“You… you stole them? From celebrities?”
Aston scoffs dramatically.
“Celebrities are meant to be celebrated, are they not?”
“With petty theft? No, I don’t think that’s what their title means.”
“I was quiet. No one even noticed. And if they did, they’ll print themselves a new gold-plated record to gather dust in their empty condos. These ones are mine.”
He filters absently through his shelves until he seems to find what he’s looking for. The vinyl that he pulls from the sleeve catches the light of the chandelier with a black shine across the surface. He places it incredulously carefully on an antique turntable.
A beat of static silence passes before a symphony of music I couldn’t recognize if I tried plays out for us. His eyes close as he sits on the edge of the chaise.
It has a nice beat, nothing wrong with it at all, But for Aston, it seems to send out a wave of calm euphoria that I can feel tingle through my own chest.
That’s what music does for people. It provides us with emotions that we can’t describe or explain.
And Aston lives for it.
Because he has so little of his own to hold on to, I guess.
“I like it,” I whisper.
He nods with that pleased smile still ghosting his lips.
“Sit down. Read,” he waves vaguely at my sister’s book in my hand.
I take a seat next to him, our elbows brushing as I try to turn away to open the diary. My back leans into the chair with my legs tilting off just near Aston’s thighs. He doesn’t watch me, even if he is acutely aware of my every move. He just leans back against the wall and seems to lose himself in the melody. I know he’s pretending not to care what’s in this notebook. He’s also pretending not to be aware of me.
All the while keeping me company. Distracting me if I need it, but giving me space as well.
My heart melts as I watch him avoid me entirely. He blatantly ignores me, really. He’s better at it than most children even.
It’s sweet, in an awkward way.
How could I ever have thought he was my sister’s tormenter?
I take a slow breath in, despite my lungs protesting that there isn’t enough space within the tightness of my chest.
Then I open the journal.
July 19th
Men are trash.
Recyclable and reusable.
But still terrible for the environment.
A loud laugh falls from my lips before I can stop it as I stare down at the short but adamant entry. Aston peers at me from the corner of his eye, but when I cover my smile with my palm he abruptly looks away.
I close my eyes as I imagine her painted red lips saying those few lines. She’d never! As a vampire, she kept our time together rather short and to the point. She asked about our parents, and myself. Short small talk that didn’t really resemble the person I remembered at all.
But as my sister, she was always witty and funny.
And for some reason, this entry reminds me of that side of her.
Even if there was a darker meaning and reminder lying just beneath the surface of these inky words.
I flip through the entries until a more recent date appears.
September 1st
Confessing to Kira how hard life has been here was strange. It felt… painful to talk about it. I know I need to, but I guess after two years I’m still not ready.
Maybe I’ll never speak his name to anyone as long as I walk this Earth, but at least I know he doesn’t have the power to push me down any more. He can pretend all he wants, but we both know what he did. What he’s still doing. I’ve shut my mouth and kept to myself here in Crimson City, but I’m not alone.
Kira still cares about me.
And someday I’ll be able to tell her more than just a few small details about the man who took everything from me.
My stomach sinks fast and hard.
He used her and turned her and eventually killed her, and still that wasn’t enough? He controlled her life here, too?
My memories of every single one of our meetings begin flashing before my eyes.
Kyra wasn’t clipped and careless with our short time together. She was trained, and afraid to speak. To anyone. He took everything about her away.
Who was he?
Pavel? Rival? Aston? A member of Creature Control?
Who?!
I close the book for a moment, and I find myself holding it to my chest.
The same way I wish I would have held Kyra. I should have reassured her more. I should have tried harder. I should have told her she was loved and missed and…
“Are you all right?” A gentle voice asks just as a hand slips over my ankle and I realize I’ve pulled my legs up to my chest and basically used Aston as a footrest while I all but kicked him off his lounge.
“Oh,” I try to move away, but he pulls back at my leg slowly.
My lips close softly as he brings my feet onto his lap and just looks at me with so much concern in his big, shining eyes.
“You can feel every single thing I feel, can’t you?” I ask slowly as I understand why he’s so good at knowing what I need.
Aston nods.
“Why does everyone hate you if you’re so…” I lift my hands, but I can’t think of the right phrasing. “Good at reading people?”
His smile is slow to creep across his face.
“Because human emotions are unstilted. Even the ones who try, they aren’t very good at concealing their guilt, or rage, or their happiness. Whereas vampires won’t give up those emotions so easily, I have to pry it out of them. Antagonize it out of them sometimes. Enrage it out of them if I need to.” He smirks at those words, but I sense that it bothers him more than he would ever admit.
I nod, and he’s absolutely right. I’m terrible at hiding myself
