Authors: Michael Griffo
Unwelcome (10 page)
“Brania, angel,” David had cooed, “Vaughan's factory is a godsend to us. I would prefer that he continue to help us willingly and not seek out a new partnership elsewhere. He is getting rather chummy with Edwige. So do what you do best and make your father happy.”
Ripping Vaughan's shirt open, she was thankful that men today at least waxed their chests. Unable to resist her force or her kisses, Vaughan succumbed. Brania pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. She leaned over, her long, luxuriant hair falling around her face, concealing the dead look in her eyes. Not that Vaughan would have noticed; he wasn't looking at her face.
She bit his earlobe, the sharp pressure of her teeth making Vaughan writhe underneath her, simultaneously lost in his own thoughts and physically connected to her. He thought he would feel her fangs pierce the fragile flesh of his neck, take some of his blood, but instead she needed to plant a seed. “Don't underestimate the next generation,” she whispered. “You should reach out to your son.”
Looking up, Brania saw her father in the corner of the room, his mouth, once again, in the shape of a satisfied smile. He nodded his approval and then disappeared so his daughter could complete her task.
chapter 5
With each step, the earth crunched under Ronan's feet. Dirt underneath grass hidden by snow covered by ice, each element bowed when it felt the presence of the young man. Nature understood power. And, in turn, Ronan understood the power of nature.
The rain that fell was more like hail, some particles large, some quite small, bouncing off of Ronan's body, hardly painful, quite refreshing actually, as he walked steadfastly across campus to his dorm, to Michael. Moving in long, purposeful strides, he felt like a king returning home after a long journey to meet his prince. He heard his own voice mock him, sometimes Ronan you really do let those books you read decorate your thoughts. Rubbish, what's the harm in a little embellishment, he thought, when his real world was just as fantastic as any piece of fiction.
“Where the hell have you been?!” Michael yelled before Ronan could even close the door behind him.
So much for romanticizing his reality. “Just running an errand,” Ronan replied calmly, rivulets of icy rain traveling down the sides of his face.
“What kind of errand could possibly take all day?” Michael asked. “And you do know that you're getting water all over the place, right?”
“Yes, Michael, I do know that. I'm the one who just came in from the rain.”
Yanking a towel off of a hook that hung behind the bathroom door, Michael started to blot up the mess, mumbling something about Ronan being inconsiderate while furiously rubbing the floor until it was bone dry. What was going on here, Ronan questioned, a minute ago he felt like the king of his own castle and now he was being treated like a guest who had long overstayed his welcome.
“Michael, what's wrong with you?”
“Me?” Michael snapped. “So this is my fault?”
Ronan knew that Michael liked things tidy, but he couldn't possibly be this upset just because he got the floor a little wet. “I'm sorry if I tracked some ice in here. I'll clean it up.”
Ronan tried to take the towel from Michael, but angrily he brushed his hand away. Well, more like swiped. Were those tears in his eyes? Ronan wasn't sure, but he knew that something was definitely wrong. And somehow, unwittingly, Ronan was the cause.
“I woke up from our nap and again you weren't here!” Michael cried. “I looked all over for you. . . . It was dark . . . and I was alone!” He hurled the towel at Ronan and spat, “Why do you keep leaving me?!”
Ronan felt short of breath. He was right, he was the cause. He had done it again, made the person he loved feel afraid, abandoned. It was a terrible thing to do. He knew how it felt and he didn't think he could be so cruel, so thoughtless, but he had. “No, no, I'd never leave you.” Ronan tried to embrace Michael, hold him close, but Michael was too angry for that. He didn't want to be held, he only wanted to be told the truth. “I went out to get you this.”
Ronan reached inside his jacket pocket and took out a brown paper bag, stained by a few drops of rain, and pulled out a book. “I wanted to get to the bookstore before it closed,” Ronan said sheepishly. At the time it felt like a romantic thing to do, a sweet gesture, to sneak out while Michael was still asleep and then present him with a gift when he woke up. “It's a collection of Oscar Wilde short stories that I thought you'd like to read instead of another dull textbook.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Michael took the book from Ronan. On the cover was a drawing of a handsome young man. Could have been Dorian Gray, could've been another character the writer created. Michael didn't know his work that well so he couldn't be sure, but he knew why Ronan chose this anthology. “He reminded me of you,” Ronan said quietly. “Forever beautiful . . .”
“Forever mine,” Michael said, finishing their phrase. It was a thoughtful thing to do, Michael acknowledged.
And how did I respond? By attacking him, thinking the worst of him. Is this what it's like to be in a relationship? One minute the world couldn't be more perfect, and the next it's on the verge of complete ruin?
And how did I respond? By attacking him, thinking the worst of him. Is this what it's like to be in a relationship? One minute the world couldn't be more perfect, and the next it's on the verge of complete ruin?
Ronan and Michael spoke at the same time. “I'm sorry.”
“No,” Michael protested, holding the book close to his chest. “It's me, I overreacted. Lately I guess I've been . . .” What exactly was the word? What exactly was the feeling? Michael really didn't know. All he knew was that he was confused and more than a little embarrassed. Shaking his head, he continued, “No, Ronan, you have nothing to be sorry about.”
“Yes, I do.” Taking his boyfriend's hand, Ronan led him to their bed so they could sit and talk truthfully. “It's been quite some time since I've had a boyfriend.”
Great, let's start the heart-to-heart conversation with a lie.
“Nakano wasn't really that long ago,” Michael corrected.
“Nakano wasn't really that long ago,” Michael corrected.
“He wasn't a boyfriend, not in the real sense of the word.” Softly, Ronan traced the lines of Michael's palm with his finger, so many different etchings, intertwined, overlapping, just like the two of them, at least just like how the two of them should be. “I guess I've forgotten what it's like to be in a relationship, to be linked to someone and have to consider their feelings and not just my own. I now have someone I need to answer to.”
Michael pulled his hand away. “Look, the last thing I want is for you to feel obligated to me.”
“But I am,” Ronan replied. “In the most wonderful way you can imagine.” He had to make Michael understand. “My people believe we are not complete until we are partnered, and not just with anyone but with our soul mate. I know that sounds like tommyrot. What do you Americans call it? Malarkey? But it's the truth. You are my soul mate, Michael.” Ronan wrapped his leg behind Michael and pulled him closer so they could embrace, so their bodies could intertwine just like their souls were doing at this very moment within the depths of The Well. “But . . .” Ronan hesitated.
“After all that, there's a âbut'?!” Michael replied, unconcerned that his voice rose higher than Phaedra's.
Michael's eyes grew so wide and his expression turned so comical, Ronan couldn't stop himself from kissing him. “But I'm a bit rusty is all.”
Better rusty than inexperienced. “I get it,” Michael said. “Well, I kind of get it, some of it anyway.” He took a deep breath so he wouldn't continue to rattle on incoherently. “I've been trying to avoid it, been trying to convince myself I know a lot more than I do, but the truth is I'm brand new at this relationship thing, so I'm bound to make a lot of mistakes.” He took in another deep breath, this time smelling the rain that still clung to Ronan's skin. “Like yell at you because you didn't tell me you were leaving.”
“I crocked up, Michael, I'm sorry.”
“That means you screwed up, right?”
Ronan nodded. “I'd like to say it won't happen again, but we both know it will.”
It was Michael's turn to kiss his boyfriend. “That's okay, as long as you keep bringing me gifts.”
“That I can promise,” Ronan said confidently. “Mum's quite wealthy and I have access to her bank account.”
Kissing while laughing was definitely one of the most pleasant sensations Michael ever experienced. “Excellent, let's always shower each other with presents,” Michael said. “And let's always be honest with each other.”
Keep kissing him, Ronan, don't give him any reason to suspect.
“I promise,” Ronan mumbled, knowing full well that he was lying. For a second he thought the truth was going to tumble out, that he was going to tell Michael that David was Brania's father, but he remembered what his mother said. Blimey! Why was he listening to her and not to his heart? Why was he deliberately concealing the truth when he just promised to be honest? Maybe he was rustier at this relationship thing than he thought. Or maybe he just wanted to allow Michael to remain innocent until it was no longer possible. He had plunged him into this new world so quickly, even harshly; why not let him become comfortable, more at ease in his new environment, before changing the rules yet again?
“I promise,” Ronan mumbled, knowing full well that he was lying. For a second he thought the truth was going to tumble out, that he was going to tell Michael that David was Brania's father, but he remembered what his mother said. Blimey! Why was he listening to her and not to his heart? Why was he deliberately concealing the truth when he just promised to be honest? Maybe he was rustier at this relationship thing than he thought. Or maybe he just wanted to allow Michael to remain innocent until it was no longer possible. He had plunged him into this new world so quickly, even harshly; why not let him become comfortable, more at ease in his new environment, before changing the rules yet again?
Shaking off a chill, Ronan wanted nothing more than to hold Michael, hold him close, feel his warmth, but for the moment he needed to get away. “I could use a hot shower.” Entering the bathroom, he realized his comment could be interpreted as an invitation, which normally he would have welcomed but at the moment would have interfered with his need for privacy, so he suggested Michael start reading. “The story of the young king made me think of you.”
Â
It was the night before the day fixed for his coronation.
Michael smiled and shook his head at the same time.
Ronan really does like to imagine that I live on a pedestal,
he thought,
like I really am something special.
Gently, he stroked his neck and remembered the first time Ronan touched him there with his hands, his mouth, his fangs. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away. It could also be precarious living up there on a pedestal.
The ladâfor he was only a lad, being but sixteen years of age.
Hmm, becoming a king at sixteen must be intimidating, scary, kind of like becoming immortal.
Lying there, wild-eyed and openmouthed, like a brown woodland Faun, or some young animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters.
Sounds like this Oscar Wilde knew what it felt like to be transformed into a vampire. Or more likely that he knew what it was like to fall deeply, unflinchingly in love.
Michael smiled and shook his head at the same time.
Ronan really does like to imagine that I live on a pedestal,
he thought,
like I really am something special.
Gently, he stroked his neck and remembered the first time Ronan touched him there with his hands, his mouth, his fangs. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away. It could also be precarious living up there on a pedestal.
The ladâfor he was only a lad, being but sixteen years of age.
Hmm, becoming a king at sixteen must be intimidating, scary, kind of like becoming immortal.
Lying there, wild-eyed and openmouthed, like a brown woodland Faun, or some young animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters.
Sounds like this Oscar Wilde knew what it felt like to be transformed into a vampire. Or more likely that he knew what it was like to fall deeply, unflinchingly in love.
When Michael finished the last line of the short story, he was reminded of why he loved Ronan so much.
And the young King came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an angel.
The words passed through Michael like waves of emotion, pure and resonant, clinging to his heart and convincing Michael that experienced or not, being in a relationship with Ronan was where he belonged. Being beside this beautiful person who considered him an angel. If that was true, then why was he in one room and Ronan in another?
And the young King came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an angel.
The words passed through Michael like waves of emotion, pure and resonant, clinging to his heart and convincing Michael that experienced or not, being in a relationship with Ronan was where he belonged. Being beside this beautiful person who considered him an angel. If that was true, then why was he in one room and Ronan in another?
Â
Ronan didn't hear Michael enter the bathroom. The shower water was running and he was singing, slightly offkey, some folk song about The First and The Other that his father used to sing to him. He only knew someone was there when the shower curtain was pulled back. “Crikey, Michael!” Ronan cried. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
“Vampires can't have heart attacks,” Michael said. “Can they?”
“No, love, they can't,” Ronan answered. He then became very self-conscious that he was standing in the shower completely naked except for a few blotches of soapsuds that clung to his body, and Michael was fully clothed. “Is there, um, something I can help you with?”
Michael didn't hear Ronan's question. He was growing envious of the soap and the water as they touched parts of Ronan's body that he believed were exclusively his to explore. Perhaps Ronan thought he looked like an angel, but that didn't mean he always had to act like one. Tossing his halo to the side, Michael entered the shower and kissed Ronan deeply, the hot water soaking his clothes, his clothes holding on to his flesh, his hands caressing his boyfriend's hard, clean body.
Now this kind of surprise is more like it,
Ronan thought. He no longer wanted to be alone, he no longer wanted to think. All he wanted to do, all either boy wanted to do, was feel.
Ronan thought. He no longer wanted to be alone, he no longer wanted to think. All he wanted to do, all either boy wanted to do, was feel.
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The next morning, Michael's feelings were still as strong. However, they weren't good ones. Staring at the text message on his cell phone, the exquisite sensations he felt during his impromptu shower with Ronan were replaced with the unpleasant rumblings he felt in his stomach when he looked at the five short words that were displayed on his phone's screenâ
Have dinner with me tonight
. His father didn't call him for weeks and then he texted him an order? Unbelievable! No, scratch that, completely believable because he considered him an employee, someone who didn't have any say in their relationship, someone who had to accept him for the jerk that he was. “Can you believe this?!”
Have dinner with me tonight
. His father didn't call him for weeks and then he texted him an order? Unbelievable! No, scratch that, completely believable because he considered him an employee, someone who didn't have any say in their relationship, someone who had to accept him for the jerk that he was. “Can you believe this?!”
Ronan wasn't sure if he could take another surprise. He was the one who always rose first and had to coax Michael to wake up, not the other way around. Opening one eye, he saw that it was only six
A.M.
Grumbling, he pulled the covers closer to his chin. “No, Michael, I can't believe this.”
A.M.
Grumbling, he pulled the covers closer to his chin. “No, Michael, I can't believe this.”
“Look at this!” Michael shouted, shoving his cell phone in Ronan's face.
Ronan swatted at the air, hoping the cell phone and even Michael would temporarily disappear, just for another hour. “Later.”
“Have dinner with me tonight!” Michael shouted, pacing the room in nothing put a pair of Ronan's boxer shorts.
Turning over in a futile attempt to get away from the sound, Ronan had no idea what Michael was carrying on about. “We don't have to feed for another few weeks.”
“Not you, my father!”
Now Ronan knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. Whenever Michael was upset with his father, a very long conversation followed that consisted mainly of Michael ranting and Ronan listening. While Edwige annoyed Ronan, they had a connection that surpassed the typical mother-son relationship. Michael, unfortunately, barely knew his father, and worse still, his father acted as if that was perfectly fine with him. It confused Ronan because before Michael's mother was even buried, Vaughan swooped in to ask Michael to return home with him. But they never even lived together. He immediately shipped Michael off to Double A, and the two hardly saw each other. Maybe now Vaughan finally realized he'd been acting like a world-class git. Sitting up in bed, attentive and as clearheaded as possible for this time in the morning, Ronan was prepared to discuss the situation. “That's nice,” Ronan said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “Your dad making an effort.” Michael, however, was too furious to have a discussion.
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