Half a World Away

Never had I ever thought I’d be in this sort of situation. The blood runs cold in my pulsating veins and I am stationary. No words are needed for the situation at hand, which is good because at this moment I feel as if any sounds that I force past my chapped lips would be nothing more than gibberish. He looks at me with indistinct eyes. They seem like donors. I was always able to interpret his every emotion through them. His eyes were like portals, but now, now they’re nothing more than pure latency; an unreadable mess.

I’m not sure what I’m thinking as I take a step towards him. It isn’t rational to want to be in this close proximity that I have placed us in. It isn’t rational to want to be in the same building, let alone the same room as whatever he is now, but I was always the fool for Abbott. Even as a child I could never bring myself to leave his side. It was a known fact that I needed him, that I need him.

“But things are different now.” I tell myself. He’s still looking at me. He’s still observing me for some sort of reaction, but I have long ago learned the art of remaining neutral, and he’s not going to uncover anything any time soon.

I take in his pallid complexion, and the incandescent red of his eyes. His scarlet lips are parted slightly. The stark white of his teeth captures my attention. I find myself leaning closer, captivated by their luster, but it’s at that point that I freeze. I can hear the wind whistling past my lips as I inhale suddenly. It’s been years since the last time I’ve seen him, three to be exact, and the memories of my youth have morphed with age, yes, but never, not in any day dream nor sleepless nightmare, have his teeth appear as sharp as they do now.

There is one emotion that I cannot disguise from him; fear. My heart is pounding against my ribcage. The thump thump emitting from its muscular membrane can be felt throughout my entire being, and I know that if he is what I’m thinking he is, then he can hear it. He can hear the violent flailing of my heart, and the air circulating faster through my lungs, and the saliva trickling down my throat every time I swallow.

“Do not be afraid of me.” His voice is sudden and unexpected. I jump slightly, but try to conceal my slight panic.

“I’m not.” I whisper into the chilled air of my bedroom, but I’m not quite sure who I’m trying to convince on the matter. He eyes me like he knows that I’ve lied, and I’m sure that he does. I find myself gnawing on the inside of my lip as if it were a chew toy; a nervous habit I acquired some time ago. But what right had I to be nervous? This was Abbott; my best friend of ten years, my boyfriend, my runaway lover.

“Where have you been?” I blurt out before my nerves can work to stop the words in their tracks.

He doesn’t answer me for the longest while. He’s pressed against the farthest wall from where I stand, and his eyes are directed at the quilt covering the foot of my bed. When he does finally speak up, it’s not to answer my question.

“I remember this quilt.” His voice is gruff, as if he’s straining to form the words.

Slightly taken back by his morbidity, I am unsure of what to say exactly, and partly upset by the lack of an answer, but I decide to play along with whatever it is he’s getting at, because at least he’s speaking, and words can’t describe how good it is to hear his voice after three years of missing it.

“Ya,” My voice quivers slightly, and I stop to compose myself. These nerves are ridiculous, after all.

“You brought that to me when I was in the hospital the summer that I got really sick. You made it for me as a two year anniversary present, but-“

“But I didn’t think you would make it another week, so I gave it to you then.” Abbott cuts in, startling me with his blunt remark.

“Ya.. that was the summer before..” I can’t bring myself to say the rest, but I know he knows what I’m talking about. He lowers his gaze to the hard wood floor, and a single crystal tear falls from his eye and shatters against the floor boards. I want so badly to hold him, to drag my fingers through his raven locks and whisper to him that “everything will be okay,” but I’m not quite sure if it will be, because I’m not quite sure exactly what he’s crying over.

“That was the summer before I left you. That was the summer before that bastard took my life.” His eyes are on me now. They’re fierce orbs of crimson red, but they seem to soften, if only a little, as they stare into mine.

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I shouldn’t have run away like I did, but I was afraid. I didn’t know entirely what I was, just that I had this uncontrollable thirst for blood, and I could just see myself—“ He cuts himself off, pushing from the wall that he was leaning against and walking half the distance between us.

“I wasn’t strong enough then, Shepard. I couldn’t handle my hunger, so I left. I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. Just know that leaving like that was the only way I could insure your safety. If I had stayed, if I had lost control for one second, I would never have been able to forgive myself.”

I breathe in deep and close my eyes, processing everything that was just told to me. I try to speak but it seems as if all words are blocked by the lump in my throat. I swallow hard and will the lump away, and it’s by sheer magic that it listens.

“So, you’re okay now? You have control?” My voice comes out shaky, but what else would you expect from someone in my situation?

He smiles at me, and I have my answer before he even replies.

“If I didn’t think myself capable of controlling my hunger, I would still be half a world away from you.”

“Then you’re staying, right? You aren’t going to up and leave me again?”

He closes the distance between us; cold, pale arms wrapping around my torso and slender fingers intertwining with my copper locks. I bury my face into his sweater-clad chest and inhale deeply. The distinct scent of cinnamon and rain enters my nose and spreads throughout every fiber of my being, warming me from the inside and making me feel more at home than I have in three years. I tilt my head up and peer into his radiant crimson eyes. The air around me is constricting, and my lungs can’t seem to function enough to separate carbon dioxide from oxygen, but I can’t say that I really mind it. Because nothing in the world compares to the feel of Abbott’s chest pressed to mine, or the electricity elicited from his lips as they come into contact with my own, or the ginger way in which he cradles me in his arms, like the world couldn’t force him to let go.

“Does that answer your question?”He mumbles against my lips as he pulls away to let me breathe. I nod into his chest .

I close my eyes and listen to the air unnecessarily whistling through his lungs, and curl my fingers around the fabric of his shirt to ensure that, no matter what, he won’t leave me again.