Survivor (4 page)

“Peter, you’re jealous.”  I was still smiling.  His
scowl had turned murderous.

He shrugged, and then ran a hand through his hair,
messing up the dark, silky waves in a way that just made him more attractive.  “I
suppose I am,” he said with a rueful smile.

I laughed.  “He’s not my boyfriend.  Not even
remotely close.”

 His smile turned into a real one and he let out a
dramatic sigh.  I rolled my eyes.  The elevator arrived and we took it down to
the main floor.  Peter wasn’t scowling anymore, but he was very quiet, and I
wondered what he was thinking.  After that awkwardness about Tom, I was afraid
to ask.  I wanted to know very badly just what I was to him.  I sure knew what
he was to
me
, but there was no
way
I was going to tell him.  I
couldn’t risk him freaking out and leaving.  So I nurtured my secret feelings
deep down inside where they weren’t liable to get me hurt.

As we strolled along the sidewalk toward the little
coffee shop where I met Tom a couple times a month, it occurred to me that
Peter might need some background.  Brain injuries affect everyone differently.  Most
of my issues were physical motor issues with some memory problems and slowed
thinking thrown in there just for fun.  Tom wasn’t so lucky.

“Uh…  Peter,” I said hesitantly.  “Before we get there
I just wanted to warn you; Tom can be… different.  Don’t be offended by
anything he says, okay?”

He glanced at me and smiled.  “Of course.”  I just hoped
he remembered that once he met the guy.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and when he spoke,
his voice was hesitant.  “I’m very happy that I get to meet your friends.”  He
gifted me with a dazzling smile.  “I thought maybe you were… well, afraid to
let me meet them.”

I gaped at him in surprise.  “Why would I be afraid
of letting you meet my- oh, right the vampire thing.”  He grimaced and looked
around, but no one was paying attention to me.

Peter shrugged.  “It would be normal for you to be
hesitant to be friends with me.”  He shot me a glance that was half reprimand. 
“You trust too easily.”

I shook my head in exasperation.  He sounded like my
parents.  “In case you haven’t noticed, nothing about me is normal.”  I
gestured at my chair.  “If you really want to know, I haven’t introduced you to
my friends because I don’t have many.” 

He looked at me in surprise and I refused to meet
his eyes.  “After my accident, all of the people I thought were my friends kind
of just… disappeared.  And it’s kind of hard to make new friends when… well,
you know.”  I shrugged lamely and gestured at myself.  It was really hard to
explain how isolated I felt sometimes.

Peter was silent for a moment.  I was getting worked
up, so I focused on my breathing and tried to force myself to relax.  Mood
regulation was a bit difficult for me.  I didn’t ask him why I had never met
his friends.  Maybe vampires didn’t have friends.  Maybe his friends weren’t
the kind of people I wanted to meet.  After all, he had just warned me about
being too trusting.  But part of me knew it was probably just because I was
different.

 “I have been…isolated… as well recently.  Though
the fault is all mine for not adhering to their rules.”  He gave me a wry
smile.  “But all the same, I understand.”  I thought maybe that explained why
he spent so much time with me.  I mean, it’s not like I was a thrill a minute,
especially for the superhuman.

The coffee shop had a patio area outdoors so people
could sip their java in the sunshine.  Tom was already there with one of his
aides.  He waved ecstatically when he saw me, drawing looks from the people
around him.  I waved back with a bit more restraint.

We made our way over to the table and Peter helped
me transfer out of my wheelchair and into one of the cute little café chairs.  He
reached over the table and extended a hand to Tom, seeming unfazed by his
appearance.  “You must be Tom,” he said politely.  “I’m Peter.”

Tom took his hand and shook it with a little more
force than strictly necessary, but Peter didn’t seem to notice.  I wished I
could see his eyes, but of course he was wearing his sunglasses again.

Tom shook his lank, sandy blond hair out of his eyes
and hiked himself up in his wheelchair with a jerky movement.  He focused on
me, ignoring Peter.  “You look pretty today,” he ground out in a rough,
difficult voice.

I smiled back.  “Thanks.  You’re looking pretty good
yourself.”

He rolled his eyes in disbelief.  Tom’s body was
twisted by tone.  While my brain sent out signals in a disjointed kind of way
that made my movements clumsy or weak, his brain was constantly telling his
muscles to fire.  The constant muscle contractions pulled everything out of
balance.  He had to work hard just to sit up straight or lift his head.  His
natural resting posture tended to be a sort of curled up hunch.

The woman with Tom was making eyes at Peter.  “I’m
Yolanda,” she said brightly, fluffing out her bleach blond hair.  She was
dressed in the typical aide’s outfit- khakis and a Navy polo shirt with her
company’s insignia sewn on the front.  This wasn’t her usual kind of garb, if the
dangly gold earrings and brightly polished nails were any indicator.  She was
also wearing bright red lipstick and way too much perfume.  I glanced down at
my outfit and sighed.  I’d dressed up a little today, donning a loose sundress
and a cardigan, but my hair was still pulled back in a plain ponytail.  I had
put on a little make-up, but foundation was about all I could manage without
poking myself in the eye.  I hadn’t cared much about my appearance before I met
Peter, but when women like her were making eyes at him, I felt downright frumpy.

Peter obligingly shook her hand and settled back in
his chair.  Tom had already ordered a coffee for me- my favorite cinnamon mocha-
and an employee came to place it on the table in front of me.

“Peter do you want anything?”  I asked out of habit.
 I knew he wouldn’t eat, but I was raised with good manners.  He just shook his
head, and the coffee house guy moved away.

Tom and I made idle chitchat for some time.  Peter
pitched in occasionally, as if he had known Tom forever.  I was pleased that he
was so relaxed and comfortable in this company.  Most people wouldn’t fit in
with such ease.  My coffee had just cooled down enough to take a cautious sip
when Yolanda leaned across the table and patted Peter’s hand familiarly.

“What company do you work for?”  She asked curiously.
 My blood pressure rose a few points.

Peter gave her a bland smile.  “I work at the Dawson
firm,” he said politely.  I almost laughed at his answer.  Yolanda looked
puzzled, no doubt trying to place the name among the direct care agencies in
the area.

“He’s not my aide,” I said tightly.  “He’s my
friend.”  Sometimes I had trouble controlling my emotions, thanks to my damaged
frontal lobe.  Anger was a hard one.  I drummed my fingers on the table,
fighting the sudden swell of agitation.  Tom laughed uproariously, and the guy
at the table next to us scooted his chair a little further away.

Peter looked from me to Yolanda in surprise.  Then
he reached over and took my hand.  I was startled out of my anger as he linked
his fingers in mine and placed our hands on his knee.  Tom guffawed, a high-pitched
wheezing sort of laugh that made the corner of my mouth turn up in a
half-smile.

 “He’s her boyfriend,” he said to Yolanda, as if she
were an idiot.

I blushed and Peter gave my hand a light squeeze.  He
had big hands, and his skin was smooth and cool like marble.  Tom was on a roll
now, laughing like a bellows.  I grimaced.  It really wasn’t
that
funny.

He beamed at Peter.  “You’re lucky.  She has nice
tits!”

Someone nearby choked off a laugh.  Tom suffered
from what we in the world of brain injury call disinhibition.  Basically, his
brain no longer acted as a filter between what he thought and what he said.

Peter didn’t miss a beat.  “She is a very beautiful
woman.”  He sent those sharp green eyes my way and my stomach did a little
flip-flop.  I avoided his eyes and took a big gulp of my mocha, hiding behind
the cup.

Yolanda had recovered by this time, and she gave us
a big smile.  “Well good for you,” she said sincerely.  I wasn’t mad at her
anymore.  The sudden heat of my temper had dissipated as quickly as it came,
leaving a dull headache in its wake.  She didn’t mean to sound patronizing.  She
really did think that it was an awesome thing that someone like me could have a
boyfriend.  She probably thought it was cute.

A few minutes later, Tom and Yolanda left to use the
restroom.  Peter was still holding my hand.  His thumb was drawing big circles
on the back, which was driving me crazy.  Apparently, I
was
that
desperate.  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly, attempting to
disentangle my hand.

He didn’t let go.  Instead, he pulled my hand up and
brushed his lips across the back.  “I didn’t do it for them.”  He was looking
into my eyes again.  I didn’t know what he saw there.  Disbelief, fear… hope?

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.  “Well as
long as it’s not for show.”  He smiled, and I grinned back like an idiot.  I
didn’t protest when he scooted my chair a little closer to his and took my hand
again.

The rest of the time at the coffee shop seemed to
drag on.  I was happy to see Tom and know that he was doing well, but I really
wanted to get out of there so I could talk to Peter about this whole boyfriend
thing.

Tom and Yolanda finally called it a day, and Peter
and I were getting ready to leave.  I had made my way back into my wheelchair
when a group of people at the next table caught my attention.  They were
watching us a little too closely.  I was used to people staring, but this was
too intense.  I shrugged off the chill of their perceptive gazes and turned my
attention back to Peter.  He had noticed too.  His posture was stiff and his
eyes had turned a kind of silvery color, but he said nothing.  

“Are they the people who were chasing you?”  I
pitched my voice low and tried not to stare at them.

He shook his head and frowned.  “No.  Those vampires
were of my coven.  I don’t recognize these.”  He snagged my purse off the table
and handed it to me.  “I’ll meet you out front,” he said, distractedly.  “I
want to have a word with them.  If they are new here, they should have spoken
with our coven leader, and I haven’t heard of any visitors.”

He didn’t seem overly concerned, just puzzled, so I
took my purse and gave him a smile.  “It’s okay,” I said, moving in the
direction of the door.  “Take your time; I’ll meet you out front.”

Peter nodded and headed off toward the table of
vampires as I headed for the exit that led out to the street.  It was strange
that visitors had to check in like that.  Vampires had all these rules.  I
tried to imagine what a pain in the butt it would be if a human had to get
permission to take a vacation, and my mouth turned up in a wry grin.

 As I rounded the corner onto the sidewalk, I nearly
ran over a man coming onto the patio.  I pulled back on my wheels, nearly
giving myself rubber burn on the palms of my hands, and he rocked to a halt,
narrowly avoiding me.  “Geez, I’m sorry,” I said automatically.  I had been so
distracted by my thoughts I hadn’t been looking where I was going.

“No problem.”  His voice was rich and beautiful, and
I glanced at him in surprise.  He was tall.  Taller than Peter, I thought, and
broad through the shoulders.  He had shiny, striking silver hair that just
brushed his shoulders, and piercing blue eyes set in a face that showed no sign
of age.  He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.  “My fault for not looking
where I was going.”

I shook my head.  “It’s okay.”  Good
lord
, he
was pretty.

The man gave me a nod before continuing into the
coffee shop, and I wheeled my chair out to the front of the building.  I took
up a spot next to a big stone bench strategically positioned under a flowering
cherry tree.  The silver-haired man had to be another vampire.  Was the coffee
shop like, their club hangout?  I watched the tiny pink petals flutter to the
ground.  Peter came out of the building a few minutes later, his green eyes
sparkling, and the lines of his perfect, chiseled mouth relaxed.  All thought
of anyone else vanished. 

W
e pulled up to my parents’ house at
about seven o’clock.  Peter’s car was a big black Mercedes with a powerful
engine and comfortable leather seats.  It also had a backseat big enough to
hold my folded up wheelchair, if only just. 

It had taken a lot of courage to ask him to come
with me.  I was shocked when he accepted.  He seemed pleased, like it was an
honor or something.  I would have laughed if he hadn’t been so touched.

 He parked the car out front, behind my father’s
Lincoln, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the fun to come.  Peter
looked at me in concern.  “Are you afraid they won’t like me?”

I laughed.  “Oh, they won’t like you.”  He gave me a
surprised look, a little bit of hurt in his eyes, and I rushed on to explain.  “They
wouldn’t like you if you were Jesus.”  I sighed, puffing my bangs out of my
eyes.  “You’re a guy.  And I’m just their little mentally impaired and
completely vulnerable little girl.”