Survivor (5 page)

He nodded slowly.  “I see.”  He gave my hand a
squeeze before going around to get my chair.  The curtains in the front window
twitched and I knew Mom was watching.  I had no doubt she was giving my dad and
sister the play by play, interjecting any number of crazy hypotheses about Peter’s
origins and intentions- not to mention my lack of good judgment.  Peter opened
my door for me and I waited for him to bring my chair close so I could transfer
in myself.  Instead, he stooped and slid an arm behind my back and under my
knees.  He cradled me in his arms and lifted me slowly, masking just how
effortless the maneuver really was.  He gently placed me in my chair, and I
felt bereft without his touch.

Mom greeted us at the door, looking Peter up and
down before taking him in to introduce him to Dad and Chelsea.  I could hear
the unvoiced judgments, and it made me want to shout at her, but I restrained
myself.  She held me back for a moment with a hand on my wheelchair. “He’s kind
of old for you isn’t he?”  Her voice was pleasant, unaware that she was being judgmental.
 

“He’s the same age I am, Mom,” I said patiently.  He
could be, if he wasn’t immortal.  But no need to bring
that
up.  I
wheeled into the living room to find Peter obliviously flipping through a Time
magazine while Dad glared at him, and Chelsea drooled.  He was dressed up
tonight, wearing a pair of pants that fit him well and a grey silk shirt that
made his dark green eyes stand out.  I didn’t blame my sister a bit.

Chelsea was one of those girls you want to hate, but
just can’t.  She was a senior in college with a perfect grade point average.  Every
aspect of her appearance was perfect, from her meticulously straightened and
highlighted blond hair- tucked artfully behind an ear- to her shiny red leather
ballet flats.  Peter looked up from his magazine when I entered the room, and
she took the opportunity to flash him a dazzling smile.  He was far too
attractive and successful to be with me.  Obviously, he had the wrong sister.

Dinner was an awkward affair as Mom and Dad tried to
appear warm and welcoming, while being nothing of the sort.  Mom considered
Peter, her fork poised in her hand.  “So, Melody tells me she met you on the
subway?”  The tone said it all. 
You picked her up on the subway.

Peter nodded and flashed her a brilliant smile. 
“Yes.  I was running late and she held the door for me.”  He turned the smile
on me.  “Melody is very considerate.”

My dad snorted.  “And gullible,” he said shortly. 
Mom shot him a scandalized glance, though she was obviously thinking the same
thing.

I glared at them both.  “Knock it off,” I warned
under my breath.  Chelsea sniggered at me and asked me to pass the mashed
potatoes. 

They quizzed Peter about what he did for a living,
his family, his religious beliefs, his education, and how we had met.  “What do
your parents do for a living,” Dad asked, at one point.  I chewed slowly,
watching Peter to see how he would handle the question. 

Peter took a sip of his wine, and his expression
softened.  “My mom was a homemaker,” he said with a smile.  “She took care of
my sister and me, and did a lot of volunteer work in the community.”  I took
another bite of my pot roast, amazed at how seamlessly he did it.  He told the
truth, he just didn’t elaborate on the details.  For example, the fact that his
mother had volunteered at the hospital during an outbreak of influenza in the
early 1900’s, and had ultimately lost her life because of it. 

“My father was a jeweler,” he continued softly.  I
lost both of them years ago.  His hand dipped into his pocket where I knew he
kept his father’s old watch.  He had shown it to me once, and I knew that its
surface was worn smooth on one side from years of his using it like a worry
stone.  He fielded all of their questions with a calm politeness that I couldn’t
have managed in his place, and I gave him a warm smile of gratitude when his
eyes met mine over the pot roast.  I knew he didn’t usually eat human food, but
he somehow managed two servings of Mom’s odd vegetable casserole.

Chelsea told us all about school and her plans to
pursue a medical degree.  Mom and Dad were beaming.  I studied them objectively
for a moment.  They both looked older than they should.  Mom had deep lines
creasing the corners of her blue eyes, and she had lost weight since I was a
teenager, not plumped out the way most people do as they age.  Her meticulously
styled hair would have grey streaks if it wasn’t colored that perfectly
civilized dark blond.  Dad was balding and his blood pressure was always too
high.  He had a pinched look around his mouth when no one was watching, but he
had learned to turn it into a bland smile when he was under scrutiny.

Mom brought out a pie for dessert and the
conversation turned to Chelsea’s most recent presentation on the dangers of
overeating and the national obesity epidemic.  I spooned an extra helping of
whipped cream onto my plate and gave her a bland look.  My mind wandered as I
tuned out the conversation.  I had been planning to start college when the
accident happened.  I was an honor roll student with a bright future.  Afterward,
my parents had thought their first-born was going to die at any moment.  They
spent weeks not knowing if I would ever wake up.  And when I did, I was
impaired, disabled, permanently changed.  Chelsea was now their hope for their
future, their golden child.  They hung on her every move, beamed over her every
accomplishment as if it were their own.  I couldn’t blame them.  I would never
be anything more than a wheelchair-bound library assistant.  I probably
wouldn’t ever get married and have children.  I would never advance or grow.  And
they saw no reason Peter would be here with me tonight unless he had some sort
of ulterior motive.

They were right, I realized, he was probably only
humoring me.  Maybe feeling sorry for me.  That was probably it.  Despite his
not being, uh….human, he seemed to be a genuinely caring man.  I pushed my broccoli
around on my plate while Mom told Peter about Chelsea’s year of study abroad.  She
had spent time in Switzerland learning about the latest advances in medicine.  She
also went to Costa Rica for several weeks to help out with the mission there.  I
had never been out of the state.

Peter gradually steered the discussion toward me
whenever he could, and his efforts were not lost on me, though my family didn’t
seem to notice.  “Have you visited Melody’s new reading program at the library?” 
His eyes sparkled with pride.  “She has such a way with the children.  There
were at least ten kids there last week, and they all adore her.”

Mom patted my hand like a child.  “Well isn’t that
something.”  Peter frowned.

When the evening was over, I all but rushed to the
door, desperate to just get home to the shelter of my nice, quiet apartment and
a four-legged best friend who would be thrilled to see me whether I was a
rocket scientist or a cucumber. 

Peter turned to my parents at the last moment.  “Thank
you for the interesting evening Mr. and Mrs. Westcott,” he said politely.  “I
hope that someday you realize how lucky you are to have such an intelligent,
beautiful, and strong daughter as Melody.”  He turned and pushed my wheelchair
out the door without a backward glance, leaving my mom and dad on the steps, looking
perplexed, not sure if they should be proud or insulted.

We were mostly silent during the short drive back to
my apartment, each of us lost in our thoughts.  I hoped the evening wouldn’t
scare him off.  I studied his face in the meager light of the passing
streetlights.  He seemed less angry than when we were at my parents’ house, so
I supposed that was a good sign.  He helped me up to my place and I said good
night, hesitating on the threshold.  I wasn’t anxious for him to be gone, but I
had to get up early for work.  He brushed a hand lightly over my hair, tucking
a strand behind my ear and fondly caressing my cheek.

I sighed and closed my eyes, some of the tension
from dinner leaving me.  “Thank you for what you said.  It was nice of you to
stick up for me.”

He knelt down in front of me so that he could look
me in the eyes.  “I meant every word of it,” he said intently.  “They treat you
like a disappointment.  They should be ashamed.”  His tone was short,
irritated.

 I shrugged.  “I’ve put them through a lot in the
last five years,” I said, fighting a nagging headache.  “I
am
a
disappointment.  I’ll never go to college- I can’t keep up and I wouldn’t be
able to handle the stress.  I’ll never be a lawyer or a doctor.”  I gestured at
my wheelchair.  “And I’m not really in the position to give them a lot of
grandkids.  I’m a dead-end.”  I clenched my teeth, surprised that I had just
said all that.

Peter leaned forward and kissed me gently, his soft
lips full of promise.  I met him urgently, soaking in the feeling of being
wanted and accepted.  He leaned back for a moment and I saw that his eyes had
gone all silvery.

 “Don’t buy into their disenchantment,” he said
seriously.  He held up a hand to forestall my protests.  “I can imagine your
parents have been through a lot of heartache, and fear, and pain.  I know they
love you.  I don’t think they hurt you on purpose… but they
do
hurt you.
 I saw it in your eyes tonight.  I hear it in your words every day.”

 I looked down at my hands.  He placed a finger
under my chin and raised my head, forcing me to look into those chilling silver
eyes.  “And more than that, I see it in everything you do.  Some part of you believes
you aren’t good enough- that you don’t measure up to whatever it is you call
normal.  Don’t do that to yourself, Melody.  And don’t let others make you feel
that way.  You’re perfect, just as you are.  I wouldn’t change you for anything
in the world.”

 He kissed me again, and I tangled my hands in his
silky hair as his tongue dipped into my mouth.  His fangs elongated and I felt
their hard smoothness beneath his skin.  A shiver of need stabbed through me
and I sighed against his lips, wanting more.  He drew away at last, leaving me
reeling.

“I love you.”  He said softly.  Then he stood and
was gone faster than thought.

 I made my way slowly into my apartment and shut the
door.  Then I burst into tears.  If he truly felt that way, then why did he
leave?  Even though he said I was special- went so far as to say that he loved
me- even he treated me as less than normal.  If I were a normal woman, he would
be here with me right now, making love to me, maybe even sinking his teeth into
me.

Instead, I was here alone.  I knew that it stemmed
more from his need to protect me than complete disinterest - I had pulled his darker
instincts into play after all- but that was the very thing I detested.  He
wouldn’t feel that he needed to be careful not to take advantage of me if he didn’t
think I was impaired.  Even with Peter, I was disabled.

W
e sat in the back of the library as I
picked at the last of my cold chicken sandwich.  I had been left in charge of
the place over the lunch hour today, and Peter was keeping me company.  This
section of the library was equipped with a big old wing backed chair and a love
seat.  Peter had lifted me over to the love seat, and I was relishing the
chance to get out of my wheelchair.  If someone happened to come in, I would
hear the bell over the door. 

I reached for a napkin and the light from one of the
tall windows caught the charm on my bracelet, making the graceful fish glint
and glow.  Peter smiled as I wiped my face.  He popped a grape in his mouth and
reached for his bottle of juice.  It was still odd eating alone, and I think he
knew that.  I doubted he would ever eat that much if he were alone.  Vampires
only ate for pleasure, and only once in a while.  He said most human food lost
its taste after you were turned, and it wasn’t as if he needed it for
sustenance.  His eyes followed my hand as I started tucking things away in my
little lunch box.

“I’ve noticed you wear that bracelet often,” he
said, taking my hand in order to examine the charm more closely.  He shifted
closer, and a shiny shock of dark brown hair fell into his eyes.  He brushed it
away and his soft, earthy smell filled my senses.  I took a deep breath to
steady myself.  Even just being close to him like this was overwhelming.  He
said it was because of the hormones he produced to attract prey, but I wasn’t
so sure that’s all it was.

I cleared my throat and tried to get a grip.  “It’s
a koi,” I said, fingering the charm.  It was jointed in a few places, so it
looked as if it were swimming when I nudged it. 

He nodded and glanced up at me, unaware that his
nearness was giving me heart palpitations.  “They are supposed to be good luck,
right?”

I nodded, embarrassed by how much I believed in this
one silly superstition.  “It was supposed to be a good luck charm.  One of my
friends bought it for me in one of the mall stores when we were in high school.” 
I shrugged.  “It used to hang from the rearview mirror of my car.”  Peter had
stopped looking at the charm, but he didn’t give me my hand back.  Instead, he
laced his fingers through mine.  When I glanced at our hands, lying on his
knee, he gifted me with a half-smile that said he knew exactly what he was
doing to me.

“After they got me out of the car, someone in the
fire department picked up the fish.”  My focus went distant as I tried to
remember the time around my early recovery.  It was hazy and I only recalled
bits and pieces, like blurry snapshots.  Post-traumatic amnesia made it
impossible to remember the accident.  I had even lost the last couple of days
leading up to the accident.  I couldn’t remember the woman, only what Mom told
me about her.  “She kept it, and when she learned that I was still alive, she
brought it to the hospital.  I glanced at Peter to find him regarding me
intently, all signs of his earlier mischief in check.  “My car was completely
trashed.”  My voice caught, for some reason, and I blinked hard, trying not to
let my eyes water.  “They had to cut me out.  I lost all of my belongings, but
this survived.”