Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles 2)

“Put the car in park,” I say. Her breath comes out in little pants of pain. I have hurt her. Again. With my unstoppable need.

“Take it, take it.” Pain colors her voice as she whimpers. I cannot take it from her now.

“I am fine.”

“I am not!” Her face falls to the steering wheel as she curls in on herself. My need subsides in light of her pain. I push it away, struggling with two separate needs. My primal need for blood and my other need for her. One is stronger, at least this time.

“Ava?” Her pain has quieted a little, but she is still slumped against the steering wheel. Her parents will be concerned if we are not back to her house soon.

“It's better. It's getting better. Did you do that?”

“I am not sure.”

“Well that's good. I guess.” She seems unsure. “You could still have some. I know you want it.”

“I will pass.”

“Fine.” Her relief shivers along our connection. I have never felt that from her. A little bit of fear comes with the relief. She may love me, but she also fears me. That will never change, as long as she is human. As long as I can fight to keep her that way.

When she is able, she turns the car back on and drives the rest of the way to her house. I say nothing, not wishing to disturb her thoughts. They swirl like an angry wind, whipping her emotions around. It is impossible for me to keep track. So I listen and feel and watch.

Chapter Seven

Ava

Sometimes the Claiming is too much. I hate admitting that, because I love him and I love being in love with him and feeling so special when he looks at me. But being so tied to him is really hard. My emotions and his get so tangled up sometimes, I lose myself for a second.

It's a scary feeling, losing yourself. I am never prepared for it, but it happens. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. Peter is silent as I turn the car off. I feel his distance. He'd pulled back to give me some space. He was considerate like that.

He opens my door for me, and touches my face, knowing that I need some time alone.

“Goodnight, Ava.”

“Goodnight Peter.”

After he's gone, I slump against the car. I'm hungry and tired and I have to do homework, but I need a second. I take a few yoga breaths to stabilize myself. My stomach is fine now.

“Hello?” I call as I walk into the dark and quite house. I find it hard to believe Dad left her alone.

“Hey baby, I'm in here.” Mom's still in bed, sans wig, reading a bodice ripper that she tries to hide under the covers. Scandalous.

“Have you been in here all day?” Her lack of energy is more worrying than the dark circles under her eyes.

She shoves the book further under the blankets. Like I haven't already seen it. “No, I got up and cleaned a little. How was your day?”

“Fine.” Standard response.

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

“What did you learn?” I lean my chin on her pulled-up knees.

“That when in doubt, the answer is -1.”

The book falls to the floor with a clunk, but we both ignore it. “Even in English class?”

“For that, the answer is almost always deus ex machina.”

“Oh, very fancy.”

“It is, isn't it?” There's a tray beside her with a full bowl of soup that looks like it's been sitting there for quite a while.

“Not hungry?” She shrugs.

“I could make you something.”

“Your father went out to get pizza.” We'd eaten more takeout in the past several months than we had in my entire life. It couldn't be healthy, but with Mom out of commission, none of us really felt like taking over the cooking duties on a permanent basis. It would be like admitting defeat. I wasn't ready for that yet.

“He left you alone?”

“I had to beg him.”

“You and your feminine wiles.” She wiggles her eyebrows and we both laugh. “How are you feeling?” She holds up her hand, tipping it from one side to the other.

“I missed you today,” she says.

“Weren't we going to talk about me taking some time off school?” At least we did a few weeks ago before Dad put the kibosh on that.

“Yes. I'm not sure if it's a good idea.”

“But I thought –” She cuts me off.

“I don't want you sitting around and being my nurse. You're too young and I don't want to trap you like that.” I move off her knees and she tries to get up. It takes a moment before she can get completely vertical. I would offer to help, but she doesn't need me.

“You wouldn't be trapping me. I want to take care of you. You did it long enough for me.”

“That's different.”

“Just because you're my mother? Well, I'm your daughter. It goes both ways.” She shuffles toward the bathroom, and it breaks my heart how painful her little mincing steps look.

She leans on the bathroom door and closes her eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was going to fall asleep. “I know, baby. I just don't want this to drag you down, too.” I don't say that it's too late for that. I don't say that I'm getting dragged down by so many other things that the cancer isn't even the worst of it. She goes into the bathroom, and that ends the conversation.

I take the tray to the kitchen and wash the dishes, stacking them in the sink. I can't stand to be alone with the thoughts in my head so I turn on a Beatles cd that Mom loves.

Dad comes back as I'm getting out plates and silverware for the pizza.

“Hi,” I say.

His eyes race down the hall, as if he has x-ray vision and can ascertain her health through the door. “Hi. How is she?”

“Fine. I just checked on her.” He sets the box and a paper bag down on the counter. In the light of the kitchen, I spot a few gray hairs I don't remember seeing a few weeks ago. It's like the cancer isn't killing just her, but it's killing us, too.

“Good. I don't know if she's going to be up to eating out here, so it might just be the two of us.”

I nod. That should be fun.

He makes up the tray again with more soup, crackers and fruit and takes it in to her. I hear the murmur of their voices from down the hall. It is a mark of how sick she is that she can't even make it to the dinner table.

I make up a plate for both Dad and I. He comes out, pushing his hair back from his forehead. God, he looks tired. Like an old dishcloth that was once white, but is now gray and stained and wrung out.

We sit down, but there is a hole the size of South America where my mother is supposed to sit. We chew for a few minutes and I can feel he wants to say something.