He is gone when I wake up.
A part of me knows that nothing has changed, that he will still watch me and read me. I feel strangely empty inside, as if somehow I'd given him a part of me last night. Maybe I did, but if so, he'd given nothing back to me. If it were possible, I'd think that I knew even less of him than I did before. I hate this feeling, of not knowing anything and wanting to find out more. It's strangely addicting. I still can't quite forget yesterday night's dream. I have a feeling I'm in way over my head, but despite the warning signs, it's really very easy to fall into him. "Stop thinking so much," I murmur to myself and sit up on the edge of my bed.
The sunlight is blinding as it hits my face and I squint; it's ten in the morning on a Saturday and I don't want to get up. Outside, I can hear the bustles of morning traffic and screaming children as they spin around and around on a Merry-Go-Round. I try to squelch the wave of envy that rises up inside my heart, but it doesn't work. The day is bright, but my thoughts can't seem to focus. They haven't been focused ever since he first started following me a month ago. This is hopeless.
I stare determinedly at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth, as if hoping that if I focus hard enough on the mechanics of brushing one's teeth, I will stop thinking about him. I'm sorry to say that it doesn't work. Brush. Amethyst eyes. Brush. A crooked smile. Brush. A long braid that looks as if it were made of silk. "God be damned!" I yell hoarsely, swallowing a mouthful of toothpaste by accident in the process, "Would you please get out of my head!" I must look like a raving lunatic by this point; I've even resorted to cursing at my toothbrush at odd hours in the morning. My reflection stares back at me huffily, black eyes glittering with anger and face flushed bright, cherry red. I look like a bright red balloon, ridiculous and puffed up.
I half expect him to pop up and whisper in my head something ridiculous along the lines of, 'Well actually, you look kinda cute like that,' but he doesn't. He really isn't here right now and that thought saddens and frees me at the same time.
I close the curtains and curl up in the corner with a book in hand. It's a hand-me-down book, with the cover hanging on by the merest thread of paper and the insides stained with carelessness. But it's mine and I don't really care. I'd dug it out of a trashcan when I was younger and looking for food to feed myself, instead, all I got was this: A Collection of Poems from the Tang Dynasty. They were all translated into English with the Chinese characters printed in tiny font on the page opposite them. I loved them. I still do.
Lunch is a simple meal of instant noodles and some slices of leftover ham from yesterday's cafeteria meal. I don't like begging or asking for help or money or food, but I have to if I want to keep on living. All my money from winning essay contests and math competitions goes to the rent and utility bills. It's a little bit lonely by myself, but I'm fine with that. It beats living on the streets digging through trashcans for sure.
For the better part of the afternoon, I meditate. It's a relaxing experience, kind of like imagining a blank white paper in your head and focusing on it. The thoughts bleed out of your mind and for an instant, I believe in Nirvana. Most people don't believe me; they think it's a waste of time. I think that they don't fully appreciate life enough to slow down and just breathe. They rush to work, to school, to team meets and competitions. I wonder if they realize what they're missing out on, if one day they'll look back and regret all the times that they didn't slow down to see that cherry blossom or talk to that friend.
I skip dinner; I don't have enough food to last the weekend if I eat three meals a day. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn't showed up today at all, that it has nothing to do with thinking myself to be too boring for him. I've only just met him yesterday after all. He is nothing to me and I am nothing to him.
'For a smart kid, you sure have a knack of thinking stupid things.'
He sounds sarcastic and vaguely miffed; I fight down the urge to fling the covers off my body and find him. He is nothing to me, nothing. I repeat this many, many times to myself and hope that it's enough to keep myself from saying things that I would rather not be saying.
'It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can just read your thoughts and answer that way too. It really makes no difference to me.'
"Get. Out. Of. My. Head," I grit my teeth and shoot a scathing look at the window, a tiny part of me hopes that he'll see it and be appropriately chastised.
"If you really insist upon it. You really know how to crash a party, don't you? I mean, after spending your entire day reading poems, you'd think that your brain would be a little bit more imaginative." He's speaking aloud this time, thank God, but I still don't see him. I let my eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness and peer out the window, glancing at the city asleep beneath me. "Up, you idiot," He calls out from far away and I'm starting to think that this isn't such a good idea after all.
He's standing on the rooftop with a dazzling grin in place, purple eyes glittering with laughter. His arms are flung outwards as if hoping to fly and a sudden surge of panic overwhelms me for a moment. What if he falls? Would he die?
I wait with bated breath and he finally exhales slowly, an annoyed expression crossing his pristine features. "Stop worrying. I can't think when you're panicking. Geez," I notice that even though he sounds upset, he's at least stopped looking like the male version of the Titanic. "Hey, want to come up here?" He asks this casually, a devilish smirk curling his lips as he extends his hand towards me. "Or are you…scared?" I feel a rush of exhilaration and place my hand in his own ice cold one; he doesn't even look strained as he pulls me up to stand next to him.
I stand close to him, a bit wary of the edge and what a fall could mean for him…for me.
My unvoiced question somehow reaches him and he turns to put a hand on my shoulder. "I won't let you fall."
I trust him. Implicitly.
We stand there quietly for a long time, my shoulder numb from where his hand is resting and his eyes gazing far away from where we are now. The city lights burn brightly underneath us and I'm reminded of a multitude of fireflies. It looks…more alive, more beautiful at night. I wonder if this is what he's been waiting to show me. If this is what he sees when he stands on top of the roof, arms flung outwards and ready to fly.
At midnight he leads safely me back down to my room and bids me goodnight. He doesn't stay this time and I don't mind.
Tonight, he has given a part of him to me.
Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. I've just been really busy with other fandoms and other stuff that's been going on in my life. I've written this story up to around the sixth chapter, but I'll be posting them whenever I can get the chance. For those of you who are wondering, this is not going to be like every other vampire fanfiction out there. It'll come in at roughly fifteen chapters and may or may not have a sequel. If you feel that the plot is moving slowly, I'd like to assure you that this is true only for the beginning couple chapters since they have to take the time to hesitantly know one another. Things will really start to speed up around the fifth chapter. Drop a comment if it won't hinder you, thanks.