‘I don’t throw up,’ I told him.
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe the woman who can’t even stand right now.’
‘I can stand.’ I tried, wobbled and fell on my ass. How embarrassing. ‘Don’t say a word,’ I warned him.
‘You’re very bossy this morning.’
‘And you’re very chipper.’
‘You don’t remember a thing you told me last night, do you?’ Emerson asked. He looked smug. I did not like that.
‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing I’m sure you’d say to me sober,’ Emerson teased.
I thought about all the things that I didn’t want him to know about. The files I’d stolen from his computer. My history with Christian and what had happened with him and my foster dad. The dreams I’d been having of his past with Charlotte.
I hadn’t been black out drunk last night which meant part of me should still recall what I said. I took a long drink from the cup of water Emerson had left by the side of my bed.
The last thing I felt for certain that I could remember was getting Emerson to come back into the frat house and continue the night. I’d still been thinking about how to get Emerson drunk.
Eventually I’d… I tried to think past the blur of the alcohol. I’d rationalised that Emerson couldn’t get drunk because it required the digestive system, which was totally screwed up since his transformation, but getting high didn’t require that. I may have only been seventeen, but you didn’t grow up like I did without access to the knowledge of how to score some weed.
That was when things got even more hazy. I’d never been good with weed. I tended to talk for a mile a minute about everything and anything, was overly friendly and then extremely morbid. It’s why I’d only ever gotten high with Christian or, on occasion, on my own.
I couldn’t remember exactly whether I’d gotten Emerson to smoke a blunt with me – he might have since I remembered him saying something about the effects being different for him – but I certainly had. My memories were still there, though. Like Emerson said, the “hard drive” still worked, even if it took a while to boot up the computer through the weed haze.
‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before, so don’t think that just because we’re screwing each other’s mouths on occasion that you’re going to be my first,’ I’d said.
Emerson had been trying to get me into the car. I’d escaped three times already, but he’d finally succeeded in fireman’s lifting me and dumping me unceremoniously into the passenger seat. Then, strapped me in for good measure. I’d lost a boot. I didn’t know where that was.
‘Screwing each other’s mouths,’ Emerson had repeated. ‘You do come out with some delightful phrases, love.’
He had still been smiling and shaking his head at me, so I knew he wasn’t pissed off at me for running away. It had been quite fun, actually; he’d been so buzzed he hadn’t been able to use any of his preternatural senses to catch me. We’d been on an even playing field for once.
‘I mean, I’ve already had my first,’ I admitted. ‘And you’ve probably had a thousand… not that you remember. Like do you count as a virgin if your body has had sex, but it doesn’t feel like you anymore?’
‘Perhaps we can change the topic onto something other than my sex life,’ Emerson had asked.
‘Okay, sheesh! You’d think an eternal teenager would jump at the chance to talk sex with a hot girl.’ I had missed the moment when Emerson had rolled his eyes at me.
‘The longest relationship I’ve ever had – see, it’s not your sex life, it’s mine we’re talking about – is with Death. No one can compete with him. I tried once. I tried really hard. But he got jealous and took that away like he does everything else.’
‘What are you on about, love?’
‘Death. You know, the inevitable stalker who won’t leave me the hell alone? I think I must be the one mortal in the world whose had as many brushes with near-deaths as a vampire.’
Overly chatty and morbid? Check! I had definitely been soaring high.
‘The first time I almost died was when I was five. The vampires who killed my parents tried to drain me. The police thought I’d been kidnapped, but I’d just walked away when I first woke up. I think I must have been trying to run away or get help – I don’t remember much about that. I was out of it, then, and it was a long time ago.
‘The second time was a week later when our house burned down. My grandma died from smoke inhalation. I survived – lucky me.’
I started to tick off near-deaths on my hand.
‘I’ve been in a car crash that killed two of my foster siblings, I’ve been in… I think two school shootings, but there might have been a third. I’d had a pretty bad concussion and it was possible it had only been a bomb scare turned riot. I only nearly died in the first one, though. Bullet in my stomach. I’ve been knifed… hell, I don’t even know how many times. But only three really close calls. Last of all my motorcycle incident which almost killed me and did kill my baby. My bike, not a pregnancy,’ I hurriedly amended in case he went the way of Ken and thought I’d been an almost teen-mom.
‘And that’s not even counting the numerous illnesses I’ve had over the years. Honestly, the doctors think my parents must have been anti-vaxxers considering how many times I’ve nearly been offed from preventable diseases.’
‘That’s…’ Emerson struggled for words. ‘That’s insane. You’re only seventeen.’
‘Tell me about it. I might as well have been living in the Middle Ages. That was me just listing off the times I’ve nearly died. But Death does not just visit me personally. Oh, no. He loves to drop by on anyone who’s close. I’ve mentioned that already, haven’t I? Seriously. You think I’m jealous over Charlotte? Got nothing on Death. I could make up two full football teams, with reserves, of names of people I’ve personally known who’ve bit the bullet.’
I screwed up my face, realising that I was possibly talking to the one person “my age” who might get what that was like.
‘But I guess that must be nothing to you, right? You’ll have lost everyone. And almost died, like, hundreds of times surely, since you were probably in wars and stuff.’
Emerson didn’t look like he was going to answer, but he eventually did.
‘I know I’ve been shot at a fair few times. That was particularly brutal. But none of that feels like me anymore. I just have distant images of someone who went through all of that.
‘I know I’ve lost a lot of people I’ve gotten close to over the years, but I don’t… feel them. The only loss I can truly feel is from before I turned. And my life back when I was a witch was easy compared to what you’ve described.
‘I couldn’t imagine still going on the way you do. It’s… You’re…’ Emerson seemed to struggle for words.
Whatever I’d been saying – since as soon as the words had left my mouth, I’d completely forgotten what I’d been rambling on about – was clearly putting a downer on the mood. This was supposed to be his birthday. This was supposed to be fun.
‘Emerson. Take a chill pill with your transfusions, man. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m totally fine.’ I felt bile rise in my throat. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
I had thrown up outside his car window.
‘I’m totally fine now,’ I had amended.
Emerson just watched from my bed as the night came back to me.
‘Oh, god. I threw up in your car.’
‘Technically, you threw up down my car door since you did it through the window,’ Emerson said.
‘That’s just gross.’
‘Yeah. It is. You can pay for the carwash.’
I collapsed on my bed, pulling the pillow over my face to hide from my shame. ‘I ruined your birthday.’
Emerson laughed at me. ‘You didn’t ruin it. I enjoyed it. Your drunk car rambles were a bit… morbid, I’d give you that, but All Hallows’ Eve is supposed to be about death-’
‘Not when you’re supposed to b
e celebrating the birth of your friend,’ I grumbled through the pillow.
‘Speaking of friendship,’ Emerson said. I sat up, removing the pillow from my face since I noticed the change in his voice. ‘I was wondering whether you were serious about what you said about hanging out with Charlotte and me.’
‘To be your emotional fluffer?’ I asked, using Grayson’s turn of phrase. I hadn’t particularly enjoyed the definition on Urban Dictionary, but I couldn’t fault its metaphorical accuracy.
‘Urgh, not for the reason you think about me wanting to feel romantically connected to Charlotte,’ he said. ‘I just thought it might be good for us to hang out.’
‘We hang out all the time at school.’
‘Hang out with people who know the whole truth about us,’ Emerson said.
‘There is no us,’ I said. ‘No labels, asshole. Any “us” talk and I’ll throw you out the window, hangover or not.’
Emerson got up from my bed and wandered over to the window.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Checking the height to see if it’s worth it,’ he said, his face like stone until he looked at me, mischief sparking in his eyes. Like he hadn’t already climbed in through my window before easily enough. We both knew it wasn’t a real threat.
‘I meant,’ Emerson said, ‘the truth about us being lamia and you being… whatever you are. I also thought Charlotte might be able to help figure out the “whatever” part.’
‘You’re still looking into that?’
‘Yeah, you aren’t?’
Honestly? No. Because as soon as Emerson had told me that he had no clue what I was, I’d taken his word for it. If a vampire, ex-witch, didn’t know what I was; if the Grimm files didn’t have any record of someone like me; and if Ali – who had known me for years – didn’t suspect something was up with me, I figured it was just one of those things that I would never get an answer to. Like why my parents had been killed, and I’d been left alive.
Some people couldn’t stand mysteries, but I was fine with them. A bit paradoxical, maybe, considering I was one of the most curious people out there, but I had accepted long ago that there are simply some things that you can’t understand. Perhaps that’s why I fought so hard to investigate certain un-impossible things, hoping the satisfaction of knowing those answers might make up for all the answers I couldn’t find.
Though a few months ago I wouldn’t have been able to even comprehend trusting anyone – let alone a vampire – I trusted Emerson’s word that he was sure I wasn’t lamia, and equally sure I wasn’t all human.
‘Right now, all I want to do is sleep all day and forget last night ever happened.’
‘Didn’t you have fun?’ Emerson asked, nudging my shoulder.
‘Maybe,’ I hedged. ‘Before I ruined your night.’
‘It was alright. I mean there was a definite dip in the night’s level of fun for me, but it started going up again when you passed out.’
I sat straighter and looked him dead in the eye. He saw the daggers I was giving him.
‘Shite, Liv. I didn’t mean anything like that. I meant you were no longer putting yourself in danger, throwing up or rambling about death.’
Glad to know I’d not been sexually assaulted by a guy I considered my friend…
I pulled off my fishnet tights and removed my mom’s ring, placing it on the desk where I’d left the others.
‘I’m going in the shower.’
‘Cool,’ Emerson said, his attention returning to the book he was reading. The slight glow from the screen illuminated his face; he ignored me as I motioned to leave my bedroom.
So, he was staying? I didn’t bother to argue or ask why, I just left the room, heading for the bathroom and grabbing a towel from the linen closet on the way there.
In the shower, I thought about Emerson’s suggestion to hang out with Charlotte. After last night, recalling how we’d danced together, our kiss, the way Emerson had looked into my eyes when he’d asked what we were – I didn’t feel the jealousy as keenly as I had since I’d begun dreaming of their history.
It would sort of be freeing, I had to admit, to hang out with people who knew about the Blood World. People who knew who Emerson really was, why he didn’t eat at lunch, or was so great at sports and could hear you when you were a classroom away.
Plus, it was kind of one of those “two birds with one stone” situations. I would be able to hang out with Charlotte and Emerson in a non-romantic, non-date setting, and also possibly getting some answers to why I seemed to have lamia-traits whilst being human.
I dried off my body, only mildly staining the white cotton towel red with the fake blood. Once I was dry, I pulled on my dressing gown that was hung on the back of the door and walked back into my bedroom. Emerson was still sat reading.
I pulled on my panties, a pair of jeans, and a long-sleeved black tee with my back to him. If he happened to look up, the most he would have seen was my bare back. My heart beat a little faster, knowing he would have caught a glimpse of the scars there. But he didn’t comment on my tattoo, or the scars, when I turned around, and still had his head down looking at my Kindle, so I figured he’d been polite and not looked.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I asked him, throwing my dressing gown over the back of my desk chair.
‘Chilling,’ Emerson shrugged. ‘I’ve got to wait until one for the recovery guy to come pick up my car.’
‘What’s wrong with your car?’ It wasn’t like I had toxic vomit that would have burned through the car door right into the mechanism.
‘The front tire’s totally flat.’
‘Don’t you have a spare?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you can’t change it yourself?’
Emerson looked at me with a blank stare of confusion. I could almost imagine him saying: “but you pay someone for that service. Why would I know how to do that?”
‘For god’s sake, Emerson. You’re over a century old. How do you not know how to change a tire? I thought you “kept the knowledge of your years” and all that?’ I huffed.
I pulled on some socks and my combat boots, grabbing my coat, and walked out of the house, taking his keys, which were left on my desk along with his jacket and cap.
‘Where are you going?’ Emerson asked me, appearing by my side, pulling on his own jacket.
‘Where’s your car?’
‘A few blocks away from here,’ he said. He directed me the way. ‘What are we doing?’
‘I’m showing you how to change a tire. Cancel the recovery.’
It took us ten minutes to find his car. The SUV was scratched up on the front and driver’s side and the front tire was definitely flat. I avoided looking at the slight vomit stain on the passenger side. Embarrassing.
‘What happened?’
‘You happened,’ Emerson said, crossing his arms.
‘Me?’
‘You don’t remember? The second time you tried to escape when I told you we were going home; you took off your boot and threw it into the forest telling me to “go fetch”. By the time I’d found it, you’d already started driving my car down the road like some reckless, accident prone thrill seeker.’
‘How long did it take you to find my boot?’ I asked, like the fault was his own and not mine for being a moronic drunk. Weed and alcohol did not mix well.
‘It was a black boot in a pitch-black forest. Weed hinders preternatural abilities. I was as useless as a human.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘Why do you think cannabis is illegal in the States even though it’s nowhere near as bad as most narcotics? High profile lamia tend to hire vampires as their bodyguards. If cannabis was that easy to access, it’s like handing a weapon to their enemies to put down their protection and gain easy access to the vulnerable witch. Most witches don’t have powers that can protect their person.’
‘Hate to break it to you, but it’s pretty damn easy to get weed, even when it is illega
l.’
I was still assessing the damage of the car, but my mind wandered to whether the Order knew about the effects of cannabis. Ali had told me about silver so I could protect myself. She might not have mentioned weed since she didn’t want a thirteen-year-old to go seeking out recreational drugs.
I opened the trunk of his car, taking out the donut in the back. He didn’t have any of the necessary tools. Figures.
‘How’s your vamp speed now? Are you recovered?’ I asked.
‘Why?’ I didn’t bother answering. ‘Yes,’ he said realising I wasn’t going to say any more until he answered me.
‘Good. Go back to the garage and get me three chocks, a wrench and a jack.’
‘Should I know what those things are?’
I groaned, annoyed.
‘Kidding. I’ll be back in a second.’
He was back almost a minute later, carrying everything I needed. I put the chocks behind the wheels so the car wouldn’t roll when I jacked up the car.
‘How do you know how to do all this stuff?’ Emerson asked.
He was leaning up against his car whilst I loosened the wheel nuts.
‘Do you mean that in a sexist way like how could a girl possibly know-?’
Emerson kicked me in the shin, lightly. More teasing than to hurt me. ‘No. I meant how do you know. I thought you were a motorbike girl.’
‘I worked at a mechanics before I came here,’ I said. ‘My friend used to work there, and I’d come and hang out whilst he had a shift. He taught me stuff as he worked.’
When Christian had been arrested, he’d lost his job – obviously. I’d thought his arrest would only be temporary until the trial was over. I hadn’t wanted him to not have the job available for him when he came back, so I applied for it. The manager knew me, knew Christian had basically taught me everything he knew, and gave me the job. I was a couple months shy of sixteen, so it was kind of like an apprentice role, only I was younger than most applicants.
Joe’d had a soft spot for foster kids since his wife had been one. When things started to get really bad with the trail and the news reporters, he’d still stuck by me. I honestly believed he would have given Christian his job back if the final sentencing hadn’t made that impossible.
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