8 - Memories of a tragic past

«Sorry again for what I did last Sunday at the spa...» I murmur, guilt heavy in my voice as I glance at Brianne's face, seeking forgiveness or understanding. She wears a vintage gold locket I hadn't noticed before—the kind that holds tiny photos of loved ones. I wonder whose picture it holds.

«You've apologized a hundred times this week, Ren» Brianne says gently but firmly. «I told you—it's fine. Mistakes happen when you're new. What matters is you've learned.»

Her green eyes glisten under dim streetlights and moonlight. Her lips press into a thin line as her tone turns melancholic. «When I scold you, it's for your good. Hurting someone bigger than you so easily—it doesn't go unnoticed. If someone from Black Jacket had seen...»

Her voice falters, tears silently spill from her shimmering eyes. Her hands tremble as she clutches the locket tightly to her chest, her fingers curling protectively around it.

«Brianne, are you okay?» I ask softly, leaning closer. Her silence and the tension in her grip say it all. Seeing her so far from the strong woman I admire twists a knot in my chest.

«Ren...» she says, voice trembling. Her fingers tighten on the pendant. «Let's sit over there.» She nods toward a small playground in the shadows—a slide, a creaky swing, and an old bench.

We sit side by side on the bench. Brianne pulls out a cigarette—her usual midnight ritual. Normally, I'd step back from the smoke, but tonight I stay. What she's about to say feels too important.

She lights the cigarette, her hands trembling slightly as she exhales smoke into the crisp night air.

I watch, waiting. Since Clare hinted the Black Jackets hurt Brianne, I've been desperate to know the truth.

Brianne opens the pendant, revealing a picture of a boy. My breath catches—it's not me. The boy has blonde hair, but the resemblance is uncanny: the same eyes, features, and hairstyle. If not for the hair color, we'd be identical.

«You look alike, don't you?» Brianne murmurs, her voice tinged with nostalgia and sorrow. Her lips curl into a faint smile. «In this picture, you were the same age.»

«Yeah...» I reply, unsettled. «The resemblance is... striking. Who is he?»

«My big brother» she says softly, her gaze fixed on the photo, gently rubbing it with her finger.

Unease grips me, leaving me unsure what to say. The way she clutches the pendant, sadness on her face—it's clear something happened.

«His name was Chris» she says, voice trembling. «He was the sweetest, most caring brother. I loved him more than anyone else.»

«You're speaking in past tense, so that means...» My voice trails off, unnecessary to finish.

«He was your age when it happened—when a Black Jacket killed my parents and brother seven years ago» she says, her voice breaking. «Chris was a Crystalbringer like us. He had the Ice Crystal, powerful but flawed: it allows only one attack at a time. I didn't know that then.»

She takes a deep breath, voice trembling. «That night, a man pointed a gun at me. He pulled the trigger, and my brother had to choose: counterattack or protect me.» Her voice breaks as a tear slips down her cheek.

I swallow hard. «Your brother must have loved you so much» I whisper, voice barely audible.

Brianne laughs bitterly as tears stream down her face. «He never said it—not until that night. That stubborn idiot waited until he was dying to tell me.» She snaps the pendant shut.

She wipes her eyes, her voice firmer though the pain lingers. «It happened because my brother and the other boys in the student council were careless with their powers. They didn't consider the consequences. The Black Jackets must have tracked them easily, even without radar.»

Her words hit me hard. Suddenly, everything clicks—why she reacted so strongly when I lost control at the spa, why she's so cautious. Brianne has endured more pain than anyone should, yet she never stops caring for others. She's the strongest person I know.

Moved by compassion, I take her hand, our fingers intertwining. Her warmth grounds me, and all I want is to hold her. So I do. My arms pull her into an embrace. She trembles slightly, but I don't let go. I don't know if someone she's known for two weeks can comfort her, but she needs to feel she's not alone.

Tonight, I'm less steady than I want to be. My leg bounces, and my hands tremble—a nervous tic I can't hide. I thought I hid it well, but as we embrace, Brianne notices immediately.

«Ren...» she murmurs, concern in her voice. «How long since you drank blood?»

I stiffen at the question, shame swirling inside me. «Since the night we met» I admit quietly. Two long weeks.

Her expression shifts, concern turning to frustration. «Ren, you idiot!» she exclaims, pulling back to meet my eyes. «I promised you could drink my blood whenever needed. Why didn't you tell me?»

I falter, searching for words. I'd planned to bring it up tonight, but the sorrow in her eyes, the weight on her heart—I couldn't add my burden. «I'm sorry...» I whisper.

Brianne sighs, shaking her head as her frustration softens. Without a word, she flicks her cigarette butt into the drain and starts unbuttoning her shirt.

It's the same shirt she wore that first night—the night we met. But now, she wears a red bra instead of black. The atmosphere has shifted: the tension of that night is gone, replaced by warmth and depth.

It's strange; we've only known each other two weeks, yet it feels like a lifetime. Brianne seems at ease. No hesitation or embarrassment in her eyes, just serene confidence and a soft smile.

My hands rest on her hips, trembling slightly as my canines sharpen instinctively. My green eyes flash deep red.

A red drop trickles from her neck, down her collarbone, settling at her breast's curve, blending into the lace of her bra. Her soft moans and warm, steady hands brush my back.

As always, we end with the quiet ritual of cotton and disinfectant, her bag ready at her side.

«The sky's beautiful tonight» Brianne murmurs softly, her gaze fixed upward.

I look up: a crystal-clear sky, stars scattered like jewels on an endless navy canvas. A rare sight in our city. «Yeah...» My voice is quieter than I intend.

Brianne leans back on the bench, her shirt still undone. She stretches her arms toward me—a silent invitation that makes my heart race. I lean in, letting her pull me close.

I lie on top of her, my head resting on her chest, sinking into its softness. Her warmth seeps into me, chasing away the night's chill.

Her fingers trail my back, light as a feather, sending shivers—not from the cold. It's soothing. In her arms, I've found a small corner of the world where nothing can hurt me.

This feeling is like a flame—warming, not burning. It spreads through me, wrapping me in a cocoon of quiet joy. I don't want to move or let it end. It's so... peaceful...

Dawn's warm light grazes my face, soft and comforting, but it's not what wakes me.

«Look at my little Ren, living the dream!» Clare's sharp voice rings out. «I've been searching everywhere for you! Neither you nor Brianne answered your phones! I've never been so worried! I spent the night wandering alleys like a sweet, defenseless maiden—all because you two were busy acting like rabbits!»

Wait. Sweet, defenseless maiden? Clare? In what world is that true? The truth is, Brianne and I were so exhausted last night we didn't hear our phones buzzing. She has a point. Poor Clare.

Clare's dramatic rant stirs Brianne, who groans, stretches, and blinks herself awake. «Clare...» Brianne mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. «What are you doing here?» she yawns, squinting at her.

«What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here, Brianne?» Clare snaps, hands on her hips. «You don't know how worried I was—especially with those Black Jacket punks around with their radars! And instead of worrying about me, you spent the night with little Ren doing who knows what!»

Brianne's cheeks flush, her eyes darting away. «We didn't do anything... gross» she mutters, barely audible. «We just... slept together.»

Clare snorts, crossing her arms. «Don't do this again!» she huffs, spinning on her heel. «Come on, let's go. My car's nearby.»

Brianne stumbles to her feet, groggy but obediently following Clare. I stay behind.

«I'll walk home» I say.

Clare spins, raising an eyebrow. «Huh? Why?»

I glance at the sky, painted in soft oranges and pinks. «It's just... the weather's nice. The air's fresh. I feel like walking.»

«Fine, but text me as soon as you're home. Woe betide you if you don't!» Clare recommends to me

With that, she and Brianne climb into Clare's fiery red car. The engine roars as they drive off. I turn the other way, the world quiet as I start my slow walk home.

This night... Words can't do it justice. I slept on Brianne's chest—warm, soft, and soothing—wrapped in her arms. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine this. It felt incredible. She fell asleep first—maybe the blood I took made her drowsier than usual—but I could have taken advantage of the situation. I didn't. Not for a second.

I'll admit, when I first met Brianne, there was some... let's call it 'natural attraction'. But over time, something changed. It's not that I don't find her beautiful—she's breathtaking—but as I got to know her, I started seeing the person behind the beauty.

Last night, in her arms, I felt more than warmth or comfort. I felt something I hadn't in years: affection. The kind that fills every empty space, the kind you think you'll never feel again. It reminded me of something I thought lost forever—the way I felt in my mom's arms before she passed. Four years since I lost her, and for the first time, I felt that same safe, loved feeling.

My thoughts halt as a loud honk jolts me back to reality. A small, beat-up dark-blue hatchback pulls up beside me. «Ren, what are you doing out here at six a.m.?» a familiar voice calls out. Peering from the car window is a middle-aged man with messy grey hair, an unkempt beard, and unmistakable thick yellow-rimmed glasses—Arthur Volkom, my father.

«Just felt like walking and catching the sunrise. I could ask you the same, Dad» I reply with a smirk. «The factory you work at is on the other side of town.»

«A colleague's car broke down, so I gave him a ride home. You know, coworker favours.» He gestures for me to hop in. «Haven't had breakfast yet, huh? Let's try that new bakery downtown. Everyone's raving about it.»