I screw my eyes shut and grip the bar with both hands, almost tightly enough to scratch the wood. When I was human, and nervous, I used to hear the blood pounding in my ears so loudly, it would block out all other sound. And it's almost like that now, even though I have no heartbeat. I'm so scared of turning around, but I know that I must, and that fear blocks out everything. Right down to Scott's inane chatter.
Opening my eyes, I force my fingertips to let go of the bar. No scratches or marks, which surprises me. On shaking legs, I turn on the spot, bracing myself for the first sight in decades of the man who killed me.
I don't see him at first. The lighting in this bar isn't overwhelming, but nervous confusion stops me from focusing. And he comes into focus, like he's materialising in front of me. Strolling past a table where he knows someone, Adam stops, and I gasp, sure that this means he's sensed me in the room. But no, he's just saying a few words to someone sitting at that table. A friend? A past lover? Someone from whom he drank in the past?
And like Scott did earlier, I raise a hand to my neck and run my fingers over that long-faded scar. I only hope for this anonymous friend's sake that if Adam has drunk from him, no accidents have happened. It seems that way. He's smiling up at Adam, laughing.
I'm sure there's music playing; I heard it when I first came in, but no more. The faint hum of voices and glasses clinking dance around the edges of my consciousness but don't intrude on this focus on Adam.
He runs a hand down the back of his neck, and I shudder as if feeling his hand on my neck again after all these years.
At that point, he freezes, but for a simple cock of his head, and he's heard me. Sensed me, somehow.
He throws a glance over his shoulder, looking in my direction, not seeing me. I'm not close enough to see, but I imagine the vertical lines appearing at the bridge of his nose, as they always did whenever he frowned.
Adam continues to look around the room, and I'm just waiting, waiting for realisation to hit him.
I could turn around, hope he misses me, then sneak out when I judge the situation to be safe, but...
It's too late.
His mouth drops open, works a couple of times like he's chewing on his own uncertainty, and that oh-so-familiar frown? It's there. It's definitely there.
He stares, either trying to process what he sees or to remember me at all.
"Adam," I murmur, knowing he won't hear me at this distance; he's a supernatural being, but his hearing isn't that good. I wonder whether to say any more, but the pointless words, "It's me," are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Now, after all my nerves and fear and regret and second- guessing, I'm almost angry that he's taking this long to react beyond astonishment. He can't have forgotten me. Not me. Not us.
I've been leaning on the bar and straighten; he startles and takes a step back. Oh, so now he's the scared one. And it's all in my power.
I can't move for a few seconds; Scott's voice insinuates itself into my consciousness. Some nonsense asking if I'm all right, or what's going on. I'm not fully aware of anything except Adam grabbing a hold of the back of a chair, needing to steady himself all because he thinks he sees someone who looks like someone he used to know.
And on his territory.
Yeah, how d'y'like me now? I want to say before laughing in his face. I never knew I could be this malicious. I never knew Adam could be this thrown. I could enjoy this sense of power, if I weren't so on edge, waiting for the next move.
He pales. Strange to say that under the club's lighting, which would normally distort anyone's complexion, but I see it. What little blood there is drains from his face, and he presses a palm to his abdomen.
Going to throw up, Adam? Without thinking, I take a step forward. Am I going to help him through his temporary nausea, or confront him?
Throw accusations?
No matter. He answers the question for me by turning his back. Now this I didn't expect.
He looks at the exit then back at me.
Something works in his throat; is he swallowing back nerves? Wondering what to do now?
And he runs. I'm rooted to the spot while Adam pushes his way through the crowd and tries to get as far away from me as possible, as quickly as possible.
I never knew he was afraid of ghosts.
Chapter 10
"ADAM!" I ONLY START SHOUTING after he's run out of the club and I reach the exit seconds afterwards.
Indoors, such a loss of vocal control wouldn't have done any good. If anyone heard me above the music, they'd have dismissed me as a drunk or troublemaker. And all I want to do now is catch up with Adam and explain.
Strange, because at the start of this evening, I felt far differently. But now, after building myself up to...to what? A conversation with him?
Something? After building myself up to whatever, his denial of such an expectation has turned me in completely the opposite direction. Whatever Adam denies me, I want.
The doormen throw brief frowns at me, but nothing more than that. Frowns and curiosity, not punches. I could probably take them both at once; they look like mortals, and really, what can they do? Throw me out? I'm leaving anyway.
"You must really be something if you scared Padlock off," one of the doormen says, adding a brief chuckle, so I know he's not scared of me. Not challenging me to explain myself.
The use of his nickname reminds me that Adam's put down roots here, of a sort. I don't know how
