We Will Be Together For Never

[3] Cover Story

I sulked the weekend away. I locked myself in my room on Saturday while Roger tried at lengthening intervals to draw me out. Ignoring him, I spent the day blasting Halsey and alternating between Netflix and sketching. For once, I didn't draw my family. I drew my emotions. Before I went to sleep that night (yes, vampires sleep...in real beds...like humans), I tacked up several of the best pieces on my walls.

On Sunday, Roger dragged me out of bed as I was still bleary and half-awake and locked my room, shutting me out of it. "What the hell?" I demanded, quickly waking up.

"You're going to prepare for school today and that is final," Roger said sternly.

"Fine," I groaned, following him to the kitchen. In one insane moment of slipping into the past, I almost expected a plate of fluffy pancakes to await me, just as my mom had made every morning. Even though I knew that was a foolish wish, I still felt a pang in my heart when the table held nothing but a blood milkshake. And by "milkshake," I mean a straight glass of blood.

Such is the life of a vamp.

I downed the blood as Roger surfed around on his laptop. As soon as he saw that I had finished, he turned the screen toward me and I realized that he hadn't been randomly clicking about - he had been on the home page of Oaken Falls High.

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.

"We need to go over your schedule and cover story," Roger said sternly. "Pay attention, Tamara."

"Leave me alone," I muttered, voice muffled.

"The school's schedule rotates per semester, but otherwise, it's fixed," Roger said, ignoring my unenthusiastic response. "I did some heavy lying on your completely falsified forms, so you have enough credits that you don't need to take any electives unless you want to."

At least I had that much.

I said nothing.

"You've also already taken your required two years of high school gym, so you're out of that."

I sighed in relief. Everything about gym had been a negative experience - changing in the locker rooms, failing at every available sport, all the sweat...I was thrilled to not have to do it ever again.

"So, your schedule goes like this: algebra II, chemistry, and American literature. Then there's a brief free period, lunch, and you finish off the day with psychology, journalism, and drawing."

My head raised slightly. An entire hour dedicated to art? It sounded amazing, especially since Roger wouldn't be breathing down my neck the entire time, making sure I didn't draw my family. The other classes sounded awful, especially journalism (wouldn't that involve talking to people?), American literature (I had doubtless read all of them), and psychology (I was screwed up enough myself).

"Now, your cover story," Roger said. "Please, Tamara, listen closely. We've got a good thing going here. We could probably stay here for years unless one of our forms or cover stories falls through, as long as we get new haircuts and clothes every so often."

"Fine. You have my undivided attention," I said sarcastically, raising my head. I actually was paying attention, however. I had learned very quickly that Roger did not take cover stories lightly. He wasn't the type of vamp who traveled around the country, draining innocent humans and moving on. We called them Blood-Hungrys, or Nomads if their intent was purely to survive.

"Good," Roger said briskly. "We moved here three months ago from the east coast. We've been settling in - "

"No," I broke in, shaking my head. "The cashier at Hot Topic goes to Oaken Fall and I played the homeschooling card on her."

Roger thought for a moment before beginning again. "We moved here five months ago from the east coast - the outskirts of New York City. You've been home-schooled ever since you were little because you were bounced from foster home to foster home. You were adopted by me three years ago. Your parents and little brother died in a house fire when you were four."

The mere mention of my family, even if they were being talked about in a fictitious sense, made my stomach hurt. "Fine," I growled, hoping to move the conversation along.

"Repeat it all back to me."

"We moved here five months ago from NYC. I've been home-schooled because I was thrown from foster home to foster home until you adopted me three years ago. My real family died in a house fire when I was four years old," I gritted out.

"Perfect." Roger grinned at me. "I'll print our your schedule for you. Get your school supplies together."

Roger had given me a backpack when saving me from my Parent, or the vamp who had turned me. Luckily, I had held onto it, keeping it shoved to the bottom of my closet. Now, I pulled it out and stared at it appraisingly.

Memories pushed against the barrier I had constructed in my mind, memories that held nothing but pain and suffering. A couple of them trickled through: a meaty hand closing around my mouth, muffling my screams...a piercing pain at the base of my neck as something cold trickled through my veins...

I threw the backpack across my room like it was poison and crumpled to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and burying my face in them, taking deep breaths to keep myself from having a panic attack.

I would pack tomorrow. I couldn't do this, not right now.

*

That night was when the dam finally broke.

Roger and I were reading in front of our electric fireplace. I was reading a book I had perused countless times over: Huckleberry Finn. It had been my mother's favorite book, and sometimes, I felt like my battered copy was the only thing that I had still linking me to my old life, even though the book had been purchased at a secondhand bookshop long after I had become a vampire.

I couldn't focus on the words, however. Worry nagged at me, fear of the things that awaited me tomorrow.

I snapped my book shut as my stomach started to churn violently. Standing, I bolted from the living room and into the bathroom, flinging open the toilet and falling to my knees in front of it.

I didn't throw up, however. Instead, I shivered and sobbed, my tears falling into the toilet as I gasped for air and willed my body to stop shaking.

Panic attacks. They're a bitch.

Roger burst into the bathroom and found me there, in my usual position. He bent down and held back my hair for me as finally, my stomach emptied its contents - which consisted solely of blood.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured comfortingly, rubbing circles on my back.

No, I thought, still shaking. I will never be okay again.