Cerulean (Book one in series)

by A. L. Singer

  I winced at the noise of the drawer slamming and sat up, facing him. He looked down at the nightstand and mumbled what I thought were far from pleasantries in French. My head had cleared, and Sorin’s seemed completely out of the trance I had seen him in moments before. It didn’t know what to do or say. I wasn’t clear on all that had just transpired.

  I lightly coughed and whispered his name. He stopped mumbling and turned toward me, but stayed silent. I could see he didn’t really want to talk about it, but I wanted some answers. Who was Monique to him? A friend? A love interest? … Didn’t I have a right to ask? I felt most of their conversation had been about me. I was extremely curious about the last four questions he had answered while in a complete fog. I leaned to his side of the bed and pulled back the comforter. “Come back to bed,” I urged gently.

  He glanced down at my hand on the bed and forced a smile. “If you wish, Mia.” His words sounded hollow.

  I had to ask. “What was that all about?” I tried to keep my tone light.

  He climbed back into bed, slipping under the comforter and lying on his back. I sat there and waited. The tension slowly drained from his body. Tucking his right arm under his head, he laid his left arm on top of the sheet between us. Eventually he spoke “I ordered something for you.” I could hear irritation lingering in his voice.

  I had gathered he was getting something for me. It was what they had said after that part that I had become desperate to understand. Looking at me, his expression begged me to let the subject go. “Thank you.” I smiled weakly and then lay down. I stared at the wall, trying to decide whether to try to go to sleep or fight it a little longer.

  “Go to sleep, Mia. … We have tomorrow.” His voice still held a slight plea.

  The word sleep echoed in my head, and I remember his statement earlier. “Do you sleep?” I asked, wondering what his comment had meant.

  “Every living thing needs rest. I just need much less than you do.”

  I turned my head to see his face. He stared blankly at the ceiling. “So you just lay here while the sun is up?” I asked gently. “What do you think about?” I had said it without thinking. I opened my mouth to say how sorry I was.

  But before I could, he turned on his side, facing me. His face wore a light smile. “For the past twenty-four years … every day, I thought of you. Before that, nothing of true importance.” His voice was content, and I blushed lightly.

  I lay on my back and moved closer to his side. He returned to resting on his back. My right arm brushed his where it lay between us. I pictured how he had touched his wrist when describing that night all those years ago. I slipped my hand under his and intertwined our fingers. Sorin’s hand was cool to the touch. I lifted our hands off the bed and angled them over my chest. With my left hand I reached over and pushed his sleeve back. Not seeing anything, I moved his sleeve farther, and there they were. I would not have noticed them without knowing what to look for. His scars were just a shade lighter than the surrounding skin. I ran my fingertips over them—two slightly raised parallel lines just below the crease of his elbow.

  Images quickly flooded my mind. “Sorin … What was it like … for my mother?” I wondered what she must have thought of the whole encounter with him. “I mean, what did she think of what you did?” I couldn’t decide if I was saying it correctly. My fingers played over his scars.

  “I do not completely understand your inquiry, Mia.” I heard uncertainty in his voice. “I am sure there are so many details of myself and my kind that I have yet to mention or explain. Not that I am trying to keep them from you. I just think to try explaining all the differences between us at once would overwhelm you. Do not worry about your mother. She forgot all about me and what I did for her.” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain it to me, I assumed.

  My left arm fell to the bed, but I continued to look at his scars.

  When he continued, his voice took on a very controlled, thoughtful tone. “I tore my skin and pressed my bleeding arm into her abdomen. … Her wound quickly healed. She was so focused on you and Jennifer that she did not realize what I was doing until I finished. I did have to give her a superficial wound to explain the blood on her clothes.” He paused, touching his scars briefly. “The moment I saw some kind of realization, I … I looked into her eyes and told her to forget what I had just done.” He stopped and let his arm grow heavy, so I let it fall back to the bed.

  Keeping my right hand under his, I rested my head against his upper arm. “You just made her forget everything you did for her—everything about you? … You can do that?” My voice was quiet. It was getting more difficult to fight the urge to close my eyes.

  “Those who are weak-minded, or who want to forget, can be persuaded mentally. Your mother did not wish to remember, so it was easy for her to forget. I reminded her that there were more important things than how she had survived. To focus on what mattered most and forget the rest.” Sorin propped himself up on his elbow. Facing me, he lightly traced the frame of my face with his fingers. “I could make you forget everything, Mia—everything about me—if that were what you truly wanted.”

  His voice was so low and vacant. He wasn’t really offering me the option, just stating aloud the possibility. The last thoughts before I drifted off were of wondering what I would choose. Could I return to being oblivious to his kind existing? I hadn’t really thought about other vampires; Sorin was all I knew. Clips of vampire movies I’d seen flitted through my mind, passing behind my closed eyes. And then sleep finally came. Darkness at last. …

  Chapter 12

  I awoke to Sorin gingerly squeezing my arm. “Mia … Mia, your phone is ringing.” I blinked a few times. My eyes burned; it must have been only a few hours after I’d fallen asleep. I reached toward my nightstand, where I usually kept my phone, but couldn’t put my hands on it. “Your phone is downstairs in the guest room,” he offered.

  I stopped fumbling for it. “What time is it?” I asked, turning toward him. The room was dark, and it was hard to see him.

  “The sun has only been up a short time.” He spoke quietly, giving me a chance to acclimate. He turned on the small lamp that sat on his side of the bed.

  I slipped out from under the sheet and rubbed my eyes. I opened my bedroom just wide enough to squeeze myself through the space, wondering what the actual rules of exposure to sunlight were. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. The sun was pouring in through the glass in the front door and surrounding windows. I had been sleeping during the day and waking up in the just before sunset for the past few days. Between my current sleeping habits and lack of sleep, the sunlight was overpowering.

  I made my way to the downstairs guest room. Standing in the doorway, I heard my phone beep a voice mail notification. I stepped into the room, waiting to hear it again. I didn’t see my phone on the nightstand or vanity, and I was still too disoriented to remember where I had left it. The beep sounded again, and I looked near the wall; there it lay on the floor. It came back to me. It rested where I had thrown it two nights earlier.

  I sat on the floor, pressed some buttons to retrieve the message, and listened. It was the owner of a little pizzeria that was to be opening soon. He wanted to know if my services were available for some paintings. He left his phone number, saying he had seen my work in the local bank and coffee shop. I didn’t bother to write down his name or number. I just shut my phone and let the message stay saved for later.

  I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice, and drank it. After setting the empty glass in the sink, I returned upstairs, opening my door just enough to slip back in. I shut the door behind me and crossed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  I put my toothbrush away just as Sorin’s voice called from my bedroom, inquiring, “Who was it? … If it is not too forward of me to ask.” He sounded curious.

  I walked to the side of the bed, crossing my arms. He lay buried under the covers of my bed. “Sorin … during the past five days, yo
u have confessed to saving my mother’s life and mine. So much as said you killed the man responsible for the attack that same night. You have invited yourself into my bedroom … my bed. But you are worried asking about a phone call is too forward.” I could see trying to point out the irony was lost on him. Then I wondered why he even had to ask. “Couldn’t you hear the message from up here?” The night before, when I’d spoken aloud my request for shampoo and body wash, he had heard it all the way in the kitchen and come upstairs with the items I’d asked for.

  “I do not enjoy listening in on others’ conversations, Mia.”

  I was slightly puzzled. “But you can hear me downstairs, right?” I asked.

  “Yes … but I can also tune out noise if I wish to.” It was a simple explanation. “So who called you?”

  I walked over, shut off the lamp, and crawled back into bed. “Just a local restaurant owner wanting me to do some paintings for him. Probably grapes and wine bottles, that kind of stuff.” I bunched the pillow under my head and closed my eyes, which were still irritated from being awoken so early.

  The dark room was silent for a few minutes. “Are you going to accept the offer?” He spoke quietly now that the light was off.

  I sighed. “I do not feel like painting. I don’t feel like talking to anyone outside this house … Actually, I don’t even feel like leaving this room right now.” I meant it all, but I wondered how many more days I could go without facing anyone outside this house.

  “Mia, you should do it. The world has not stopped out there. Though I am sure you feel as if it has.” Sorin’s hand ran down my arm and squeezed my hand.

  I lay there, remembering being in the attic the week before. Tears started filling my eyes. “I was painting when Jennifer called to tell me about my parents’ accident.” My voice cracked, and I rolled over, burying my face in his chest.

  Sorin wrapped an arm around me, holding me tight. Leaning over, he kissed the top of my head. “I am sorry, Mia. … I had no idea … I have only just recently entered your life again. Please forgive me.”

  He rested his head against the top of mine as I tried to calm myself. “I cannot just perk up and start painting stupid fruit or sappy landscapes right now.” I slowly relaxed further. “I’m just really tired, and I need to go back to sleep. I don’t want to talk about this right now. ”

  I was gradually becoming upset with myself. Both for letting this bother me so much and for turning to Sorin for comfort so quickly. I turned my back to him, staring into the darkness. Any progress I had made over the past days seemed to slip away. I pulled the sheet up to my chest, wanting to make it all just go away. I wiped away the tears that filled my eyes and eventually fell back to sleep.

  Sky and water lilies filled my vision. I looked around. I was on the dock with water lilies all around me. This time the lilies spread out as far as I could see, and just a few spots of water were visible. I slowly stood up and looked out; it was beautiful. The white flowers filled the water, pressed close against one another, petals touching.

  I became aware I was dreaming. I knew where I was and turned to see my father. He wasn’t real. All of this wasn’t real. But I didn’t care this time. I turned, and there he was with little Mia. Just like every time before, the childhood me leaned toward the water. As always too, my father grabbed little Mia, lightly scolding her. I wanted to go over to him this time, throw myself into his arms. Tell him how much I missed him. I stood and watched, waiting for him to pick a flower from the water.

  The clouds swirled, becoming dark in seconds, and I looked up at them in confusion. Everything was different this time; something was wrong. I looked back down at my father, suddenly uneasy. He didn’t notice the clouds changing above him. He reached down to pick a water lily for me. Everything slowed down around me. My father’s fingers slipped under the water to cup the flower in his hand.

  My heart started pounding, and I opened my mouth to warn him. Something was very wrong—my voice failed. He leaned closer, half of his body over the edge of the dock. Multiple arms reached up from the water, pulling my father in. My eyes widened in horror. I tried to run to his side, to keep him on the dock. But my legs would not move; all I could do was reach out to him. Everything returned to normal speed. My father splashed and kicked frantically as he was pulled underwater. Little Mia started screaming and backed away. The screams echoed in my head, and I covered my ears. All I could do was helplessly watch the scene before me unfold.

  Eventually the water stilled, and the flowers returned to the place where he had been pulled under. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. I tried screaming again. This time my screams left my throat, raw and heartbroken, drowning out little Mia’s shrill panicked ones.

  Chapter 13

  I opened my eyes. It took me a minute to realize I was in my room. I sat up in my bed and looked around, still half searching for my father. I was reaching out to something in front of me that wasn’t there. A few candles flickered from across the room. It started to fully sink in—not just where I was but also all that happened.

  I turned and reached to the other side of the bed. Sorin was gone; I was alone. My body shook, and I started crying, pulling the sheet to my face.

  The bedroom door flew open, and Sorin was instantly at my side. “Mia?” His voice was full of worry. “Are you awake?” He moved closer, wrapping his arms around me.

  I looked up at him and then burst into tears. “He left me!” I gasped. “He was there … right there. … And then gone … just gone.” My body shuddered, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “A dream, Mia. You just had a bad dream. … And it is over now.” Sorin reached up and began to dry my tears.

  I jerked away from him, fought his embrace. “A dream?” I gulped between gasps of air. My eyes narrowed, and I tried to shove him away. “It wasn’t a dream, Sorin. They are gone. … My parents left me.” My voice became louder, and my head started to throb.

  He moved from my side and backed against the wall near the bedroom door. His eyes cast their beautiful reflection as the candlelight caught them. But they weren’t their usual ice-blue with silver. They were a darker blue this time—sapphire. He glanced away from me, a mixture of emotions on his face. Finally he crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at me. “They did not leave you, Mia!” His voice matched mine, and my body stiffened. “Your parents were taken from you. … It was not their choice. It was tragic. Their lives were ended prematurely.” His voice lowered, and compassion crept in. “Mia … they did not leave you.” He relaxed and leaned against the wall behind him.

  Without warning, all my emotions erupted, directed at Sorin. My hands tightened into fists, and I leaned toward him. “Do not tell me how I feel, Sorin! I feel abandoned … like they left me.” My heart ached, and the tears started filling eyes again. “Inside I feel empty.” I placed a palm over my chest. “And my heart hurts, literally … as if it’s broken.” I slid my hand over my heart. “It hurts so much! …” I cried, slowly shaking my head. “I can’t do this, Sorin.” I wiped my tears away and looked down at the bed, closing my eyes.

  My mind drifted, and I saw my parents’ caskets surrounded by roses. My heart physically hurt, my head throbbed, and my whole body seemed to ache. I can’t do this, I thought. I don’t want to do this anymore. Every time the reality of my life hit me, I wanted it to end. No more! I screamed in my head. I instantly decided I didn’t have to continue; I could end my pain. I opened my eyes and started looking around my room.

  “Mia?” Sorin’s voice was quiet but filled with suspicion. I paused and looked at him. He took a step toward me, tilting his head slightly. A few wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

  My color, I quickly thought. I stilled myself, as if not moving or looking around would hide my intention. I continued to consider my options, not saying a word to Sorin. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself. I had to focus, gather my thoughts. I tried to clear my mind, thought of blue skies and puffy white clouds.
I really had no idea what Sorin saw when he looked at me or how much of my thoughts and feelings he could sense. I looked at him, into his still-sapphire eyes for a minute. Then I feared he would see right through me, so I looked away. I tried to survey the room again, slowly and calmly this time. It was pointless. He had thrown out all the pills Gina given me. There wasn’t a possibility of anything sharp or deadly lying around my room.

  “Mia?” His voice rose drastically, and I looked up at him. My heart fell a little; it didn’t matter what I wanted. Sorin was just feet from me, and he would not let me hurt myself. My mind kept searching for an option—something … anything. “You are up to no good, Mia,” he finally accused.

  “I am not,” I whispered, hoping to convince him. I looked at him as a realization suddenly dawned on me. Maybe trying to figure out a successful form of ending my life wasn’t the correct path—at least not while Sorin was around. Hovering near, with his eyes burning into me. Maybe Sorin was the method. I did have something life-ending in my room, after all. He was a vampire. It was in his nature to kill. My mind started to scramble for a way to make it happen. Maybe if I pushed him, made him mad. Would he attack me—kill me? I was unsure.

  There were still so many gaps in my knowledge of vampires. In the movies there was always violence. Vampires were violent, bloodthirsty creatures. They usually drained humans and left them for dead. But I would at least have to provoke him, push him to the edge somehow. I sat there and continued to plot. How to enrage him to the point of no self-control. I looked around the room again.

  He said my name again, accusing me of something. He wasn’t sure what yet. I was slowly losing hope. I didn’t know him well enough to accurately choose a subject to upset him with. I thought some more. Maybe upsetting him wasn’t the way, either. My eyes searched the mirror above my dresser. Recalling every little item on my dresser but deciding crossing the room was too risky. I was about to give up. Then I saw a reflection of them in the mirror.