Chapter 37

" T hat could not have gone worse," I said, burying my face in my hands after Addie and Holland left.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Simon chuckled. He sat next to me on the couch and handed me my fifth glass of blood. "No one got stabbed."

I took the glass and stared at it longingly before forcing myself to set it down and turning to Simon. "What if I made it all up? What if Addie and I were never as close as I thought? What if I was just the annoying little sister that overshadowed her and ruined her life?"

Simon frowned but said nothing. I whined and threw myself back against the couch cushions, resisting the urge to cry. Still, my vision blurred red and I struggled to take a deep, even breath.

"The sun will be a little uncomfortable for you, or I'd offer to take you on a walk. Tonight might be better," Simon said.

I hummed, hardly listening. Mentally, I ran through every significant interaction I ever had with my sister and wondered if I remembered them correctly. What if taking care of me while I recovered from my eating disorder was merely an inconvenience to Addie? What if she only stayed by my bedside in the hospital when we almost drowned because she thought she had to? The whole time, I'd been grateful for her support and company, but the thought that she didn't think of it the same way I did made me feel sick.

Did she come to visit me every weekend at college because I had no other friends and she pitied me?

Was she annoyed when I came out as bisexual because she thought I was copying her, as younger sisters did?

I sat up again and raked my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry about this," I murmured. "I didn't intend to be a burden." Simon opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted. "Can I shower, please?"

"Of course. I'll get it started."

I stared into space while he stood and walked to the bathroom. The creak of the shower lever sent shivers through me, but I didn't move. I was trapped in tidal waves of memories as I reconsidered everything I thought I knew about my relationship with my sister.

Simon appeared at my side, holding out his hand. I gave him mine but couldn't bring myself to look at him as he helped me off the couch and walked me to the bathroom. I stopped in front of the mirror, staring at the line of red tears in my eyes. I blinked and one spilled over, staining my cheek. Another followed. Then, a third.

Until my face was a sea of red, and I'd forgotten how to breathe.

Simon reached for my arm. I flinched away from him, slipping on the linoleum flooring. He caught me, his eyes full of pity. I hated him at that moment—despised how he looked at me as if I was a wounded animal he needed to nurse back to health.

"This was a mistake," I said, my voice cracking. "Why did I do this?"

I tried to wrench away again, but Simon was eternally stronger than me. He held fast, stepping closer. "One thing at a time, Lucinda," he said.

"Am I a burden to you too?"

He leaned forward to kiss my forehead gently. "No, you are not a burden to me."

"How could I not be?" I breathed. "I'm just some American girl who came out of nowhere, demanded you make her a vampire, and wasted your time for the last four days."

Simon sighed. "You have not been a waste of time."

My knees felt weak; I leaned further into Simon to keep from collapsing. He helped me sit on the toilet, using a hand towel to wipe blood from my face. My thoughts were jumbled, and I could do nothing but let him clean me up. He reached into the shower and ran his hand under the water, then nodded to himself.

I watched, numb, as he pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his pants. His hands found the hem of my shirt; I only blinked while he pulled it off. It felt like I was living outside my body and could only stare while he undressed me and led me toward the shower.

I couldn't even bother to tilt my face away from the stream of water and opted to hold my breath until Simon tugged me one step back.

"I know it seems impossible right now, my darling," he said. "But your sister will come around. And, until she does, you have me."

Even though I physically felt like I could run a marathon or climb a mountain, my mind was a cloud of pain and exhaustion. I stayed in bed the rest of the day and dozed in and out of sleep. When I was awake, I'd gulp down as much blood as I could, and then I'd slip back into a hazy stupor.

After dark, Simon slipped into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on my arm. I tugged away from him, pulling the duvet over my head. He stopped me with a stern glare.

"We're going for a walk," he said.

"I don't want to," I growled.

"I don't care. It's almost eleven; the streets will be quiet enough for you to handle; you need some fresh air." He pulled the duvet off me, standing and holding out his hand expectantly.

With a fierce glare, I took it.

Simon helped me out of bed and watched as I dressed, like he expected me to throw a tantrum. Part of me wanted to. The more rational part knew some fresh air would be good for me, and I wanted to stretch my legs. Once my shoes were on, I motioned for Simon to lead the way and followed him out of the apartment building.

God, it was hot. I checked the temperature on my phone, startled to discover it was only in the high eighties. It felt like two hundred degrees. The breeze through the air offered a small reprieve, but not enough. I bristled at the feeling, following Simon down the street.

We passed a pair of tourists laughing together as they made their way to their hotel—the same one I'd been staying in. I watched them as they walked, their movements seeming jaunty and haphazard. From several dozen feet away, I could tell that one smelled like tequila and the other like champagne. I wrinkled my nose.

Simon waited a few steps away when I finally pulled my attention from the tourists and caught up with him. I mumbled an apology he didn't acknowledge. Instead, he held out his arm for me to take. I did.

We walked for a while in silence. I admired the flickering of every streetlight, the heartbeat of every human, the caress of the breeze, and the stench of the trash cans. I noticed every little thing—no wonder Addie mentioned being overwhelmed constantly. For someone with sensory issues, like her, this would be a nightmare.

For me, it was incredible.

The longer we walked, the more entranced I became with the world around me. I stopped to smell every tree and flower. I stared for too long at each human, trying to figure out how much of them I could memorize—the smell of their cologne, the beat of their heart, what they'd had to drink, if they were menstruating. It was fascinating. We sat on a bench for a while, and I focused on every sound, from the car horn a few blocks over to the cats in the garbage bins to the homeless man snoring in the park.

"Is it always like this?" I asked Simon.

"It will become second nature to be so aware all the time," Simon replied.

I nearly leaped off the bench when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, shocked to see Cassandra's name on the screen. I hadn't heard from her since we quit the hospital, and certainly not since I'd been in Paris.

Hey, hot stuff! You still looking for a job? We've got an opening soon here at Mayo!

I stared at the text with a strange tightness in my chest.

"You could go back," Simon said. "For a year or two, maybe five, but eventually, you'll have to leave that life behind."

Silently, I replied to Cassandra's text. Hey gorgeous. So… big news. I moved to Paris! It's the middle of the night here, but I'll call you soon and give you all the details.

It was a lie. I wouldn't call Cassandra—not now, not ever. This was my first goodbye, though it was far from the last.

To my dismay, her response came immediately. Holy shit! You better!

I tucked my phone back into my pocket. "It's easier this way, I think, to leave it all behind now."

"It can be," he said. "But just because something is easier does not mean it's easy."