Page 79 of Even Vampires Bleed
Because I’m starting to think I’m a masochist who likes to look at what isn’t anymore… who isn’t anymore.
And that’s all I’ve been doing since Léandre closed his eyes to take a nap—watching him.
If I was good with a pencil, I could draw him from memory now. I know that.
I also know that I’m shit at drawing. Maybe just stick figures. That’s probably the best I can do.
He seems relaxed. I can see his chest rise and fall, and it’s like I’m mesmerized.
It might not help that he put on one of his old shirts and that he put on some muscle since I left him in his room all those weeks ago.
Because it means the fabric keeps stretching on the expanse of his pecs each time he inhales and I’m suddenly very jealous of that damn shirt.
And my eyes keep straying to it.
It’s like my body, mind, and heart can’t agree.
My heart says, “please, no more,” my mind says, “we should stay away,” my body didn’t get the memo and thinks “looks good, let’s have a piece of that.”
Which makes me a mess when I should just stop wanting things I know are out of reach.
For all I know, this new version of Léandre might not even be attracted to me.
He sure didn’t try to seduce me right after meeting me.
You were crying and then you proceeded to avoid him altogether, you idiot.
No, I can’t think like that.
I’m no idiot.
Yes, our second meeting was less than perfect, and yes, I stayed away on purpose.
But I would do it all over again.
I still want to stay away.
I’m just wondering how it’s going to be possible, when I won’t see a single other soul for days—maybe weeks.
To stay away, I came prepared. My e-reader is fully charged and can survive for at least a week, maybe ten days. I have a dozen books already loaded on it, and if that’s not enough, a quarter of my bag is filled with books.
And if that’s still not enough, I made piles on my desk, and whoever comes to meet us every week will know to bring a pile. I even put numbers on each so that they’re brought in a certain order.
So, that’s the plan—stay buried in my books and not talk with Léandre, or as little as I can.
It already seems like it’s going to be a hard task.
I’ve been alone with him in the car for less than an hour, and I can’t remember a single word I’ve read.
I’m not even sure if I read anything, actually.
The jet slows, and I look out the window.
We’re over a forest, and I can’t see what’s under the canopy of trees.
We’re also super high, and I know that only someone with wings could get where we’re going.
It makes me wonder how a bat-eared fox could get here, but I’ll probably never know.
