chapter 22
Home. Michael didn’t know where home was any longer. It was supposed to be a place that offered comfort, protection, a place where he could breathe easily. But he didn’t know where on earth he’d be able to find any of that. None of it could be found in Weeping Water; his mother was gone from there; so was his grandmother. The only thing the town held for him now was an angry, spiteful grandfather, and a makeshift grave that contained the body of a bully. No, that town was lost to him forever.
Unfortunately, Archangel Academy, a place he had grown to love, didn’t offer him much more. There was no comfort knowing this was the place where his life ended, and no protection since he had no idea what else might happen to him here. And breathing? Was that what he was doing? Did vampires even breathe? He could hardly believe that vampires were real and that he was one of them. God, could that really be possible?! He felt like he was sleepwalking, like he was reading a book and suddenly the words had ripped themselves off the pages and infected his life. He had become Dorian, except that he had become an immortal unwittingly, a victim unknowingly. He felt so incredibly lost, so willing to shut out the world and hope that he would fade from it that he fell asleep seconds after he felt the softness of the pillow cradle his head. He vaguely remembered hearing Nakano ask Ciaran to watch over him while he slept. “I guess that makes me Double A’s resident babysitter,” Ciaran had said. “First Ronan and now Michael.”
Ronan. That name still made Michael ache with longing, pleasure, pain. But what was Ronan to him? Was he his boyfriend? His lover? A liar? Or just a fellow vampire? There’s that insane word again, that piece of fiction that was now, impossibly, fact. No, better not to think about it or him, better not to question at all. Just dream.
The rain was coming down in straight lines from the sky; there was no accompanying wind, no thunder, just long vertical rows of rain. Ronan was standing in front of the cathedral, the moonlight illuminating him from behind to create a glow around his face, an aura that made him look like an angel, like his face should be a carving on the cathedral itself. His black hair was plastered down in bangs, his white T-shirt so wet it looked as if it was sealed to his skin. He looked like a statue, unreal. But then he spoke. “Welcome home, Michael.”
“This isn’t my home!” Michael shouted, tears sliding down his face alongside streaks of rain. “You destroyed everything we had! Everything that could have been!”
“No,” Ronan gently corrected, rain dripping from his bangs onto his eyelashes, down to his unshaven chin, “I’ve made everything possible.”
Tossing in bed, Michael mumbled his name. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but even asleep he knew it was someone else’s touch. That was all right. Maybe dreaming was the only way he’d be able to be with Ronan again after what he’d done to him. So in his dream, Michael gave in to his passion and kissed Ronan. His lips tasted so sweet, wet with rain and rich with desire. It was only a few days since he had really kissed Ronan, but it felt like a lifetime. Underneath his T-shirt his skin was slick with rainwater, his body as hard as ever, and Michael felt like a warrior returning home to his lover after a long journey. Their passion intensified by their separation, their kisses a mere hint of the love they would share later on in the privacy of their own bedroom. If only this could be real, then yes, yes, there was no doubt in his mind that he would live his life with Ronan whether his life lasted for a day or for an eternity. But outside of his dream he just didn’t know if he could live his life as a vampire.
When he heard the voices, he knew they weren’t coming from inside his head. He was no longer alone. But he was too weak—physically and emotionally—to answer questions or speak with anyone, so he kept his eyes closed and listened.
“Thank you for calling me,” Ronan said, his voice quiet and scared.
“You don’t have much time,” Ciaran replied. “Kano won’t stay away much longer.”
Michael felt two strong arms lift him off the bed and he knew his head was resting on Ronan’s shoulder. His breath warmed his face, Ronan’s beautiful lips mere inches from his. He was taking him somewhere, maybe to that well, maybe somewhere far, far from here. It didn’t matter. Wherever Ronan was taking him, Michael couldn’t resist, so he decided not to open his eyes until they got there. Before they left the room, however, Michael felt Ronan pause.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Ciaran,” Ronan said.
“Does one brother ever fully understand the other?” Ciaran replied. Michael couldn’t see, but he sensed Ciaran had more to say. “I just ask … that no matter what happens from now on, no matter what happens to me, you continue to try. “
Tension spread throughout Ronan’s arms, his grip on Michael tightened, and Michael could feel Ronan nod his head hesitantly. “I promise.”
When they stopped moving, Michael opened his eyes and didn’t see a well; he didn’t see some exotic landscape. They were back in Ronan’s dorm room. They were back on the bed where they had first made love, where Ronan had taken his life. Desperately, Michael tried to cling to the memories of being ravished, but all he grabbed on to were the memories of being destroyed. If he had more strength, he would have hurled questions, accusations at Ronan, but what would that do? What would that change? Nothing, absolutely nothing. There was no way to erase what was already done, so he remained silent.
Ronan desperately wanted to explain his actions to Michael, but words were useless now. He knew that Michael didn’t want to hear that they were bound by love, bound by destiny and the wisdom of The Well. He didn’t want to hear Ronan admit that he was scared to tell Michael the truth, the real truth about his being a vampire, because he was too afraid of losing him, too afraid of Michael turning away from him forever. And Michael definitely didn’t want to hear Ronan confess that Michael made him forget he had ever been hurt and betrayed and that he reminded him eternal love was possible. No, nothing Ronan could say would change what he had done. He was completely aware that very soon they would both have to find a way to live with the consequences of his actions, but for now he, like Michael, chose to live in silence.
Surrounded by quiet, the two boys sat on the bed, a small, but impenetrable space between them. It was as if the fog had returned and created a physical barrier. But even though they didn’t touch, even though soft never made contact with rough, their eyes never left each other. His eyes are still so beautiful, Michael thought, looking at them, into them, fully aware that Ronan was doing the same to him. Their gazes unencumbered by words, Michael embraced the tranquility. How wonderful to be silent after all the chaos, the upheaval, the unsettling events at Weeping Water. It was nice to have a moment not filled. But even though the room was silent, it was full.
Beauty, ugliness, love, outrage all were embodied in the silence, each finding a home there. For now they shared the space equally, but Michael and Ronan both knew that soon the balance would be broken and one would become the stronger. Which one would prevail, neither boy could guess.
Outside, the wind stirred, rattling the window, a reminder that movement was inevitable. Ronan realized he could say nothing to explain away his actions or beg for forgiveness. He was certain that Michael had agreed to give his heart and soul to him when he thought they were both human; he only prayed he would give them to him now when they were not. But the decision had to be Michael’s alone.
Quietly, he got off the bed and, with one more look at the boy he loved but without a word, left the room. Left before Michael could see the sadness engulf his body, left Michael behind to decide if love would consume the space that existed between them or if outrage would win out. After the door closed, Michael waited. He waited for the silence to be replaced with a moment of clarity, a moment that would give him direction. But none came. The quiet was replaced, however, by music.
Getting off the bed, Michael held on to the end table and then the dresser to steady himself before picking up his cell phone. “Hello?”
“Michael, it’s your father. How was the funeral?”
Blunt as ever. “Depressing, final, like most funerals.”
Still rebellious, Vaughan noticed. I guess this insolent, teenaged thing is going to last a while longer. “Well, I’m glad that you were able to say good-bye. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be there with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Aimlessly, Michael started to walk around the room. “You never liked Grandma and you never liked spending time with me.”
