Page 14 of Those That Don't Exist
All my blood seems to drop with gravity into my feet, sending my head spinning.
“Woah, are you ok?” Claire’s worried tone sounds like it's underwater as I sway on unsteady legs.
Her hands grip my shoulders as she steps into the room fully. The dizziness passes after a couple of seconds, although Claire’s perfume hits my nostrils in a sickeningly sweet hit.
“I’m fine now,” I tell her, exhaling. She keeps her hands on to me for a little longer before stepping back. “It was just a head rush,” I say, offering an explanation, not sure if I’m telling her or myself, “I’ve not had any coffee this morning.”
I offer a laugh at her incredulous look.
“Really, I’m ok,” I reassure her before moving about my room to gather my coat and shoving things into a bag. “Let’s go shopping.”
CHAPTER 7
TY
Since the night Atlas joined the pack I’ve avoided being at home as much as possible. I don’t trust Atlas to not take risks.
So, I’m taking some of my own and pushing Adicious for more time away from the ranch - I’m keeping leads open in my research just so I can tell him I have more than I really do. I’m telling him more aboutherso he agrees that I can watch her more.
Like today, it's a weekend. I don’t have research but I’ve convinced him to let me into the city to do some stalking. The trade being I also swing by the hospital and restock our blood supply. I launch out of bed and jump in the shower.
Standing under the hot spray I recounted last night’s grilling when I got home. Even though I’m giving more details, Adicious's questions are starting to feel like a cross examination. I’m having to be smarter as I clip my answers. I give up enough to satisfy his experiment learnings but I keep the little things to myself.
Like how I’m spending even more hours than he knows watching Red, stalking her like I’m her damn shadow, because I’m enjoying being in her company. Like how each time I canread her expression or decipher her mood it sends a little thrill through me.
I’ve been more careful to avoid her noticing me but I’ve even managed to sneak into a few of her lectures - where the number of students is large enough I can hide in plain sight.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t engage much in these lessons, and shrinks back when the professor calls on her for answers. But when she’s forced to answer I soak in the sound of her voice, and store her words away in my head to analyse later.
She’s a history major, and focusing on the war. The need to ask about her stance is getting irritating, it's a craving at this point.What’s her opinion on our extinction?
From the tidbits I’ve heard in her classes I think she might be sympathetic to my kind. As a demi-Fae she could easily sit on either side. Simplified, the war was between the Vampires and the Fae. However, many humans and demi-Fae fought alongside us, even few full Fae families tried to protect us. It was far from black and white in reality.
I watch closely when she’s in the library, reading books by certain authors, certain historians or memoirs from those that lived through the conflict. It's reassuring when she gets visibly irritated by ones I knew to be speciesist fuckwads.
I watch even closer when she reads publications by H J Fitzroy, which she’s picked up several times over the weeks - he happens to be a friend of mine, one who is risking his neck in publishing works that question the current popular discourse on the war.
A couple of days ago my need for answers got so much I even broke into her room to try and satiate my curiosity.
Yes, I know. It really is stepping over the line but I’m in so deep now I may as well fully embrace this stalking shit.
In her room I learned she loves fiction as much as the books she reads for her degree. There are several battered novels she clearly loves to read again and again spread across her room.
The space held so much of her scent I just stood, breathing it in for several minutes.
Apart from the books she didn’t have much personal stuff. One photo caught my attention, one of her and an older guy. They had their arms slung around each other, smiling in the summer sunshine, holding glasses of champagne.
From the resemblance alone I knew it was her father. They have the same shaped eyes, although hers are a little cooler in their green hue. Guilt racked my bones knowing that whilst I didn’t have a direct involvement in his death I feel somehow responsible.
I hadn’t lingered for too long because I’d wanted to see her at dinner that evening.
Nowthatwas a very insightful meal, I learned about this shopping trip.
Out of the shower I finish dressing and grab my coat, wondering what I would learn about my little female today.
The female.
Not ‘my’ anything.
