To Be Obscure

| CH. 17

By the time we'd left the apartment, the sun had sunk further into the sky. The start of the night's cool air hit my face as I trotted down the metal steps, with Rosie close behind. She hadn't changed out of my shirt. Rather, she put a sweater on top instead. Because of it, she looked like she wore an odd dress. I thought she looked silly and told her so.

"You're lame," she said as she stopped in the center of the parking lot. "What do you know about fashion?

"Nothing, actually. If you haven't noticed, I'm not trying to impress anyone, nor do I seek to. This," I pulled Charlotte's chain out to see, "is now the only piece of jewelry I own, thanks to you. Aside from that, I'm rather content with my appearance the way it is."

Rosie looked me up and down with a raised lip as I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. She made a small box with her thumbs and index fingers and looked at me through her faux viewfinder. I couldn't help but smirk as I looked down at my black sneakers, dark jeans, and hoodie that matched.

Perhaps, I was boring, hm?

"You look like a regular Joe," she said as she turned on the ball of her feet and started down the street. "Mom said you were dashing."

I followed her and laughed. "Ah, there was a time when I was. Had to look the part in order to make money, if you understand."

"Awesome! Stories!" Rosie looked at me with the brightest blue eyes. "Tell me, Monts."

Monts? If I needed a new name, I preferred Monty.

I kicked a rock away with my shoe. The streets were eerily empty, as it usually was at the start of the week. In the distance, I heard a car honk outside one of the bars. Behind us, my elderly neighbors argued about the television remote. Beside me, I heard Rosie's anxious heartbeat.

"What kind of stories?" I asked, pretending to be oblivious. I knew very well what she wanted to know. If Charlotte hadn't told her, perhaps she wasn't ready.

"How you would steal things," Rosie said as we reached the trees, "or, how you murdered people. Is it true you bathed in blood?"

I nearly skidded to a halt as she leaned against one of the trees beside the water. Behind her, I looked at the manors and their dark windows. I tried to wrap my head around her question—bathed in blood? I'd never. "You make me sound barbaric."

She laughed. "So, you did?"

"No!" I laughed as I shook my head. "Who told you this? Your mother?"

Rosie shrugged as she bent down, lifting a rock into the palm of her hand. "I mean, who else? Mom wouldn't lie."

I bathed in blood? Charlotte, you've done me no justice.

I took the rock from Rosie's hand and skipped it along the lake. It hopped three times before it sank into the dark, murky water. The sinking light from the sun reflected in the ripples; with the purple and orange hues. "Sometimes, when I killed someone, I did more than just kill them," I said as I lifted another rock. This one only skipped twice before disappearing. "I won't go into details, but there would be a lot of blood. Charlotte liked to believe I did it on purpose. She'd call me Dracula—" I pretended to have fangs, "—and, let me tell you, I'm no vampire. They don't exist."

Rosie took her turn to throw a rock into the water. Despite my efforts to send one skipping into the center of the lake, she did it with ease. I raised both eyebrows as I watched, amazed, as she did it not once, but three times. "I think I'd like it if we were vampires," she said. "It'd make more sense."

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're normal, Rosie?" I asked. "You're sixteen and aging just fine."

"Yeah, but," she chewed on her lip as she scanned the manors that hid the sun's falling rays, "I was—I am—considered a savior, by birthright."