for, girl, come here.”
What am I thi nking? It’s just Mike—my friend—just as I l eft him. Nothing more, nothing
less. With no mind for the family walking in my path, I darted forward, forcing them to part as I
launched toward Mike, barely giving him a chance to drop his bag before I jumped into his arms. We
stumbled back a few steps with the force of my e ager embrace—a physical reaction my s teady-
legged vampire could never have, unless he was pretending to be human.
I love how human Mike is right now.
“Whoa, baby. That’s happiness to see me.” He squeezed me tight, pre ssing his widespread
fingers against the back of my ribs.
I squeezed his neck, wr apping my legs around his hips—probably showing my undies to
every dirty old man who cared to look. He just felt so good to hold; a little piece of the past, with a
warmth that could only be human—as if he’ d carried some of the Perth sun all the way to the U.S.
with him.
I rested my cheek in his neck and let myself cry like a little girl. “I missed you so much.”
Mike’s arms became a band of restriction, stopping air from coming into my lungs. “I missed
you too, kid.”
When he went to lower me, I held on tighter. “Not yet. Just...not yet.”
“It’s okay, Ara. Let go. I’ m not going anywhe re.” He unwound my ar ms from his neck and
placed me on the ground. I pulled my dress down to cover my legs.
“Let me get a look at you .” He shook his head, smil ing. “You’ve gotten thinner. Are you
eating?”
“You sound like my mum.” I clutched the edges of my dress in fists of nerves. “And, yes, I
do eat.”
“What’s this?” He reached for my locket.
“Oh, um. A friend gave it to me.” I took it from his hand and dropped it back into place.
“You belong to me?” His brow folded over one eye.
Oh right. I forgot. Mike speaks French. “Ah, yeah. It’s um, a good friend?” I offered, but
from the way his lips meshed tightly and his eyes narrowed, I knew he didn’t like it.
“David?”
“Maybe?” The corner of my mouth turned up involuntarily.
He just blinked a f ew times, then drew a deep breath thr ough his nose, and placed his arm
around my shoulder. “Should I be worried?”
“Mike? You’ve been here for a whole two seconds. Don’t start.”
“I don’t like it, Ara. It sounds—possessive.”
“You’re just jealous,” I said, smiling.
“Jealous, huh?” His face lit up and his eyes warmed with so much familiarity that all the pain
of the separation over these last few months melte d away. He grabbed my hand. “So what i f I am?
You’ve always been my best friend. Then, out of nowhere you meet some random guy, fall in love
with him, and he brands you with his mark. Now, all of a sudden, you belong to him?”
Brands me?
A quick breath came cold into my lungs as I reached for the yellowing bruises on my neck—
the ones from the indi scretion under the stage. But wh en Mike’s eyes narrowed as he looked at my
hand, I tensed from toe to shoulders, realising that wasn’t the mark he was referring to.
He grabbed my wrist and pulled it away from my neck, gasping loudly when he saw what
was there. “Who did this to you? Was it him?”
I shrank into myself, looking around. “Mike, stop it. Please. People are staring.”
“I don’t care. Look at you. What kind of a guy would do this to a young girl?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh, really. Then what’s the story, Ara?”
“Look, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, okay? Just stop worrying about me all the time.”
Mike grabbed my chin and studied the marks on both sides of my neck. “Stop worrying, huh?
Well, it certainly looks like I should be concerned. Have you seen this? Have you looked at yourself?
Jesus, girl.” He released my face gently. “What the hell?”
“It was an accident. I—I bi t him,” I said bashfully. “We were just playing around. I l et him
do it to me—and he—well, we got a little carried away.”
Mike’s arms dropped to his sides and disappointment filled his watery eyes. “Did you sleep
with him?”
I shook my head, looking down. I felt so foolish.
“Ara. I’m sorry.” He looked ar ound the busy termi nal and swallowed, rubbing at the frown
on his face. “Just. Why would you let him do this to you? How do you think I feel to come here after
missing you for so long, so worried because I can’t be he re to protect you—and I find this—” He
held his hand out , presenting the bruise. “God , Ara. You s hould have mor e respect for
yourself.”
“I know.” My face crumpl ed and fell into my hands. “I already feel bad enough about it.”
About wanting him to do it. “I don’t need you making it worse.”
He clicked his tongue, then wrapped both ar ms around my shoulders, muffli ng my s obs
against his chest. I hated the fact that our dramatic reunion in the middle of the airport was on displa
y
to hundreds of people—all watching. “I’m not mad at you, Ar.” He rubbed my back. “Okay? I’m not
mad at you. I’m just—” He sighed and pulle d back, wiping the tears from my cheeks with both
thumbs. “I’m mad at myself. I never should’ve let your dad take you away. I s hould’ve come after
you—or kept you with me.” He sounded utterly defeated.
I shook my head. “He’d never’ve let me stay, Mike.”
“He would’ve let you stay with me.”
I shook my head again. I’ m glad I came here. I’m glad I me t David—even though I’m going
to lose him. “He didn’t hurt me, Mike. David? He didn’t hurt me. I wanted him to do it. I liked it.”
“Ara? You’re just a gi rl. You shouldn’t be playing games like that with boys. He should’ve
known better,” Mike said in a singing tone. “Look. I’m sorry. I just lost it, is all. I just never expected
to see you with bruises, okay? I get it. I’ll let it go. Just, please don’t let him do it again. Promise?”
I nodded, s ecretly crossing my fingers behind my back. I wondered then, if explaining to
Mike that David’s actually a vampire might ease his disdain for the whole biting situation—since it
could’ve been worse.
When Mike laughed, I half expected he’d read my thought, but he simply shook his head and
said, “It’s really damn good to see you, girl.”
“Yeah. It’s kinda weird. I feel like I’m imagining this.”
Mike reached across and pinched me; I let out a breat hy squeal and rubbed my forearm.
“Ouch”
“Feels pretty real to me.”
“That hurt, you know.”
“Grow up,” he said with a grin.
“Hmpf.”
“Shall we go home?” he asked.
I let my arms fall to my sides and smiled. “Sounds good.”
Mike bent down and grabbed his s uitcase, then shouldered his backpack swiftly, wrapped his
arm around my neck, and we wande red slowly out to the par king bay where I left Dad. “Mr .
Thompson. Good to see you again.” Mike shook Dad’s hand firmly.
“Yes, yes, it’s good to have you here.” Dad cu pped his other hand over Mike’s. Oh boy, t he
double handshake—he likes him. “We’ve been hearing a lot about you these past few months.”
“Really,” Mike asked in a leading tone. “What, from Ara?”