Page 68 of Life and Death
“I don’t understand.”
“We . . . try,” she explained. Her voice got heavier and slower. “We’re usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make . . . mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you.”
“This is a mistake?” I heard the hurt in my voice, but I didn’t know if she could, too.
“A very dangerous one,” she murmured.
We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn’t look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road underneath us, and I was suddenly terrified that I would never have another chance to be with her like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. What she was saying kind of sounded like . . . goodbye. My hand tightened over hers. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with her.
“Tell me more.” I didn’t really care what she said, I just wanted to listen to her voice.
She looked at me quickly, seeming startled by the change in my tone. “What more do you want to know?”
“Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people,” I said. It was the first question I could think of. My voice sounded thick. I double-blinked the extra moisture from my eyes.
Her answer was very low. “I don’twantto be a monster.”
“But animals aren’t enough?”
She paused. “I can’t be sure, but I’d compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn’t completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time.” Her tone darkened. “Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”
“Is it very difficult for you now?” I asked.
She sighed. “Yes.”
“But you’re not hungry now,” I said—stating, not asking.
“Why do you think that?”
“Your eyes. I have a theory about that. Seems like the color is linked to your mood—and people are generally crabbier when they’re hungry, right?”
She laughed. “You’re more observant than I gave you credit for.”
I listened to the sound of her laugh, committing it to memory.
“So everything I thought I saw—that day with the van. That all happened for real. Youcaughtthe van.”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
“How strong are you?”
She glanced at me from the side of her eye. “Strong enough.”
“Like, could you lift five thousand pounds?”
She looked a little thrown by my enthusiasm. “If I needed to. But I’m not much into feats of strength. They just make Eleanor competitive, and I’ll never bethatstrong.”
“How strong?”
“Honestly, if she wanted to, I think she could lift a mountain over her head. But I would never say that around her, because then she would have to try.” She laughed, and it was a relaxed sound. Affectionate.
“Were you hunting this weekend, with, uh, Eleanor?” I asked when it was quiet again.
“Yes.” She paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.”
“Why didn’t you want to leave?”
“It makes me . . . anxious . . . to be away from you.” Her eyes were gentle, but intense, and they made it hard to breathe in and out like normal. “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I’m surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed.” She shook her head, and then seemed to remember something. “Well, not totally unscathed.”
