The Thirst Within (22 page)

“Too intimate?”

No! I mean, yes, it is; but I don’t want to
admit that it’s intimate. Last night’s dream flashes before my eyes. We were
definitely naked.

“It’s just… hard to narrate with a straight
face,” I say.

He shifts where he stands. “I’ll tell you my
dreams. Do you mind hearing?”

If his dreams are anything like mine, and in
them he has… feelings for me… well, for sure I’d like to know; I just don’t
want to be in the same room when he says it. But I say, “No, I don’t mind.”

He takes a deep breath, and moves over to the bay
window. He sits on the cushioned bench and rests his forearms on his knees. He
bows his head and his longish hair falls over his forehead. The sunlight brings
out dark brown highlights. Sitting there he looks a little vulnerable. Human.

“Every day I dream of a girl I once knew,” he
begins.

Oh. Thierry’s story about why Corben was so
weird around me comes to mind. My sort of doppelgänger, perhaps?

He sighs. “My wife.”

Wife? That’s kind of ridiculous, seeing as he
looks only a few years older than me. He appraises my face, as if looking for
something. Surprise, maybe? Whatever it is and whether he finds it, I don’t
know, but he narrows his eyes slightly at me. “Do you know anything about her?”

“No,” I say almost honestly. Thierry said
Corben loved a girl, but he didn’t specifically say she was Corben’s
wife
.

Could’ve given me a warning, or something.
Jeez.

“Her name was Charlotte,” Corben says. “She
was—she
is
—the only woman I ever loved.”

Ugh. The words trigger a small pin prick of
stupid jealousy somewhere in my chest, which I shun hurriedly, lest he notices
and thinks that it’s because I like him, or something. Which I’m absolutely
denying that I do.
Love whomever you want, Corben
. I maintain my eyes
fixed on him, and don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I think of her every day,” he says defiantly;
defying what, I’m not sure. His emerald eyes sparkle as he speaks of his
beloved; his whole complexion brightens as though lit by the fire of her
memory. “I’ve never loved, never felt any interest in any other woman since she
died.” He pauses and looks down. “And I was perfectly fine… until you came
along.”

I jolt back slightly into the fluffy chair.
“Me? What did I do?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. You didn’t do
anything. But you… you remind me of her.”

Ah. Okay, confirmed. Thierry’s words were about
Corben’s wife.

“I’m sorry if I look like her, if it’s making
you uncomfortable.” It comes off dryly.

“That’s
not
the problem,” Mr. I Care
About No Other Woman says. Clearly I don’t make him uncomfortable; he can love
only
one
. “The problem is that you
remind
me….” He pauses, and
looks at me like I’m a demon. I look down at my lap, hurt.

“I don’t understand,” I say, because he doesn’t
explain.

“Ever since she died and I was compelled to
remain alive, I’ve existed, but I haven’t really
lived
here. I only
really live in my memories with her, because I could not—I cannot—live without
her. Hence when I lost her, I figured a way around her absence… my head. I live
there with her, as detached from the present as possible. I can think of her
and remember her perfectly, and I can pretend that she isn’t gone.

“But now that you’re here,” he continues, “I see
you and I miss
her
. You keep me in the present….” He seems to struggle
for the appropriate words. “You… you just make it all too concise and too clear
that Charlotte is
not here
.”

The unfair accusation bothers me more than I
can take. I have to look away, out the window the farthest from him, and
implore my eyes that they shut up and not well up with tears like it feels they
want to do.

“Are you sure you didn’t know anything about her
before today?” He wants to know if Thierry told me his family secrets. The last
thing I want to do is keep talking about the dead wife. But I won’t lie to him.

“Thierry mentioned something,” I say vaguely,
irritably.

“What do you know about her?” he repeats.

“Only that you hate me because I remind you of
her.”

“I don’t hate you—”

“—And yeah, that you loved her, or whatever. But
he didn’t say her name. He didn’t call her a sister-in-law. I didn’t know she
was your wife, and I don’t know anything else—whether this was before or after
you became a vampire.” I mean
whether she was a vampire
, but I don’t
dare ask that question. It’s like I’m afraid to ask directly about her because
he’ll hate me more.

“I first met her when I was normal. So was she.”

“When you were human, you mean.”

“I’m still human,” he counters. “I’m a human who
happens to be a vampire.”

“Whatever you say,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“And I didn’t hate you, by the way.”

I realize I’m a little pissed off. “Call it
whatever you want to call it. You can’t deny that you that you were just so….”
So
mean
, I want to say.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says. “I have to
apologize for my behavior. I was just—I was—”

He stops short and doesn’t finish. But I know
what he didn’t say. Jealous.

Holy crap.

I’m sure of it. I can tell, but not exactly
how
I can tell. Something about the way he’s behaving. He’s
jealous
.

And it bothers me.

I stand up and look down at him. Jealous? When
he met me he was such a dick. Why would he be jealous? Jealous that his brother
had brought home a girl that reminded him of his dead wife? What, Thierry can’t
date unless the girl doesn’t look anything remotely like Charlotte? Thierry
even said I wasn’t an exact copy of her. So why the attitude?

That’s not it
, something tells me.

He stands up as well, and I’m surprised to find
him closer to me than I expected him to. I’m tall, but he’s taller, and in one
split second his imposing presence eradicates all the annoyance that I felt,
and replaces it with that horrifying attraction that I feel for him.

Oh God. An image flashes in front of my eyes of
me reaching up in my toes and kissing him. How soft his lips would be over
mine.

I have to blink to clear the image away, and I
side step past him and out of the sunroom in the direction of the entry hall.
“Maybe I should go,” I say. “Maybe I should eat.”

“I’ll take you out to eat,” he says right away,
following me. “I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of options here for you.”

I turn around and look at him. “No, why are you
sorry? It’s not like you knew to buy groceries for me. You didn’t know that I’d
be staying here with you.”

“True. But then again, I do pretend to be normal.
I keep canned goods in the pantry.”

I welcome the change of topic and pretend we
weren’t just talking about really messed up stuff, and that my heart is not
beating erratically because I was just thinking about kissing him. “Really?
Why?”

“A professional cleaning crew comes in to clean
once a week. If the pantry was empty, they’d get suspicious.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” I say with a forced
smile.

“Anyway, back to the issue,” he starts, and my
heart skips a beat in fear thinking he’ll bring up Charlotte again. But he only
says, “Let me know what you feel like eating and I’ll find a place where to
take you.”

“I… I do have to eat, I know, but I don’t have
to
right now
. I ate the whole basket of bread. It was fresh, right? I
could tell.”

“Yes, it was baked about an hour before you
woke up.”

Um. Did he hear me wake up? I had assumed he
had picked it up at the crack of dawn, then gone to sleep…. Of course he
didn’t. I’m an idiot.

“What time did you wake up?” I know the answer,
but I ask anyway.

“I haven’t slept,” is all he says.

“You were up all night?”

“Yes. But it’s fine,” he says.

“Don’t you get tired? I mean… you said you
do
sleep, right? Like, at all?”

“Yes, I sleep; and if I don’t sleep, yes, eventually
I get tired. But I’m fine,” he insists. “I’ll stay up until I take you to the
airport.”

“What? But… your reflexes will be down, and
you’ll get me in an accident, which you’ll survive, and I won’t.”

I think I see him smirk. “Not going to happen.”

“Regardless, I’d feel better if my being here
didn’t disturb… your regular sleeping patterns.”

I see that brief smirk again that tells me,
Yeah
right
. Like it’s even possible for me to be here and
not
disturb
him. Like I
asked
to come here and disturb his sleep. Like he despises
me. I hate him.

“You’re my guest in this house, Tori,” he says.
“If I sleep while you’re awake what kind of host would that make me? It’s not
gallant of me to leave you alone in a city you do not know.”

“I’m not going to go outside and get lost,” I
say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Please. I’d feel better if
you slept.”

His green gaze burns me like a laser beam. I
feel his annoyance match mine. He seems to be making a tough decision. “I’ll
sleep for a few hours. I’ll take you out to lunch at noon.”

I don’t want to argue. “I’ll do that. Fine.
Thanks.”

I turn back and all but run to the main grand
staircase. What was that? Thanks for what? For being super weird and awkward?
How the hell did we get to that point anyway? He was supposed to tell me about
his dream, but ended up grilling me about how I make him miss his dead wife.
Fuck that shit. Go to sleep, Corben. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

Alone in my room, something in my chest bothers
me. I’m not sure if it’s pain or anger or nostalgia.

But I do recognize that I miss Thierry. I was
supposed to talk to him last night. I grab my phone and see I have two missed
calls from him.

I call him back and he answers on the first
ring.

“Tori? How are you doing?”

“Thierry,” I say, and it comes out as a dry
sob.

“What’s wrong, Tori?” Thierry’s voice is
immediately laced with anxiety.

But I can’t explain. Hearing Thierry’s voice is
an assault to my senses, mostly because they’ve been so full of Corben lately. It
bothers me that his voice sounds so foreign to me, when it used to be the thing
that I looked forward to every morning when I woke up and every night before
going to sleep.

“Nothing,” I lie. “I just miss you.”

“Aw, Tor. I miss you so much. You’ll be back
soon; don’t worry. How’s… Corben behaving?” There is something in his voice
that I can’t quite place. Does he know about my dreams and late night visit? Or
is he just afraid that Corben’s being a jerk? Or am I simply imagining things?

“It’s been….” I exhale audibly into the phone.
“A little awkward.”

Thierry laughs shortly. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t
surprise me in the least.”

His laugh warms my heart. We talk for a while, and
it feels almost normal. I try to describe Corben’s mood swings and general
erratic behavior like it’s funny, painfully aware that Corben himself might be
able to hear me with his vampire ears. I want to ask Thierry if that’s
possible, but I’m afraid that if it is, and Corben can hear me, that he’ll
think I’m snooping around for his vampire secrets.

So I don’t tell Thierry anything specific about
my troubles here. But I tell him I want to leave. He listens like he always
does, and makes me feel loved. It feels so good to talk to him. When we talk
like this, it’s easy to remember how much I love him. But in Corben’s presence,
I can’t feel it.

He reminds me again that I’ll be in New Orleans
soon.
Tonight
, he says.

***

Of course, I can’t tell if Corben’s sleeping or
not. But half an hour after my call with Thierry I don’t care anymore, and I
want to jet. It’s not even ten o’clock, so I have some time before Corben supposedly
wakes up from his nap.

I can’t deal with this. As time presses between
the last words I heard Thierry say and my current situation, the memory of his
voice is drowned by the louder cacophony of Corben’s presence in my head. Corben
makes my body react dangerously, filling me with a savage desire to be loved by
him, a raw ache when he’s nearby and not talking to me, a sadness that I can’t
explain. I hate this confusion. I have to put some distance between me and the
source of the chaos.

I repack my bag and leave everything ready.
Then I add another layer of clothes, grab my coat, and as quietly as I can I exit
the mansion and brave the weather.
See ya, Corben
. May you be dreaming wonderful
Tori-free dreams of
your wife
.

Okay, I admit I’m a little bitter.

The gray sky drowns any prospect of happiness I
might have had in coming outside, but it seems fitting. There’s snow everywhere,
and it’s cold and windy, but I’m not too bothered by the temperature. I mapped
the area in my trusty phone prior to leaving and found out that Corben’s house
faces east and that the park in front of it is quite large. Beyond the park is
a highway, the unoriginally named Lake Shore Drive, and further east is Lake
Michigan.

I cross the street in front of Corben’s house
and enter the park, pass the pond, and head towards the lake. I’ve never seen a
Great Lake, even though I grew up not too far away from them, so since I’m here
might as well scratch that off my bucket list. Well, I wanted to go swimming in
a Great Lake, but that’s totally not going to happen today; even though it’s
technically spring, everything is covered in snow. Dipping my hand in the water
will have to do.

I’m surprised to see a few joggers on a trail
that crosses the park. Why anyone would run in this weather is beyond me. After
about ten minutes of walking I start feeling the cold wind bother my fingers
and ears. But I keep going, and make it to the outer edge of the park, past Lake
Shore Drive, to a small copse of trees, before the lake finally appears before
me.

I see the water and my jaw drops. The so-called
lake is more like a
sea
. I wasn’t expecting something small, but, I
don’t know, I thought that while it would be huge, I might still be able to see
the other side… whatever lies there. Michigan, maybe? I didn’t check the map
that far, and I’m not sure exactly what’s out there. Blame my lack of geography
skills on the City of Eldridge Department of Education.

I approach the lake and find it gray but not
iced over, except for a small area around wooden piles out in the water. The ring
of ice on the piles sort of sticks about an inch or two higher than the water
level, and has accumulated some snow on top of it. The trail I’ve been
following east joins a trail that runs north-south between the water and the
copse of trees. It’s atop a concrete bulkhead, a few feet above the waterline.
There’s no railing or anything to keep anyone from falling into the lake. I
approach the edge warily.

It’s beautiful here, even with the gloom that
covers everything. When I look south I see the trail dips down closer to the
water, to the point where it’s next to sand—yes, sand, like a real beach, not a
lake. But where I am there’s no beach, just the small woods behind me. I lean
as far as I dare to the lake below, wondering if the water is close enough that
I can dip my hand in it. But no, it’s a little ways down, and there’s a row of
medium-sized boulders, roughly the size of June’s exercise ball, below the
bulkhead. The lake water splashes wildly over them in the wind.

As I stare at the water lapping the rocky
shore, I can almost see the black swirl of dark thoughts revolving around my
brain, reclaiming my attention.

I feel like a ghost, in sync with the weather.
I feel insubstantial, like I’m missing important matter. Corben doesn’t like
me. I am nothing but pain to him.
But he showed you a different side of him
,
my hearts reminds me. My thoughts unwillingly return to last night. It felt so
good to be taken care of by him. To feel like he cared about me. Why won’t he be
like that all the time? It could be he wants to like me but it bothers him that
I remind him of his dead Charlotte… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand
myself
,
why I so desperately need his approval. How it hurt me when he said he could
only love her. Why should I care? Yet the feeling is there, and feels heavy on
my heart. It drags me down. It takes me away….

The sound of the waves crashing against the
rocks as background noise to my reveries is almost mesmerizing. It puts me in a
sort of trance. I shake my head, feeling my limbs heavy, my thoughts thick and
viscous.
There’s no point… he doesn’t want me
. The words float in my
head. Or did I say them out loud? I’m numb from the cold….

My legs give under me at the same time as an
inopportune gust of wind shoves me forward over the bulkhead. I think I scream.
The world blurs as I fall, and then rapidly shakes as I hit the rocks below with
a series of deafening thuds.

Ow
—the pain assaults me from at least
three different angles, but I’m still rolling, and I end up in the water. The
icy water hurts more than the fall, and the shock sends a thousand nerves into
overdrive like an explosion goes off within me. I can touch the bottom but I still
gasp for air; the water splashes my face. I try to stand up just as another
wave throws me back towards the rocks.

Jesus! I feel the side of my head smash against
the rocks but it doesn’t bring any additional pain. I can’t stand; I can’t move
my legs. My head is barely above the water. I’m numb from cold or fear or
adrenaline and I realize I’m in deep shit.

My breathing is non-existent; I try to swallow
air but my chest is rejecting it.

I’m going to die
.

The thought crosses my mind for the first time
in my life, but I accept it with a strange peace. I’m really scared, but
because my heart feels so heavy I hang on to my silver lining, that at least
the pain will soon cease. I stop flailing my arms and legs.

As I roll once more into the water with the
receding tide, my thoughts starting to fade, I think of him.
Corben
.

And unexpectedly I feel arms around me. Or
rather, I’m aware of arms around me but I can’t feel them. That is, until they
tighten around me, and it hurts. I cry out in pain, a sound I hear detached
from me a second later. I think I hear a voice calling me. Someone found me; a
jogger, maybe. I’m pulled out of the water.

Here; I’m here
, I want to say, but
nothing comes out. The pain is blinding, but a small part of me tells me I
want
to feel it. To remind myself that I’m alive. That while
he
lives, I
don’t really want to die.

I can’t say anything. I slip in and out of
unconsciousness briefly, in and out of pain so brutal that I slip right out of
it in the next minute. I feel shaking and can’t tell if it’s the arms that
encircle me or if it’s my own.

Then I feel a warmth on my face, fingers across
my cheek. Even now, my senses flutter; they recognize it’s not a stranger, it’s
him
. I think I smile. I want to see him. My body is not responding to my
commands, but I struggle to remember, to reteach myself how to open my eyes. And
I finally do. And there he is: a miracle in front of me. His eyes are
impossibly green, filling my head with visions of foliage that does not exist in
this place. They conquer the gray that my world has become.

My name, he calls my name as if trying to wake
me, but I’m not sure why; I’m already awake and staring into his eyes. The pain
simultaneously cripples me and makes me numb, and I still can’t respond to his
pleas.

“Tori, I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I’m
sorry, I can’t… I didn’t think… to bring a car.”

I feel movement, and in the next second the air
is cutting through me, impossibly fast. I feel my chilled clothes burning me, tightening,
weighing me down. I think I cry out in pain once more, then thankfully, I feel
no more.