hurt like hell. Do I really want to add Mia to the list of people who has that kind of power over me? What’s it say about me that I even have to ask that question?
If only Thomas were here right now. I’d feel better. Less antsy. I could talk to him, get these thoughts outside of my head and maybe they’d make more sense, out in the open like that. After so much time of having my days consumed by him, I don’t know what to do without him here. I miss him and my heart aches. When will I see him again? I hate not knowing the answer to that question.
Soon.
The thought kind of pops into my head. I visualize the word and it expands until it fills my mind. Soon. It feels foreign somehow, like maybe it came from somewhere outside my own thoughts. An answer to my question.
Soon.
But of course, that’s silly. If the thought didn’t come from my own head, then where in the world did it come from? I’ve gotten too weird for my own good. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I never did eat the breakfast Thomas left for me. At least I’m feeling hungry again. That’s got to be good.
The kitchen brings me a smile, with the rose petals strewn around the room. For once, the thought of all the fun I had in here, teaching Thomas to cook, doesn’t hurt. Because he was here last night. Unable to stay away from me. Needing to see me as much as I needed to see him. He’s not gone forever, just for now. I can be ok with that.
As I eat, I think about all the things Mia said. The Order’s founder is missing. His wife is denying the existence of vampires. The churches - I think they were all called Citadels - that sprung up around the globe are closing. Why? Is all of that connected to the text Thomas got that had him sweeping me up and running back to my apartment? It’s got to be. There’s too much coincidence.
But how can any of that amount to me being in danger? Unless …
The grape I’d just popped into my mouth might as well be sawdust. I chew slowly, purposefully, as I trace the outline of the thought. What if the danger doesn’t surround me? What if it’s Thomas who’s in danger? What if I’m only in danger because something’s threatening Thomas? What could be going on that would pose enough of a threat to a vampire, an immortal being, that he’d have to go into hiding?
Any appetite I’d had disappears. Here I’d thought he’d left because I was in danger. How absolutely arrogant of me. I’m just an out of work twenty-something who doesn’t pop up on anyone’s radar anywhere. I don’t rate. I’m not in trouble. Thomas is. I’m sick to my stomach. Helpless. I hate being helpless. I can’t sit here, not knowing what’s going on, waiting for him to show up on my doorstep. I have to know. I have to understand. And I have to figure out a way to help.
He’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I do know he’ll be here again. He promised. And if I want to get super honest, I kind of believe that somehow, he promised that he’d be here soon. That the word that popped into my head was, in fact, an answer to the question I’d asked and that no, it didn’t originate in my mind.
But soon could mean anything. I clean up the kitchen, picking up each of the rose petals and putting them in a plastic baggie to save. After I get dressed and do my hair, I set about cleaning my apartment. I don’t just de-clutter. I obliterate the grime that’s accumulated in the corners over the last couple weeks. I submerge myself in the tasks of scrubbing and straightening and dusting and wiping. I don’t let myself think about anything. What good will worrying do me? None. None at all. When I’m done, the apartment smells of cleaners and solvents, so much so that it burns my nose and the back of my throat, but there isn’t one spot left that I’d be embarrassed for someone to see.
It’s evening and, having skipped lunch, I’m hungry. I open up the fridge to scavenge for a snack and find rows of containers, each marked
If only Thomas were here right now. I’d feel better. Less antsy. I could talk to him, get these thoughts outside of my head and maybe they’d make more sense, out in the open like that. After so much time of having my days consumed by him, I don’t know what to do without him here. I miss him and my heart aches. When will I see him again? I hate not knowing the answer to that question.
Soon.
The thought kind of pops into my head. I visualize the word and it expands until it fills my mind. Soon. It feels foreign somehow, like maybe it came from somewhere outside my own thoughts. An answer to my question.
Soon.
But of course, that’s silly. If the thought didn’t come from my own head, then where in the world did it come from? I’ve gotten too weird for my own good. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I never did eat the breakfast Thomas left for me. At least I’m feeling hungry again. That’s got to be good.
The kitchen brings me a smile, with the rose petals strewn around the room. For once, the thought of all the fun I had in here, teaching Thomas to cook, doesn’t hurt. Because he was here last night. Unable to stay away from me. Needing to see me as much as I needed to see him. He’s not gone forever, just for now. I can be ok with that.
As I eat, I think about all the things Mia said. The Order’s founder is missing. His wife is denying the existence of vampires. The churches - I think they were all called Citadels - that sprung up around the globe are closing. Why? Is all of that connected to the text Thomas got that had him sweeping me up and running back to my apartment? It’s got to be. There’s too much coincidence.
But how can any of that amount to me being in danger? Unless …
The grape I’d just popped into my mouth might as well be sawdust. I chew slowly, purposefully, as I trace the outline of the thought. What if the danger doesn’t surround me? What if it’s Thomas who’s in danger? What if I’m only in danger because something’s threatening Thomas? What could be going on that would pose enough of a threat to a vampire, an immortal being, that he’d have to go into hiding?
Any appetite I’d had disappears. Here I’d thought he’d left because I was in danger. How absolutely arrogant of me. I’m just an out of work twenty-something who doesn’t pop up on anyone’s radar anywhere. I don’t rate. I’m not in trouble. Thomas is. I’m sick to my stomach. Helpless. I hate being helpless. I can’t sit here, not knowing what’s going on, waiting for him to show up on my doorstep. I have to know. I have to understand. And I have to figure out a way to help.
He’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I do know he’ll be here again. He promised. And if I want to get super honest, I kind of believe that somehow, he promised that he’d be here soon. That the word that popped into my head was, in fact, an answer to the question I’d asked and that no, it didn’t originate in my mind.
But soon could mean anything. I clean up the kitchen, picking up each of the rose petals and putting them in a plastic baggie to save. After I get dressed and do my hair, I set about cleaning my apartment. I don’t just de-clutter. I obliterate the grime that’s accumulated in the corners over the last couple weeks. I submerge myself in the tasks of scrubbing and straightening and dusting and wiping. I don’t let myself think about anything. What good will worrying do me? None. None at all. When I’m done, the apartment smells of cleaners and solvents, so much so that it burns my nose and the back of my throat, but there isn’t one spot left that I’d be embarrassed for someone to see.
It’s evening and, having skipped lunch, I’m hungry. I open up the fridge to scavenge for a snack and find rows of containers, each marked
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