Saturday November 22nd 2014

“What do you feel like wearing today?” Cesare asked as he slipped out of bed.

“I don’t know. I’m thinking I might just stay here,” Anastasia said.

“We talked about this. You’re coming with me. Elizabeth’s cool with it, I told you that.”

“Sure, she is,” Anastasia said dryly, completely unconvinced that the teacher who hated her happy she was crashing the private time she spent with Cesare.

“You saying I’m lying?” Cesare challenged as he gathered her underwear and bra.

“No, but you’re not telling me everything,” When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “You’ve done more than anyone could have asked you to, Cesare. I can … I can handle one day by myself.”

He sat on the bed as he sighed, carefully taking her still heavily wrapped hands in his. “Truth time. Do you want to come with me?”

“I can stay by myself. Really, I’ll be okay.” It was the poisoned sweetness of a lie you tell yourself.

“Not what I asked,” Cesare corrected. “Now, do you want to come with me?”

Her raw, empty eye sockets stared at him for a scarlet second before she gave a hesitant nod. “Well then, what do you want to wear?” Cesare asked softly.

“She won't like it. You’ve done so much … I don’t want to hurt what you have with her.”

“A friend in need comes first. And right now, that’s you. She’s okay with it. Is she thrilled? No. Is she mad? No. She understands this is what I need to do, and that I’m not going to let you go through this alone. So, can we shelve the stupid idea of you staying here all alone and move on to what you want to wear?” Cesare asked.

“Jeans—I have some blue jeans with built in thermals that I like—a nice green t-shirt, and my black sweater. And Cesare, quit picking out the lacy underwear, ya perv. I have some nice, warm, white ones that are a lot more comfortable.”

“What’s the difference?” Cesare asked while he dug through her clothes. Anastasia turned her face to follow him, homing in on the sound of his voice.

“Do you like walking around with something digging into your ass crack?” Anastasia asked pointedly. “They look nice and guys go wild for them, but comfortable? Not so much.”

“Then why wear it? Lots of guys looking at your underwear?” Cesare asked, finding the white underwear at the bottom of the drawer.

“You’d be surprised. Lots of pervy guys get off on that. But to answer your question, wearing something pretty makes a girl feel pretty. And that, Cesare, makes a world of difference,” Anastasia explained.

After a week of long mornings, they'd gotten their ritual down to an hour. Cesare was wheeling her out of the bathroom as Alexandra came through the door. She’d been more than happy to accept the invitation to join them in working for Elizabeth today. Cesare couldn’t see making time for one friend in need and not the other. Alexandra had taken a seat next to him at the pariah club. With no one coming forward to take the place of the plastic bitches, she was as alone as him.

Without the vampire, the plan would've died still born. Anastasia was a tempting target. Powerful, connected, and rich, she was locked in a death race with the other titans. Butchering her would buy them a piece of the glory she'd bled for. Sheathed in her skin, they'd take the resources she'd killed for. The only thing that stopped them was Alexandra.

With her back to them, Elizabeth was gathering up the tools they'd need when they joined her in the cottage. As the door shut behind them, she started talking without turning around. “Cesare, you’re going to be back on supervisor duty, so keep an eye on Alexandra.”

Elizabeth kept working, setting things out with only brief instructions on what she wanted done. When she finally turned around, Cesare caught sight of her for the first time. In all the weekends they’d spent together, she’d never worn her gothic face. Well, except for the time when they’d gone to the Sanguine Nativitate. Even when Alexandra had joined them, she’d left it off, but today she’d decided she needed it.

Her shoulders were bared, showing corpse-pale skin spider webbed with fine traceries of blue. Starkly scarlet, her lips were a bloody wound across her face, plump as well fed leaches. She'd done her eyes in a purple that darkened into bruised black, shading her eyes until they were black pools of elder secrets. Razor straight sable hair flowed down her back in a shining river of stygian radiance. She was beautiful, a gothic dream in shades of night. But why had she done this today? Elizabeth lengthened her strides as she led them out of the cottage, deliberately distancing herself.

It was cold out, but there was never a question of where they’d eat. Cesare laid a blanket across the cold stone steps and helped Anastasia take her seat. He couldn’t leave her in the wheelchair. Not after a lifetime of knowing what it was like to be on the outside looking in.

He fed Anastasia from her meal box while the others ate. She tried to hold the straw in her mouth, but lacerated lips and melted muscles were no match for slippery plastic. He kept it as steady as he could, cleaning up the dribbles that escaped.

She waited for him to clean her face with baby wipes as the other women carefully kept their eyes off her. “Thanks.” The word was a whisper of shame.

Now that Anastasia had gotten her lunch, Cesare started in on his own tray. She moved closer to his side as he ate, winding an arm around his waist while leaning into him. Her other arm came around to rest on his thigh. Carefully, oh so carefully, she laid her head down on his shoulder. The intimacy was a clawing need as strong as hunger for the akatharton.

His casual acceptance of her touch soothed something maimed in the attack. It was more than just wanting to be touched, it was the keystone of normal. An anchor to a past life when she had everything, a promise that she’d have something beyond the tortured now. She'd always known he wanted her, had always known he got hungered for her touch. She wanted—needed—that feeling, to know that at least one person still felt that way about her.

“Christmas is coming,” Alexandra said, a little too casually as she looked out over the campus.

Elizabeth corrected her sharply. “Yes, Yule is coming.” Brimming with hostility, she was itching for a fight.

“What happens around here for the Winter Holiday?” Cesare cut in.

Elizabeth smoothly moved into the sudden silence. “Primrose has a Winter Ball in the Cathedral Luminis. We herald in the new year and the dying of the Holly King with a dance.”

“No presents?” Cesare asked, relieved for once.

Their sudden silence gave the plan away. It wasn’t a hidden fact that he didn’t have money. In their eyes, it was the perfect chance to lavish him with presents and give him everything he’d never had.

They didn’t understand because they’d never had nothing. He didn’t want anyone to make it better. Yes, he was poor and homeless, but it was still his life. If it was going to get better, he wanted to be the one to do it.

“I don’t want anything.” Alexandra and Anastasia both turned toward him, mouths open in protest, while Elizabeth kept her eyes on her ravens. “I’m not a charity case, I don't need you to make it right. I’m a person, and I don’t want your pity.”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Alexandra argued.

“It’s all I’d see. I don’t need anything you could buy; all I need is your friendship.” The women turned their eyes down at his words, it was the one thing they’d never given him. They could buy him the tools of the rich, but the one thing he wanted was what they’d denied him despite the blood he’d spilled for them.

Walking back to the cottage, Cesare couldn’t help the scowl he shot the others. Alexandra had stayed fresh and clean despite doing the lion's share of the lifting and weeding. Somehow, Cesare had still ended up sweaty and coated in dirt. Elizabeth was as perfectly made up as when they'd started, without a smudged cheek or a hair out of place.

Once they got inside the cottage, Cesare turned to the vampire. “Alexandra, can you set up the chess pieces? I’ll help Elizabeth with the ...”

Putting the tools away with her back to them, Elizabeth cut him off. “I’m not sure we have time tonight. I have some papers to grade.”

Cesare set Anastasia by the table, fingers running across her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, princess.” As he walked toward Elizabeth, his words were cast over his shoulder. “Set it up, killer.” He knew Alexandra would do what he asked, no matter what Elizabeth wanted.

Stiff and angry, Elizabeth stopped pretending to be working. Leaning on the table with her back to him, Cesare could only see her profile. “What’s wrong?”

Body tensed hard enough to snap, she was holding herself together with sheer will. “Just leave,” she commanded and begged in the same breath.

“No.” Cesare stood his ground. He wouldn't leave her to hurt alone. Maybe it was the wrong choice. Maybe he should give her time to cool down, but that wasn’t in him. “Tell me what’s wrong so we can fix it.”

He could and would stay the night if that’s what it took, and she knew it. “You said this was our time. I know that sounds childish. Fine, I’m being childish, but this was our time. A time where you weren’t my student and I wasn’t a washed up woman in lo … it was our time … a place where we didn’t need to pretend. I know you need to help them, but that doesn’t change that you chose them over me.”

“Who says we need to pretend?”

She barked out a short, bitter laugh. “Really?”

“I don’t think Alexandra or Anastasia are the type to spread rumors and even if they do, what are they going to say? That we’re friends?” Sighing, some of the aggressive anger that swirled around her seemed to bleed away.

“I didn't choose them over you. Right now, they need me, but I’m still here with you. I chose to be here with you. Right now. Right here.”

“You’re with them all week. You sleep with her and do things … Cesare, I can’t compete with that. This is what your life should be. Surrounded by beautiful girls, enjoying this time, finding your place in the world. I’m old, Cesare. All my dreams withered and died. It’s … this was a mistake. We should never have started this. I think you should go.” Her voice cracked as she pulled away. Cesare reached for her shoulder, the muscles tense under his fingers.

“No. We're going to have our first fight if you ever say that stupid shit again. Alexandra’s my friend and I won’t leave her alone to wallow in pain. She needs a friend, and I’ll be damned if I let her down. Anastasia needs me, so that’s that. But I need you, and I’m not giving up on you. You know what it’s like to be in need and have no one. If we weren’t tangled up in this, you’d be the first to offer this weekend to them.” Cesare gently turned her around. Elizabeth moved easily, locking up when they faced each other.

“Yes, they’re younger. But you’re my raven, and no one's going to take that from me. Pretty comes and pretty goes. On the street, I’ve seen pretty all day long. Just give it a few minutes and someone prettier will come by. It’s not pretty that I care for. It’s being able to hide in your arms when life comes for the last bit of my soul, it's being able to hold you and know you’re not looking for a way to push me away.” His words were soft. “When I’m with you, I feel like I’m home.”

Elizabeth relaxed, the corded muscles loosening under his hand. He didn’t know how to put it in a way that wouldn’t scare her away. She was safe and soft; she was the only safe place he had.

She looked up at him, eyes searching. “You mean that?” she asked, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I do.”

“Okay, let’s get some tea and play chess.” Her heart wood eyes shone with a happiness she didn’t try to hide.

His hand hadn’t moved from her shoulder. It was, sadly, the only intimacy she’d accept from him. “Why did you come gothed up today?”

“You wouldn't understand,” Elizabeth said, torn between wanting to end the conversation and pathetically happy to have him with her.

“That's not an answer. Maybe I won't, but you can still explain.” Cesare’s thumb caressed a circle across the bare skin of her shoulder.

"This," she gestured at her face, "is my war paint. It's the mask I wear when I have to face the world. Today ... I knew it’d be hard, so I put it on."

“A soldier wears war paint to change from father and lover, to killer. You wear war paint to hide the scars on your soul so they’ll never know they’re hurting you."

She laughed shakily. "It's all I have, Cesare. An old scarred soul, jaded and bitter. That's nothing to give a man with his life before him. It's a cancerous gift compared to the girls, still bright and shiny."

Breaking his own rules, his trembling fingers brushed her face, gently tracing a cheek bone. Elizabeth pushed into his hand with a small, hurt sound. "Scars aren't who we are. They just tell the story of where we’ve been. I don't need bright and shiny. I need you," Cesare confessed.

"Even if I'm old, wrinkled, and fat?" She tried to make it sound like a joke, but it creaked with fear. Times a thief, stealing the best of you while your looking at clouds, taking your dreams and hopes with it. Those bitter ashes birth a hate for the young, a thing of cruel envy for their ability to dream. The dream that anyone could care for her, could love her for being herself, had died an agonized death so long ago she couldn’t even remember where it was buried.

"Even when you’re more beautiful than you are right now." They were more than words, each was threaded with a need that bled with a raw truth she’d never let him say.

Alexandra and Anastasia stared at him from the table, each unreadable in their own way. He wasn’t ashamed of what was going on between him and Elizabeth, and the cottage wasn’t big enough to hide his words.

He walked over and put his hand on Anastasia’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Did you mean what you said?” Alexandra blurted out, coloring under his look. “About her?”

Anastasia leaned her scarred head down, lightly brushing the hand that rested on her shoulder. “I meant everything I said. I wouldn’t lie to her. Elizabeth’s my raven. I won’t be parted from her, not by anyone.”

Long after they’d left the cottage, Cesare relaxed back with Anastasia in his arms. His hands caressed the microfiber pajamas she’d worn to bed. The differences between them were summed up in what they slept in. His sweats were held together with more hope than thread. Thrown away and worthless, they were cast offs before he’d ever touched them.

She was dressed in a softness he’d never known, a luxury alien to the streets. It was the richness of choice, the ability to own something beyond animal need.

“Truth or Dare?” Anastasia asked. She’d taken to placing her bandaged hands over his. It was the closest she could get to holding hands. Even with him all but wrapped around her, she still craved more.

“Really?” Cesare asked, a thrill of fear running through him at the suggestion. Too much of his life was buried in the shit pits of his soul, secrets bound in rusty razored wire, forgotten demons birthed in violation. Ravagers of the now, each would destroy what he had. Better to leave them in the black sewer of his past.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Anastasia prodded. “Please, Cesare?” He gave in to the raw pleading in her voice.

“Rules.” He continued as she slumped in relief, “No questions about anything that came before school. I won’t reveal anyone’s secrets, and I reserve the right to not answer any question.”

She nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll go first, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Cesare said flatly. It said something about him that he’d rather be told to do something stupid than give up a secret.

“Put your hand on my stomach under my shirt,” Anastasia said, not at all put out by his choice.

Maybe it would have been a better idea to take the truth option after all. His hand slipped under her shirt, all too aware that she didn’t wear bras or underwear to bed. Calloused fingers glided over skin soft as old love worn smooth with age, so hot it rode the edge of comfort. She gave a deep sigh of contentment as he rested his hand flat against her stomach.

“So, truth or dare?” Cesare’s voice was rougher than usual.

She laughed quietly. “Not as brave as you, so I’ll choose truth.”

“Why Blaez?” It burst out before he could stop it. It was the question he’d silently fed for months, a malformed thing suckled on hate, it ate at every moment he spent with the beautiful akatharton.

“Fuck me!” she whispered with quiet reverence. He should take it back and apologize, smooth it over and move on. But he couldn’t, didn’t want to. Because, after all he’d been through, he deserved an answer.

As the minutes passed, she waited for him to let her off the hook. She needed him to let it go, wanted it more than anything at this moment. She wanted this new reality without the weight of the past dragging it down. The lessons she’d learned were barbed with razor memories better left in the shadows of memory. But he didn’t say anything, instead letting the question hang in the air.

She snuggled back into him. If she had to humiliate herself, she could at least be comfortable. “He was a hot, charming bad boy, and one of the most popular kids in school. I wanted the guy every girl wanted, and I got him. Tha the he came from a famous pack, was death on two legs, and wielded his own brand of power, were all major considerations. It was a political choice even beyond the obvious. If he'd just been any bad boy with a six pack, I'd never have considered him.” She tried to find the words for something he’d never understand. “It was never serious, we both knew that. He wanted to fuck me, and I was looking for a fling with muscle behind him. It was never love.”

“Did he?” Cesare asked. It shouldn’t matter if she’d been with him. She wasn’t his, would never be his. She’d go back to her world, and he’d return to his. This time was just a vacation, nothing but dreams made of mist. When reality came, it would burn away the rainbows and illusions.

“No.” Thickly bandaged mittens pressed his hands against her stomach as she pushed back into him. “I’ve never had sex, Cesare. What we’ve done is as far as I’ve ever gone, and only with you. And Cesare, I don’t regret that.”

Resting back, her words untangled his guts. He’d never known how much it cut into the soft bits of his soul until right now. Oh, he’d known he hated it, but he’d never dwelled on it. What felt like a lifetime of worry lifted from his shoulders. Why did it matter so much to him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth of that answer.

“Truth or dare?” Anastasia asked.

“Truth.” The smell of jasmine filled his lungs as he breathed her in. It was something he could get addicted to, having her warm body pressed into his while falling asleep with the scent of jasmine.

“Do you love Elizabeth?” Totally should have stopped while I was ahead, Cesare thought.

Unsure how to answer, he stalled before a long sigh stripped him of the lies infesting his mind. “Yes. I think I love her. It doesn’t matter because she’ll never love me, not the way I want. She cares for me as a friend and that’s all she’ll ever see me as. When she looks at me, she sees a homeless boy, not a man. Not a person she can be intimate with, just a boy who needs help.”

“You’d never give her up.” It was half statement and half question.

“Not even if the world was burning.” Every word wound Anastasia’s body tighter. “And I’d never give you up either. Not for her or anyone else. Not even if it cost me my life. I won’t turn my back on those I care for, not even to make you or her happy.”