Chapter 32

She wakesup with a weight draped over her waist and the muffled sound of her phone humming. Groggily, she looks over her shoulder. Seth still sleeps, his face relaxed and his lips parted around shallow breaths. Stripped of the years of torment and guilt, he looks younger.

From the floor, her phone goes silent for only a second before the vibrating starts up again. Another glance proves that Seth is having no trouble sleeping through it, but she's glad she left it in the soft fabric of her sweatshirt pocket instead of the usual spot on the nightstand. She settles back onto the pillow with a soft sigh. The arm draped over her middle twitches when she shifts, his fingers brushing against her clothed stomach.

Her eyes slip shut; content. She imagines he'll be mortified when he wakes up. Sara's lips quirk into a smile at the thought.

Then her phone goes off again—this time short bursts that indicate rapid fire text messages—and she sighs. She really should get up and check it, but when she shifts away, Seth pulls her closer.

"Don't go," he mumbles, gravel in his voice. The sound stirs something in both her lower stomach and her heart.

"I thought you'd be embarrassed," she confesses, settling back in. "I was kinda looking forward to teasing you."

"Too tired." His jaw cracks around a yawn. "Stay. It's Sunday."

Another violent burst from her phone has her frowning. "It's Monday." Not that it matters. The only schedule she has to keep is her own.

Seth is quiet for a moment, but Sara can practically hear him struggling to put the days together. "Damn it all. You're right."

He sounds so dejected at being wrong, it pulls a small laugh from her. "I think we deserve to sleep in," she says softly, shifting onto her back so she can see him more easily. It's probably just Jen trying to fish some answers out of her, anyway.

The look of relief and the "thank god" he murmurs under his breath are equally endearing. The way he falls, almost immediately, back into sleep is even more so.

Feather soft, she brushes the hair away from his eyes. If she didn't know she loved him before, she knows it now—can feel it simmering in her chest, a tangle of emotions she's too tired to sort through. She holds his hand and drifts back to sleep.

There's a poundingon her door.

Sara's eyes fly open, a gasp pulling into her lungs. Beside her, Seth mumbles something incomprehensible and shifts further under the covers. A quick glance to the window shows that it's late morning and she groans.

Jen.

Or Miles?

No, he'd be patient enough to wait till dinner. It's gotta be Jen.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she rushes to get up as the beginnings of guilt seep into her stomach. Sara runs a hand through her hair hastily, cringing when the knocking continues. She should have at least sent a quick text assuring her friend she was ok.

Biting her lip, she closes the bedroom door softly behind her—hoping Jen won't be so loud as to wake the man sleeping in her bed. The way he nodded off last night… he needs rest. Not just to heal, either. She has some strong suspicions that it goes deeper than that; the same way she's almost certain he will wake with a voracious appetite. Hundreds of years with no food, no sleep… if his injuries caught up with him, she has to believe everything else will too.

God, her grocery bill is going to be horrendous.

Sara grabs her crutch from the spot on the wall, careful to keep her weight off her injured foot. She'd taken the boot off to sleep and doesn't want to deal with velcro straps, but she knows there'll be hell to pay if Seth catches her walking on it unprotected. Hobbling to the entry, she unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door, her lips parting around an apology only for it to wither before she can even speak the first syllable.

It isn't Jen.

Sara stares at him, the breath knocked from her lungs and her mouth parting around words she can't find. David stares back at her—blonde hair sleep-mussed and blue eyes panicked but clear. The freckles on his face hide behind a flush; skin dewy with sweat as if he ran the entire flight of stairs. She knows, in that very second of looking at him, that he's back.

HerDavid is back.

Somewhere beneath the numbness, she recognizes that she should feel happy.

"Sara?" Her name is a hope and a prayer all rolled into one. She feels it sink into her skin with a familiarity that used to be comfortable. Now it just feels stale.

"David," she says, body numb. His name tastes foreign—an echo of a bad memory. "What—"

"I remember," he blurts, letting himself through the door of what was once supposed to be their apartment. "I remember everything and I—God, Sara. It's all just this jumble, but I remember and—"

"We should sit down," she says, cutting him off. The room feels off-kilter, her knee wobbling threateningly despite the crutch under arm. Her lungs don't seem to be working right—struggling to pull in a full, even breath. "Please."

He must see how pale she is, see the shock edging the rims of her irises, because the words stop falling out of his mouth (even though she can see the way he has to bite his lip to keep them in). He closes the door and follows her into her living room. Sara makes a point of sitting in Seth's chair.

Nervously, David glances around the room before sitting stiffly on the couch across from her. He licks his lips, swallows, before speaking again. They're still jumbled, but significantly less rushed. "What happened to your foot?"

Sara shrugs awkwardly, keeping her answer short in hopes that he'll drop it. "I tripped."

He fidgets, seeming to get the hint. "Sara, I'm so sorry. I—I have no idea what came over me. Those things I said—and your car—I wouldn't even believe it if I didn't remember doing it. That—that's not who I am. It's not—that wasn't me. I would never—"

So Seth was right. He did mess with her car.

Sara runs a hand through her hair, not missing the way his eyes caught the motion or the slight frown creasing the smooth skin between his brows. He used to love her long hair, would twirl in around his fingers and watch it coil like a spring. "All the phone calls? That text message? Was that you, too?"

His expression confirms her suspicions before his voice can. "I'm so—"

"David, it's ok. I know."

And she does. She's known for a while now that the words he said—the ones that cut her—weren't from the same man she'd fallen in love with. What she's struggling to understand is why it changed. "When," she swallows, tries to recapture her voice. "When did you remember?"

"This morning," he says, leaning over the coffee table between them and grasping her hands. Sara lets him, frozen despite how unfamiliar they feel. "Right when I woke up. I tried to call, but you weren't answering and I—well, I couldn't wait. I figured you had to be here."

This morning… Her eyes flit to her bedroom door, realization dawning with the subtlety of a knife.

Seth.

Kissing him didn't just break his curse, but David's too.

"I—" she trails off, unsure of what she wants to say—what she feels. There's a tangle of emotion in her chest, squeezing on her heart, but she's too busy drowning in the shock of it all to begin untangling it. Then she hears her bedroom door creak open, and it feels like the world stops.

"Sara?" Seeing them, Seth freezes in the hallway. Sara can tell the exact moment when he figures it out. His head tilts, his brows furrowed and his mouth parted in a perplexed frown as he stares at the man across from her. "You're back."

David looks between the injured, half-naked man in her home to her, and back. "Uh, who are you?"

Seth's gaze finds hers; a brief meeting. Too brief. "No one of consequence, I assure you. I'll be in, well, the only other room. Pardon my interruption."

The silence that falls between them is punctuated only by the click of the door latch.

David can't seem to take his eyes off her door, eyebrows furrowed in what she recognizes as concern. "… Who was that?"

If that wasn't the question of the week. Sara settles for the closest thing to the truth. "A friend."

"He came from your bedroom." He blinks, shaking his head. "He went back to your bedroom."

Sara's eyes close. Of course, he remembers the layout of the apartment. "A good friend." When she opens her eyes, David is still staring at her as if she owes him more of an answer, so she adds, "His name is Seth."

"Ok… should I be worried?" He gives a nervous laugh. "I mean, there's a half-naked guy hanging out in my girlfriend's bedroom."

Sara's heart drops. Rises. There's an ocean in her ears; a flood of static white noise threatening to drown her.

Oh.

Oh no.

"David…" she breathes, struggling to find the right words. She hates that she can't find any—hates that there aren't any. "I'm not—our relationship ended a year ago."

He pales, grasping her hands. A look of panic pinches his features. "No. No, no. I know—I really messed up, but I swear I didn't remember anything until this morning. I swear. I—I still love you."

Once, months ago, she would have begged to hear those words from him. But now… her gaze lingers on her bedroom door. The David sitting in her living room is the same person she fell in love with, but she isn't. The trauma of being abandoned by him, of losing Oma, has changed her. Being with Seth—seeing the regret he carries, the way he forces a smile through his suffering… The way his mask slipped, little by little, until she saw the man shielding himself behind it.

The way David looks at her now—on the precipice of self-righteous anger—she understands why Seth embraced the role of a villain for so long. There's nothing she can say that won't make her seem cruel. Maybe, in some ways, she is. But she won't force herself to try when she knows it's destined to fail. She won't sacrifice the happiness she's found, the love she's found, trying to salvage a relationship she's already given up on. Not when she can't even look at him without remembering the way he tore her life apart—without hearing the echo of his fists pounding on her door.

Sara swallows thickly, regret heavy on her heart. "I'm sorry, David." She stares at him, urging him to believe it. "I really am. But… I've moved on."

He stares back at her, mouth parted, before shaking his head. "So, what? You're not even going to try?"

"I did try," she reminds him. "I tried for weeks."

"That wasn't—I didn't remember!"

"I know," she says, voice soft. "But, David… it still happened. Whether you remembered or not, that doesn't just erase everything I went through." She stares at him. "Did you really expect me to just sit here and wait for you?"

He doesn't get it though, she can tell by the slap of his expensive shoes against the floor as he paces her living room, by the way his hands fist at his sides. "I can't believe this," he growls, face twisted. "I didn't think you'd be so selfish."

Sara thinks of what Miles has always insisted—that David has never wanted for anything—and sees what he was trying to warn her of. David was everything she could have wanted in a boyfriend, but only because she was everything he wanted from her. The moment she didn't live up to his expectation, the second he didn't get what he felt he was owed, this is the type of response she'd get.

A tantrum.

She shakes her head, disappointment making her heart ache. "I think you should leave now."

He stills, has the nerve to be surprised. Maybe he thought his accusations would encourage a change of heart. A year ago, maybe they would have. "Sara—"

"Now, please."

He stares at her, as if he's turning the words over and over in his head. His expression softens, a scowl transforming into a wince. "I'm sorry."

There's regret lacing his voice, quiet as it is. Sara doesn't have any problem believing them. "I know." The words, but I still need you to leave go unsaid, but he must read them in her expression.

He doesn't slam the door on his way out, but Sara locks the deadbolt behind him, anyway. Just in case.

Seth is layingon her bed, his fingers idly stroking the cat curled up against his neck. Ansel is purring so loudly, Sara can hear it from the doorway. Seth can probably feel the vibrations. She smiles at the sight, but when Seth doesn't acknowledge her, Sara's heart plummets at the thought of him being upset with her too. Then she notices the shape of her earbuds perched in his ears, her phone in his hand. She's too relieved to wonder when he figured out the password.

"Seth?"

He starts, blindly reaching for the earbuds and flinching when the movement pulls at his chest. Ansel mewls pathetically at being jostled, but only puts his head between his paws and goes back to his nap. The apologetic scratch Seth gives him behind his ear probably helps. "Sorry. I thought—" He grimaces, making a wide gesture with his free hand. "Well, the walls are rather thin."

"Oh." She shifts, chewing her bottom lip anxiously. "Um, thanks. You didn't have to do that."

His expression darkens, gaze falling to the earbuds in his palm. "Yes, I'm afraid I did." Clearing his throat, he holds the pieces out to her. "Apologies, but I was mostly certain you wouldn't mind."

"I don't," she assures him, taking them gingerly. "What were you listening to?"

"Music, but honestly I'm not always convinced your generation understands the meaning of the word."

She rolls her eyes, taking her phone from his other hand to see what's currently playing. When she sees the artists, she blinks—legitimately surprised. "Dolly Parton?"

"The world is undeserving of her talents."

Sara bites back a smile. "I never would have pinned you as a fan of bluegrass."

"It's not the genre," he says, eyes lingering on her phone. "It's her voice."

She can't argue there.

Fingering the neckline of her pajamas, she shifts her weight. "Anyway, I'm going to get dressed and get going. I shouldn't be gone too long, though."

"Ah," he says. Sara can't help but notice the weight hiding behind his thinly disguised indifference and the way his gaze seems to drop away from her. "Going to lunch with some friends, are you?"

Somehow, she knows it isn't quite what he's asking. Eyebrows raised, she says, "I'm picking up your antibiotics. Also, we need food. And you need clothes."

He blinks, glances down at himself as if just realizing he has literally nothing else to wear. "Oh."

"Yeah…" She clears her throat. There's something horribly (wonderfully) intimate about going to pick out clothes for him, but she doesn't dare unleash him on the world in his bloodied clothing two centuries out of date. "I don't suppose you know what size you are?"

Seth frowns. "I don't have any money."

"I know, so don't expect me to be bringing home Prada." No matter how good he would look in a suit. "I'm guessing that's a no on the size?"

Her answer only serves to make him more disgruntled. "No," he grumbles.

She kind of suspected as much. Even if they did have a sizing system back then, it would no doubt have changed since. "I'll just grab a few things then, until we figure it out." She eyes the shadow lining his face and adds, "And maybe a razor."

Frowning, he runs a hand over his jaw, wincing at the stubble. "Ah, didn't miss that bit."

Sara ducks her head, hiding a smile as she rifles through her drawers to pull out a fresh set of clothes. She can feel Seth's eyes on her, but reminds herself that there is literally nothing embarrassing about him being able to see into her underwear drawer as she pulls out a clean pair. "Alright, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. There's some cereal left in the cabinet if you get hungry, but do not try to use the stove."

His nose wrinkles. "I am perfectly capable of turning on an appliance."

She levels him with a warning look, but she suspects the pile of clothes in her arms might be sabotaging her efforts. "No stove."

"So little trust," he grumbles. When she doesn't budge, he sighs. "Fine."

"Thank you." There's only a little bit of sarcasm lacing her voice. "I'm gonna get dressed and go. I'll be back in a few hours, ok?"

He nods, face solemn, but when she turns to leave, he stops her. "Wait."

She pauses in the doorway, patiently waiting for him to continue. He licks his lips, hands fisting in the material of her comforter. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the corded muscle stark against his lean frame. "The pocket watch," he murmurs, eyes lifting to meet hers. "The gold one. It's in the pocket of my vest."

Sara's brow creases, confused. "You want me to get it for you?"

He doesn't meet her eyes when he answers, "I want you to have it. Sell it."

"What?" she breathes, not quite believing she heard him right. "But it's—"

"I know what it is," he snaps.

She frowns. Sure, she tries to be frugal in her spending, but since Oma's inheritance went through, she's far from poor. Certainly not to the point where he needs to sell anything to cover the costs of a few outfits. There's a stubbornness in his gaze that leaves no room for arguments, though, and she's too physically and emotionally exhausted to fight over it.

However, when she finds it in the vest wadded up on the living room floor, she takes her time studying it. She turns the watch in her hand, admiring the warmth of the metal and the delicate curves of the filigree. Seth doesn't pull it out often, and only ever when he seems to think she isn't paying attention, but she's caught him fingering the chain when he's deep in thought. That alone is enough to tell her there's more value to the timepiece in her hand than just the gold.

She finds the latch, momentarily impressed that it's still ticking when her eyes snag on the engraving opposite of it.

‘For my favorite son'

Sara swallows, closing it softly. She feels like she's intruded on something private, but she can't bring herself to regret it. If she had any hesitations about its fate before, it's gone now.

The watch in her hand is the last thing Seth has of his life from before; the only tangible connection to his mother—the other woman in his life with the same name but a different spelling. The one, she knows, who loved him too. There's no price in the world worth parting him from it.