Page 34 of Even Vampires Bleed
I’m a mess, and I don’t know what to do to change that.
“Are you going to be okay?” Léandre asks.
At least he didn’t ask if Iwasokay.
I want to tell him I don’t know, but all I do is nod and his hands leave my skin.
“You’re sure?” he asks again, and when I nod this time, I try to make it convincing.
He looks at me dubiously, but still retreats to our door. His door.
He waits until I’m walking away and then I hear the door close.
And I know this was the sound of our relationship ending.
And he might still be alive, but I’ll still have to mourn him.
18
Cassiopé
It takes me another few minutes to collect myself, and then I finally walk down the stairs.
I’m heading for Elhyor’s office, and I’m hoping that Angie won’t be there, because at least with Elhyor there is a chance it can be efficient. I can say my piece and then go wallow in my pain in my room.
Wait, I don’t have a room anymore.
Add that to the list—I need to ask Elhyor for a new one. I also need new clothes because there is no way I’m forcing my way back there in search of my things.
I knock on Elhyor’s door, and I’m immediately beckoned inside.
Oh shoot. No luck.
Angie is sitting on Elhyor’s desk, and it looks like I might be interrupting something.
If it were for any other reason, I might have backtracked and left them to their fun, but I want to be done with this conversation as soon as possible. I refuse to delay the inevitable.
“What’s wrong?” Elhyor asks when he sees my face.
I grew up with him around, so he’s like a fun uncle to me, usually. Not today, though. Today he looks like he has seen a ghost, or maybe I’m the ghost and he’s worried about me. I don’t really know. I don’treally want to know. I just want to go hide with a book and escape to another reality.
“Léandre’s microchip went off,” I say, without trying to sugarcoat it.
It’s not that I want them to suffer because of the news, but I don’t have the mental strength to be strong for others right now.
It might make me look like a bitch, but I’m so freaking tired that I can’t deal with that.
“What?” Angie asks with a gasp.
“He doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t even remember his own name,” I say with as much strength in my voice as I can muster.
I still sound like I’m on the edge of crying.
Might be because I am. Once again.
“Somehow, he still remembers that our room is his room, though,” I add with a small laugh.
Except the laugh doesn’t stop, and now I sound like a maniac.
