‘About spending time with me and Charlotte so I could remember what I feel for her?’
Jealousy clawed at the inside of my stomach, but I pushed it down. ‘Yes, I meant it.’
‘Even though we’re-’
‘We’re not anything but friends,’ I said. ‘We kissed once – weeks ago. I can hardly remember it.’
Total lie. Every time he was close, I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, how my body pressed up against his so perfectly and how much I wanted to do it again.
‘You mean it, but you know we’re more than just friends,’ Emerson said. I was about to argue. ‘Save the lying for someone who didn’t use to read emotions. I might not be able to see them anymore, but I’ve had a pretty long-time reading people the human-way.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were having side-effects from spending time with me?’ I asked him, changing the subject.
‘It was irrelevant.’
‘Why?’
‘Because whether I need to have more transfusions or not, I’m not giving this up.’
I wasn’t quite sure what “this” was. Most likely experiencing life connected, rather than dissociated.
Emerson studied my face. ‘If you’re jealous over my relationship with Charlotte, why would you offer to spend time with us together?’
‘You didn’t want to be a vampire – and it’s not fair you’re dissociated from your whole life and the people you’ve loved. I’m the only chance you get to experience partially normal moments. It’d be selfish for me not to offer.’
Emerson’s face turned serious; his jaw softened, and his eyebrows creased a little in the middle. ‘You have so much heart – why do you always push people away, love?’
Because my best friend is Death and he’s a jealous creature.
I had forgotten how easy it was to care about other people. Deciding to help Gi had opened the doorway and now it was like bricks were falling all around me – the wall I kept up between me and other people crumbling with each action I took. It was easy to offer my help to Emerson, despite my own feelings about what that jealousy would do to me, because helping was easy. Helping had once been second nature. It was only when I realised that every time I tried to help I made things worse, that I had stopped and shut that part of myself out.
You’re selfless, Christian whispered in my ear. And so freakin’ caring I don’t know what to do with you. You should be spoilt every day of the week. For a thousand years.
I’m not selfless, I laughed, goose bumps forming down my spine as his tongue teased my neck.
You are. You won’t let anyone else see it but me, but I know you, sweetheart. You’re perfect and pure.
I don’t care about being pure, I said. Make me impure.
My gut clenched at the memory. Not as bad as the one the photo on Emerson’s phone had triggered, but still something I preferred to keep locked away. Fifteen years old had been the last time I’d foolishly thought I could try and be selfless and help someone – and look how that turned out.
Emerson wanted to know why I pushed people away – he should have been asking why I was being selfish by not pushing the AA Team away, when I knew how badly things could turn out the longer I stayed their friend. I no longer had the excuse that Emerson was bad enough for them that me sticking around couldn’t possibly put them in more danger. My continued friendship with them was purely want on my behalf – wanting to belong, wanting to not be alone. Selfish, impossible things.
‘What are you planning on doing for your birthday?’ I asked him, changing the subject.
‘I can’t be distracted that easily,’ Emerson said.
‘No?’ I whispered it in a low and taunting voice. The one I used to tease him at his practice that had made him literally trip up.
Emerson’s expression turned intrigued. I could feel the bond pulling us closer together and I decided (whether it was the jealousy of him asking about Charlotte or not) I was going to give into it. Just a little. Just enough to distract him and me from the questions I couldn’t answer, and actions I needed to put into place to save the AA Team from myself before it was too late. I was already being so selfish, why not give myself this one more thing whilst I had the chance?
I took off my silver rings, one by one. Emerson’s eyes watched cautiously as I placed them on the nightstand. His hand had taken until yesterday to heal from when he’d held me. I knew, because I’d paid particular attention until it did.
Emerson stayed impossibly still, sat on my bed, like if he moved I might immediately stop what I was doing and remember I had been resisting my body’s urge to go to him for weeks now.
Once my hands were free of silver, I moved my hand towards his thigh, brushing my fingertips over the damp cotton, then up his t-shirt until it met the bare flesh of his jaw. Emerson’s eyes darkened with the same passion I’d seen in the kitchen before we’d kissed. I had the thought that he was going to grab me. But he didn’t. He didn’t take what was someone else’s to give.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ Emerson said.
I straddled his lap and his breath hitched for a moment. I grabbed his hands – which had been pressed hard into my comforter – and placed them on my hips. His fingers dug into the flesh through my clothes and stayed there.
Somehow, giving into my body’s wants and desires, I found it easily to have him touch me like this. My body responded with a resounding yes – so pleased to finally have what it wanted. Once I let go, I found it easy to act. I didn’t have to think. I just got to do what I had been wanting – and resisting – every day we’d been “just friends” since our kiss.
‘Do you actually want this, or are you just using this to stop me from talking about things you don’t want to hear?’ Emerson asked.
My nose was pressed against his as I looked into his eyes. ‘Both,’ I answered honestly.
I felt the movement before I realised what had happened. I was lying down on my back, Emerson resting over me. His hands were still on my hips, but that was the only thing of ours touching, even if his whole body was only inches from mine. I should have known the arrogant prick would like to be on top.
‘I won’t do anything to you that you don’t totally want,’ Emerson told me.
‘Good to know,’ I said, in the most bored tone I could muster, like I wasn’t burning up inside. My whole body was screaming at me. Wanting him to move his hands. Wanting him to kiss me.
‘I’m serious.’
I rolled my eyes at him. ‘Urgh. What is it you need for me to get you to shut up and just kiss me? Do you want me to beg?’
A sexy smirk replaced Emerson’s serious expression – one he’d been wearing to mask his own lust and response to being pressed up against my body.
‘Oh, begging. I like the sound of that,’ he said.
Great. ‘What quantifies as me begging?’ I asked, curious.
‘I’m not an unreasonable man,’ Emerson said with another smirk.
‘I can always get around that,’ I said.
I pressed my body higher, so we touched. He pushed me back down with my hips, but my head had free reign to move, and I used that to run my teeth along his neck. He stilled. When he continued to stay still, I bit him. Fairly hard on the neck. He sucked in a breath and dropped down, pressing his body against mine.
‘Kiss me,’ I told him.
He didn’t answer me. I bit him again, on the other side of his neck. ‘Kiss me,’ I said again.
Emerson’s eyes were hooded with lust. I ran my hands across his back, feeling his muscles tighten as I did. His heartbeat was fast against my own, his breath barely a whisper. He was ever so still: trying to remain in control.
‘Emerson,’ I whispered into his ear. I ran my lips across his, only just touching. ‘Kiss me… please.’
Emerson’s lips crashed down against mine, his hands leaving my hips to cup my face. His fingers threaded into my long hair, one palm cradling the back of my head as he deepened his kiss.
‘Liv,’ he said against my lips. I moaned in response.
I moved quicker than he was expecting, wrapping my legs around him and flipping him over so I was once again back on top and in control.
His hands slid over my thighs, up towards my ribcage, his thumbs just tracing the curve of my breasts as I controlled the kiss.
I tugged at the bottom of Emerson’s shirt, pulling the hem higher to reveal the flawless skin beneath. The v of his lower abdomen was showing, the top of his boxers peaking above the belt of his pants.
‘Are you trying to undress me, love?’ Emerson chuckled.
‘Do you have a problem with that?’ I asked. I pulled his top higher. When he didn’t reach to pull it over his head, I pinched his nipples. Hard.
Emerson grabbed my hands. ‘Your foster parents are in the house.’
‘They’re not in this room.’
Emerson shook his head at me. He grabbed my two hands with one of his, and used the other to pull his tee over his head.
‘Hmm,’ I hummed in appreciation.
‘Will I be getting you topless or am I simply to be used as eye-candy?’ Emerson asked.
‘I’ve had enough people at school see me in various stages of undress, thanks.’
Being practically naked in the cafeteria with only Gi’s tiny gym clothes to cover the scars on my body hadn’t exactly been a great moment for me. I’d been glad he hadn’t seen me that day. I didn’t want to see what his reaction would be. Pity? I couldn’t stand that from him. Having him see my scarred hands was as far as I wanted to go.
‘And I’m just “someone from school” am I?’
I nodded, even though we both knew that wasn’t true.
‘I feel like there should be some benefits to having to put up with your attitude at lunch everyday as well as after school practice and rehearsals now. Doesn’t seem very fair that people who don’t suffer through all those hours of quality Liv time get to be up close and personal with the details of this skin and I don’t…’ Emerson teased.
‘Why? Jealous?’
‘Of other people seeing my girl? Yes.’
‘I’m not your girl.’
Emerson grabbed my ass, his groin pressing against mine. ‘Figure of speech, love.’
He continued cupping my ass as we kissed; the increased state of his, and my, arousal coming more and more evident as time went on.
‘Your parents are planning on calling you for dinner soon,’ Emerson warned, pulling away from me. He was slightly out of breath, his cheeks showing a hint of colour where I assumed mine were bright red.
‘How soon?’ I asked.
He was trailing kisses down my neck, to my chest, kissing my nipple over the fabric of my long-sleeved t-shirt and palming my other breast with his hand.
‘Olivia!’ Maybelle’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs.
I groaned in annoyance. But I knew it was probably for the best. Letting my body take over was fun, but my head knew better.
Emerson pulled himself from me, his fingers the last to leave by body. I sat on the bed, panting more heavily than I should for what we’d just done.
‘Meet me here at seven tomorrow,’ I told him. My voice sounded normal at least. Like I wasn’t affected at all.
‘Why?’ he asked. He was pulling on his t-shirt and hoodie.
‘Because it’s Halloween and I have plans for you.’
‘That sounds ominous, love.’
‘Good,’ I said, giving him a final kiss before shoving him out the window.
Emerson showed up at the exact time I’d told him, looking like he usually did in joggers, his cap and a hoodie. When I answered the door, his eyes almost bugged right out of their sockets.
‘I’m looking for Olivia,’ he said jokingly. ‘I must have the wrong house.’
I grabbed him by the front of his top and pulled him in.
‘You look good blonde,’ Emerson said. He tugged on the ends of my wig, though he didn’t displace it.
The wig colour wasn’t platinum blonde like Emma’s hair, instead it was a blend of honey tones and dish-water brown, a bit more like Jenny’s. It looked natural – which is exactly why I’d bought it years ago.
I’d powdered my face and applied smoky eyeshadow, putting on a trace of pink lip gloss. It was the most makeup I’d worn since I’d come here. With the wig, it made me look like a stranger. My nails were painted a matt black, and I hadn’t bothered to put on my many silver adornments. Mom’s ring was still in place, though, since it was made of gold and couldn’t burn Emerson.
‘Olivia, was that someone at the door?’ Maybelle asked. She was dressed in a traditional witch costume – big green nose with a wart strapped to her face, stripy stockings – holding a tub of candy for the trick or treaters.
‘Oh, hello!’ she said, as soon as she saw Emerson.
‘Hey, Maybelle,’ he said.
They knew each other from church. I constantly forgot that whilst the AA Team hung outside in the graveyard during the service, Emerson was inside. Why did a witch turned vampire believe in God?
‘Emerson, what a surprise! I didn’t know you were the friend going out with Olivia.’
‘Yep,’ Emerson said.
‘Your costume is a bit… odd,’ Maybelle said. ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re supposed to be.’
‘We’ve not done the makeup yet,’ I assured her. Maybelle was used to seeing Emerson in his Sunday-best. Casual-Joe was just what he wore around me.
‘Let me take a picture when you come down,’ Maybelle said.
Maybelle hadn’t stopped hovering even after two months. It was practically a permanent state I’d just adjusted to now. We had three meals a week together and I was expected to tell her all about how my classes were going, etcetera, etcetera.
Ken was holed up in the study. He said he had a headache, but Maybelle had informed me that he had a headache every year or occasion when he was required to dress up.
‘What are we doing?’ Emerson asked, once we were in my room.
‘It’s your birthday,’ I said, knowing he’d hoped I’d forgotten. ‘And you’re eighteen, again. Which means technically it’s your time to get wankered.’ I put on his British accent.
‘It’s illegal for me to drink until I’m twenty-one here,’ Emerson reminded me.
‘That’s also stopped zero people in college, and it’s not about to stop us.’ I pulled out my bottle of fake blood. ‘It’s also Halloween, so the rules can go to hell.’
I unscrewed the cap to the blood.
‘What are you planning on doing with that?’ Emerson asked.
‘It’s not edible or transfusable, so what do you think?’ I asked, sarcastically. ‘Sit.’
Emerson sat, but he didn’t look happy about it.
‘Don’t get that on my clothes,’ he said.
‘Baby,’ I taunted, pretending to drop it on his pants. He shot up. I laughed. ‘Sit back down, asshole.’
Emerson sat, as reluctantly as the first time.
‘Tilt your head up,’ I told him. ‘And close your eyes.’
I squeezed the fake blood out from the tube underneath his eyes, then tilted his head back up, letting the blood run down his face in tear streaks. I’d only put a small amount, so the tear tracks stopped before they reached his jaw. It took ten minutes for it to dry and then it would look like real blood, both staining the skin and slightly peeling at the edges.
I did the same with myself. Whilst it dried, I adjusted the long-sleeved black dress I wore. It dipped low to show my cleavage, clinging to my figure until it stopped mid-thigh. I wore fishnet stockings along with so
me precariously high heeled boots. I’d noticed that Emerson’s eyes couldn’t decide whether they wanted to rest on my tits, ass or legs.
‘Done,’ I said, once our fake blood was dry.
‘What are we supposed to be?’ Emerson asked looking in the mirror.
‘Not dead yet,’ I answered.
It took us less than twenty minutes to drive to the University of Washington. Once Emerson had parked and we left the car, we could hear the noise of the wild night to come.
We walked a few blocks away from the university village, to one of the fraternity houses supposedly holding the best rager. The building was exactly the cliché sort you’d expect: red brick, white columns, big Greek letters on the side.
Women in different states of sexy-scary undress were huddled on the front lawn, waiting to be let in. Angels, ghosts, scantily clad nurses, fairies and cats waited in line, amongst Batmen, vampires and pirates. The occasional Obama and McCain masked face popped in and around the crowds.
In the doorway, someone from the frat was carding people and giving those above twenty-one a wristband.
‘Whilst I’m getting carded, I want you to grab one of those wrist bands and meet me inside,’ I told Emerson.
‘You want me to what?’
I gave him a look that told him I wasn’t repeating myself. ‘Put your vamp speed to some good use, okay?’
I walked up the gravel pathway to the door and showed my card to the college guy. It was a fake ID I’d had since I was fourteen. The natural blonde on it looked almost exactly like me, only twenty-five years old as the card’s date of birth read. Since I’d grown older, I looked more and more like the woman on the image. Which made sense, since it was an old picture of my mom Ali had been able to get for me.
Tonight, this would be what I would have looked like if I’d had gotten my mom’s colouring, instead of my dad’s.
The frat boy flirted with me, holding my hand as he put the wrist band on me, tracing his finger along the pulse. I saw Emerson inside, having snuck around back, his own wrist band around his wrist. He did not look pleased with Mr College Guy.
I laughed, letting him flirt just that bit more, enjoying the look of jealousy on Emerson’s face.
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