Page 21 of To Save a Vampire
I remove my hand from his neck, realizing how inappropriate it was for me to touch him for no reason. He picks up my palm and writes again.
I don’t usually.
His response leaves me quiet and unsure of what to say. How awful it must be to never voice your opinion or speak your feelings. My stomach drops at the thought of what it must be like. Of the pain he has suffered from basic human contact.
“That’s terrible.”
It could be worse.
After his words are written, he continues to trace circles into my palm with his thumb until I wonder if I should leave. I came to ask him questions about my mother, but now I want to stay to ask him questions about himself.
“I should go,” I say, moving to the edge of the bed to stand.
He tightens his hold on my hand and doesn’t let go, making me glance back at his pale gray eyes. He writes against my wrist, making me shiver.
Stay.
This small word tugs at my heart harder than the sad confessions he’s already admitted.
“I—I don’t think it would be appropriate,” I say politely.
My thoughts instantly drift to my mother standing just downstairs. How, during the silence, I can hear her speak through the old wooden floor.
I meant. I—
He pauses looking for words.
“I just want to get to know you. The real you. Not the you your mother portrays. Not the silent you your mother likes,” he says in a raspy tone before closing his eyes and swallowing hard.
His words make my stomach twist in pain and make me think about if anyone really sees the real me. I sit down without hesitation. I already know my mother tries to control everything, not in a cruel way, but in an overly-protective-mother sense. Something else pulls at my thoughts.
“Why do you want to know me?” I ask, my eyes never leaving his beautiful face.
He stops to think about his response. The luxury of not having a voice, I suppose, is never speaking thoughtlessly.
His lips part for a moment, before hesitantly replying. “Because you treat me like I’m human. Not like an animal to control or someone who deserves what he’s gotten but like someone who actually feels the pain of repression.”
He was repressed. I’m oppressed. In a way. Told what to do and who to spend my life with, but then having those plans pulled out from under me without explanation. I’ll help Forty-four as much as I can, because in a way, I wish I had someone to help me.
I think about his words, but I still feel uneasy and afraid of my next question. A question that never occurred to me before now.
“My unity partner went missing last year. His name was Micah Rixton. Do you know him?” My throat tightens with fear from what his response might be.
Confusion crosses his face, his brows creasing as he hesitates to answer me about my unity partner. With hesitation grows doubt, and I realize, no matter what his answer is, he has instilled doubt into the depths of my mind. It might always be there.
No.
I take a breath and attempt to swallow. I force myself to believe him. I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or anxious. Micah is still a mystery. One I may never know the answer to. I hope he’s safe, wherever he is.
“What’s your real name?” I ask, trying to avoid the lingering doubt. “I hate calling you Forty-four,” I say leaning back against his pillow.
He smirks down at me. Our shoulders touch lightly.
He spells letters into my palm. Letters that define him truly for who he is. Two words that make up him as a person.
Asher Xavier.
A strong name. A suiting name.
