I yawned as I flipped through the title pages to the first chapter. I fell into the familiar words, the world of the South and Tara and the Civil war. It wasn’t long before I had fallen asleep, my head resting against the hard wood of my headboard.
I WAS WEARING A HOOP skirt in my dream, reminiscent of the beautiful dresses Vivian Leigh wore as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. I was at St. Joseph’s again, at the dance, but instead of apples hanging from the branches, there were peaches, and they dripped sweet nectar all over the floor. My satin slippers stuck to the floor as I made my way through the courtyard, lifting my overwhelming skirts. I could feel the pain of the tight corset around me and winced.
“Miss Valentine, would you extend me the honor of being my partner for this dance?”
I turned, my skirt swishing around me, to find Ash standing in front of me, like always. He was dressed differently though, in the high waist trousers and coat of an old southern gentleman. He took my hands in his, led me out to the dance floor and pulled me into a proper waltz with a respectable distance between us, nothing like the dance we had shared at the Strictly Take-Out concert.
“Do you love me, Miss Valentine?” he asked, his voice echoing in the room. “Could you possibly love me?”
“Why are you calling me that?” I asked, my head tilted to the side in confusion. The classmates around me, dancing with us, started chanting my name, softly, as they danced in unison with us.
“I love you, Zoey Valentine,” Ash said, ignoring my question and looking down at me with absolutely adoration. “There is no other girl in this world but you.”
I frowned but let him lead me around the dance floor. I looked around me and noticed that the skin tones of my classmates were a distinct blue shade. I gasped, watching as they sunk their teeth into each other, devouring pieces of flesh before resuming their careful steps, as if there wasn’t blood dripping down their chins, as if this was completely normal. I looked back up at Ash, who was grinning down at me, each one of his teeth filed into a perfect, gleaming point.
I pushed myself away from him, horrified. His quick hands came out to me, latching onto one of my arms, and he dragged me back to him. “Don’t leave me, Miss Valentine,” he begged, his voice a chilling echo.
“Leave me alone,” I pleaded, trying to pull my arm free of his grip. “Please. Leave me alone.”
“I can’t,” he said mournfully, his fingers tracing circles on my skin. He lowered his head to my wrist, sinking his sharp teeth into the skin there. Blood pooled around his mouth, and I screamed. A moan escaped his lips, a moan of pleasure, and I felt it up and down my spine. He captured my skin in his mouth again, tearing at the flesh there, and I woke up screaming.
“Shhh…shhhh. It’s okay.”
My eyes flew open, and I shrieked when I saw Ash’s face so close to mine. I pushed him away, panicked, ready to fight him. He held my wrists and let me flail around, whispering softly to me. My heart rate slowed, and my surroundings came back to me. I was in my bed. I was at my mom’s house. Ash was not an Awakened. It was fine. Tears streamed down my face, and I looked back up at Ash, ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, in between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry. Did I hit you?”
He smiled slightly. “You have a nice right hook. It’s fine. Are you okay?”
I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes and peered up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. The room came more into focus, and there was a little bit of light from the moon streaming in through the blinds, casting Ash’s face into view. It was full of concern as he waited patiently for me to calm down, his hands till grasping my wrists. I looked down at them. He followed my line of sight and dropped them. “I’m fine. I think I should just go back to bed.”
“Zoey,” he said, softly. I looked up at him. “I don’t think you’re okay. But that’s not a bad thing. You don’t have to be okay. No one would be.”
I felt my lips tremble. I pressed them tight together, holding back the sobs that I had been holding in for days. I felt the tears well up in the corners of my eyes, dripping down my face, and I knew there was no force in the world to keep them held back any longer. I didn’t want to keep them back. I was overwhelmed. I tried to be strong for so long, to take care of myself, to take care of Ash, to focus on our safety that I never gave myself a chance to mourn. I never mourned Bandit. I never mourned New York City. I never mourned Madison or the way my life was before. I never mourned my dad.
“It’s okay to cry, Z; no one is going to judge you. I’m here.”
I didn’t know if it was his words whispered to me in the darkness or my dam finally collapsing, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I covered my mouth, but the sobs came through loud and wild and full of pain.
“I killed Madison. I killed her, Ash. I killed my best friend.” The words felt like they were being yanked out of me. “And my dad…and everyone. They’re all gone. They’re gone.”
“I know, I know.” His words were soft, gentle, understanding.
“Madison…Dad…Bandit…”
I cried until my eyes ran dry. It was an ugly cry. I knew my eyes were bloodshot, and my nose was red, and I knew I was covered in tears and snot. I was crying so hard I was choking on the sobs, finding it hard to breathe. I cried so hard that I didn’t even realize that Ash had crawled into bed with me and had pulled me into his arms. I cried myself dry, until there was nothing left in me.
I stayed quiet for a few minutes, my forehead pressed to his chest, breathing heavily before I said quietly, “I think you probably have to change your shirt now.” I pulled back, placing my palm on his chest, and feeling the wetness of my tears and snot on it. I cringed. “I’m sorry. I cried all over you.”
His arms were wrapped firmly around me, even as I pulled away. “It’s fine. How do you feel now?”
I thought about it. “Better. Much better. Not good though.”
“Good will come. Eventually,” he said. “Don’t rush for good. Just keep trying to get better. Just a little better each day.”
A small smile crept up onto my face. “When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been like that,” he said, laughter in his voice. “You’ve just never noticed before.” His arms left my body, and I felt a rush of cold air around me. “Get some sleep.” He started crawling over to his trundle bed.
I hesitated, and then said, “Ash?”
He looked back at me. “Yeah?”
“Can you…” I squirmed uncontrollably, hardly believing what I was about to ask him. “Can you stay here, with me?”
His eyebrow rose in confusion. “I’m not going anywhere.” I didn’t answer, just lifted the blanket and scooted over, not meeting his eyes. “Oh. Oh!”
The next few seconds were the like the longest seconds of my life. When I felt the bed sink down from his weight and the warmth of his body under the covers with me, I felt like letting out a sigh of relief. I didn’t though of course; I just scooted over to lie down with my back to Ash. His hand crept across the blanket before meeting mine. I jerked back before letting his fingers intertwine with mine. The sound of deep breaths met my ears a moment later, and I fell asleep, my hand clutched in his.
THE NEXT TIME I WOKE, it was morning, and I felt warm. No, I felt hot, stifling. I noted that the blanket was not wrapped around me, but there was a solid presence against my back. I opened my eyes slowly and looked over my shoulder, finding Ash pressed tightly against me, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. He didn’t move, except to wrap his arm tighter around my waist. His hand was still intertwined with mine. I traced circles in his palm with the pad of my thumb. I was afraid to move or breathe. I didn’t want to break the spell that was cast over the two of us that made it okay for us to sleep like that.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d lain there before I heard a hitch in his breathing, and his grip loosened. I froze and then slowly looked over my shoulder again. Ash’s
eyes were open, drowsy with sleep. He yawned widely and then looked down at me, his hand rested gently on my hip. His eyes widened when he realized how close we were, and he pulled away.
“Shit. Sorry, Zoey,” he said, pulling his hand away from my bare hip. Why the hell did I sleep in just a tank top and my undies? Why didn’t I exercise more restraint when having St. Joseph’s star quarterback in my bed? “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine,” I said, stiffly, pulling the blanket up over my legs. “Can you maybe just…get out of my bed? Please?”
He ran a hand through his messy hair, and I saw the slight shadow along his chin and jawline. I suddenly had the urge to run my hands across it, to feel the roughness of his skin. I leaned forward, our faces so close. He looked surprised, his sleepy eyes wide. My hand lifted to his face as if it had a mind of its own, and I found myself cupping his cheek in my palm. Ash was incredibly still, waiting to see what I would do.
My entire body was shaking, and I moved myself closer, pressing my lips tight against his before pulling back, shocked at my own movements. Ash watched me in shock, his breath coming out quickly before he darted forward and captured me back in a forceful kiss, his hand wrapped tightly around the back of my neck. I gasped and fell backward, my arms out in a shield. “No, don’t…don’t do that,” I said, scrambling away from him.
Ash was still on the bed, his hair ruffled and his eyes wide from surprise, his lips red from the pressure. “Zoey…”
“No, just don’t…” I said, grabbing shorts from the drawer and pulling them over my underwear. “Don’t kiss me.”
He sat back, rubbing his brow, looking perplexed. “Okay, I won’t kiss you.”
I was still trembling. “Good. Great.” I spun on my heel and practically ran out of the room, doing the best I could to hide my flaming face as I went.
I spent the next few days avoiding both Ash and my mother in turn. When they entered a room I was already occupying, I found an excuse to leave it. I spent most of my time locked up in my room, reading. I knew I would eventually have to give in and focus on the survival of the three of us, but for now, I was ready to pout for hours alone in my bedroom.
On the fourth night that we were there, I woke again in the middle of the night in a cold shaking sweat, my sobs echoing in the silent room. I didn’t say a word as Ash climbed into the bed next to me, pulling the covers over both of us. His arms wrapped tightly around me, his fingertips gently on my arms as he soothed me back to sleep. It became an unspoken agreement between the two of us. Most nights he skipped the trundle bed altogether and climbed under the covers, and the nightmares became few and far between.
We had been at the house in Constance for a couple weeks, and I was beginning to go mad. My mom’s house was at least a mile or two outside the main center of town, and the only interactions I had were with Ash and my mom. Occasionally I kept company with my mom’s old horse Kismet and my pony Pumpkin.
But the humans were the main source of the stir craziness.
My mom was acting as if the world was carrying on, as if the US government hadn’t bombed several major cities into nonexistence, as if a third of the population wasn’t transformed into something nearly unrecognizable. She spent most of her days cleaning the already immaculate house, taking care of the horses or reading.
She also made everything difficult when it came to survival. She held my dad’s old gun as if it had offended her. Any attempts to teach her any sort of combat, even the most basic of self-defense, was contested until it was pointless to continue.
Ash wasn’t much help with this. In the relative safety that Constance and my mother’s house provided, he had gained an inflated sense of security. At night, he was sweet, though he never said a word as he climbed into bed to comfort me. During the day, he had returned to his normal self. His confidence was back, possibly borne of the consistent showers that had not been available to him. He joked often with my mom while they cleaned together, and he returned to teasing me.
I felt trapped and alone in my own house.
I opened the fridge door in search of something to drink. I had spent the morning running around the property, determined that I would not become lazy and complacent in the safety of the house. I sighed in exasperation when I spotted something in the vegetable crisper that definitely didn’t belong there.
“Mom, seriously?” I yanked the gun out from the drawer and held it out to her. She was sitting at the dining room table, a romance novel open in front of her as she sipped her tea. She made a face and took it. “How on earth did that end up in the vegetable drawer? Honestly?”
She shrugged, seeming unconcerned. “I went into the fridge to get some milk for my tea and must have left it in there by accident.”
“You need to keep it with you at all times, Mother,” I said, slowly, trying as hard as I could to keep a fair level of patience in my voice. “That’s what the holster is for.”
Her eyes flashed up at me, her tone was firm. “It’s excessive, Zoey. It’s unnecessary. We are safe. I can defend myself if need be, but there is no need for me to carry the gun with me at all times.”
I opened my mouth to protest but shook my head. “Just keep it with you.” I slid it across the table to her, where it bumped lightly with her cup of tea, some of it splashing onto the table. I felt a pair of eyes on me and looked up to the doorway. Ash stood there, watching our exchange. My eyes went to his waist, and I was relieved to see his gun was holstered there. Despite everything else, at least he had managed to do that.
“I’m going upstairs,” I said to no one in particular, stomping past Ash and making my way upstairs and into my bedroom. I closed the door quietly behind me. I crossed over to the bedside table and opened the tiny drawer that was there. I kept pictures in there of Bandit, Madison and my dad, pictures to tide me over when I spent random holidays with my mom and Caspar.
I climbed up onto my bed, folding my legs underneath me. I held the pictures in my lap and flipped through them slowly. Bandit and I when we first brought him home from the shelter. The red bow around his neck was larger than his head was as a small puppy. There was a picture of Madison and I at Coney Island, the pink stickiness of cotton candy on both of our cheeks. The picture had been taken just as Madison had burst out laughing, her small mouth open wide. There were several pictures of my dad and myself: at Katz Deli, at more than one Mets game, at my junior high school graduation, the two of us at Christmas.
I felt the tears prick at the corner of my eyes, but they didn’t fall. I was beginning to think that I was all dried up, incapable of crying anymore. I felt the emptiness deep in my heart, in my stomach, my whole body, but I couldn’t find it in myself to cry anymore.
I jumped when the door burst open. I was poised to yell at Ash for not knocking for the millionth time when I looked up and saw my mom. She closed the door behind her, crossed the room and took a seat at the chair set up in front of the small desk she had added in my room a couple years ago. She had a serious look on her face, and I wondered for a moment if I was going to be scolded for nagging. I set the pictures aside, laying them gently on the table beside the bed.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Yeah, I was definitely in trouble.
“About what?” I asked, avoiding eye contact with her, my fingers tracing the raised scar on my hand where Madison had bit me.
“About the fact that you act like every minute spent here is the worst, as if you’re in some sort of prison.”
I looked over my pillow, my headboard, out the window, anywhere but her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answered, my voice full of impatience. “I am grateful to have made it to Constance. I’m grateful that I’m relatively safe.”
She sighed, running her hands through her blonde hair, so unlike my own dark hair. Sometimes it amazed me how little I looked like my own mother. “I don’t disagree with you, Zoey. I believe you are happy that you are safe. I don’t think you’re happy t
hat you’re safe here with me. Or Ash for that matter.”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “I brought Ash with me, all the way from New York. I kept him safe, and he kept me safe. You will never understand what we went through to get here.”
“I know I won’t, but…”
“Was there a purpose to you being here in my room?” I interrupted.
She drew herself up straight, all pretenses gone. “Zoey Elizabeth, I am so tired of this. I am so tired of your shit. I’ve been putting up with this nonstop attitude of yours for years now, and I’m so tired of it. I am your mother, whether you like it or not. I’ve apologized a million times, done a million things to get you to forgive me. You refuse to forgive me. And now, in the situation we are in, you can’t find it in yourself to forgive me now? Your dad is gone, and Caspar is probably gone too. We are all each other has left.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “Now can we do this, please? I will work harder to learn to defend myself, if that’s what you want. But only if you promise to try and give me a chance. Because I can’t be the only one who is trying. It’s not fair. Ash is changing, and I’m trying to change. It’s your turn.”
“You didn’t even know Ash,” I muttered, but I knew she was right. They both obviously were trying. They were still infuriating but they were trying. My mom gave me a look and I sighed, feeling frustrated. “It’s just not that easy. I’m asking you to defend yourself, to do something you should be doing anyway. You’re asking me to forgive you, like you forgot to pack my lunch for school or lied to me about Santa Claus. It’s not that easy. It’s not that simple.”
“I’m not saying anything about easy. I’m talking about necessary. This is not the time for us to be like this. It’s not the time for both of us to basically tiptoe around each other. What if I die? What if I die, what if you die, and this is how it is between us?”
The Awakened Page 17
