My face crinkles in confusion. “Well, you know him. He’s always joking around and messing with people. He’s always wearing that stupid smirk.”
Now Kat looks even more perplexed than before. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve known him longer than I have, but to me he seemed dismal from the start, and that never changed.”
“Trystain? Dismal? Well, maybe when he’s pissed off, but…”
“No, no,” Kat cut me short, shaking her head. “Whenever I see him, he’s all moody and irritable, like he’s got something on his mind. Once in a blue moon I’ll catch that smirk of his, but that’s when he’s intentionally being unpleasant.”
I chew my bottom lip, trying to sort through what she’s told me. So far the only thing that really makes sense is the last part, but that’s the part of him that I see all the time whereas Kat seems to only run into it once in a while. If he’s being moody around her, is he faking in front of me? Something foul-tasting rises in the back of my throat, but I swallow the word “envy” before it can embed itself in my mind, instead turning my attention to the scars I saw on his wrist.
“Hey, Kat.”
“Yeah?”
“You told me a while back that your brother is manic depressive. Does Tryss act anything like that?”
“Uh, well…” Kat’s green eyes slide guiltily away from me as a sheepish smile curls her lips. “I was kind of talking about Trystain when I said that.”
“Trystain’s your brother?!”
“No!” Waving her hands frantically as through to brush away the idea, Kat explains, “When I mention Trystain to someone who doesn’t know about him, I usually call him my brother. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. If I’d known you two knew each other, I would have just said Trystain.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Wait, does that mean Tryss is manic depressive?”
“When he was human. He said he doesn’t know if it still affects him as a vampire.”
“Then—” I am interrupted by a grating electronic version of Evanescence’s Lithium, drawing our attention to my bag. Mildly irritated, I pull out my cell phone and hit Accept.
“Hello?”
My dad calls me by my full name and informs me less than calmly that dinner was half an hour ago, demanding to know when I plan to be home. I mentally calculate how long it’ll take me to jog back as I let him know that I’m on my way right now. Roughly six apologies later, I hang up and turn awkwardly to Kat.
“I gotta go. Sorry.”
“No problem,” she brushes it off. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I can be here tomorrow,” I tell her ruefully, standing to go. “There’s an after-school soccer game, and then homework. I’ll see if I can come.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here if you want to talk.”
I nod gratefully and start to run off, but I pause to look back when I hear my name. Kat lowers a gently stern gaze on me.
“Don’t do anything reckless, okay?”
Glancing at my arm, I squeeze the strap of my bag and continue home in the dying remnants of dusk. I can see Kat’s concerned expression even with my back to her. Silently, I say, I’m sorry. And thank you.
I’m screaming. It’s so shrill it could have turned crystal to a million dagger-edged shards that would rain down like autumn leaves and wash over the floor, just as the ocean foam that the proverbial mermaid became. But the siren lives, and sings. The wail wrenches her mouth open and scrunches her eyes shut as her lips draw back and let out not a sound. Silence. I scream in silence again.
My father sits at the nearby kitchen table as my mother lectures me. I had declined to take a seat, a sign of defiance that probably didn’t help reduce the length of the scolding, but I can’t sit. I have to feel like I can escape somehow, even if it’s just a delusion. The silent scream is caging me, constricting my chest, and I struggle to breathe, but I don’t say a word even when prompted for a response. Eventually, my mother throws up her hands and turns away. She’s given up. I’m free now.
I’m still trying to unbind my airway when I reach my room, my refuge, and shut the door on the terror pursuing me. Inhaling deeply, I notice that the door seems to be shivering beneath my palms and lift a hand to find it shaking as though the fear clenching my mind is trying to grip my limbs as well, even as they try to shake it off. That hate, that selfishness, is clawing madly at the barrier behind me, howling its predator’s need to taste more crimson iron, more blood, blood, blood, who cares if there’s no razor just find something and spill the blood—
No. I need a distraction. Anything will do.
Read the goddamn book.
I move to obey almost instantaneously. Scrambling to the wastebasket, I snatch Cyclamen out, not bothering to retrieve a crumpled paper that comes flying with it, and leap onto my bed with the novel clutched to my chest like a talisman to chase away the terror. Slowly, my breathing stabilizes and my shaking dissipates. Although I don’t feel particularly better, I’m in a much calmer frame of mind than the panic attack that struck moments ago. I do seem to be regretting turning to that idiot vampire’s stupid book for comfort, however. Damn it all. I’ll wallow in my humiliation later.
I skip the first chapter. After all, someone once told me that the first chapter is never any good. I briefly wonder where that someone is as I plunge greedily into his world…
Chapter XI
Start from the beginning
