Chapter 12:

The door clicks shut behind me, and for the first time in a long time, the silence in the apartment feels too loud.

Ellie's working the night shift, so it's just me. I flick on the lamp in the living room, its dim light casting long, tired shadows across the walls.

Mated to Valentine.

The words bounce around in my head like a bad echo. I drop my bag on the couch and sink into the cushions, my hands shaking slightly as I rake them through my hair.

"Mated," I mutter under my breath, tasting the word like it's something foreign and bitter.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel flattered or trapped.

Grabbing my laptop, I settle into bed, pulling the blankets tight around me. The glow of the screen fills the room as I type into the search bar: What does it mean to be mated to a vampire?

The results are… not helpful. A sea of fictional nonsense floods the screen: eternal devotion, undying love, bonds that transcend death.

Lovers bound for eternity. My chest tightens. I snap the laptop shut and toss it onto the other side of the bed.

This is ridiculous.

I don't hate him. Oh no, I think I've passed that stage...I actually don't think I ever hated him to be fair.

He's saved my life, fed me when I was starving, and… there's something about him that pulls at me in ways I don't understand.

But I don't know him—certainly not enough to commit to something that sounds more binding than marriage.

I rub my temples, trying to shake off the rising tide of anxiety. The silence in the apartment presses in on me, and my stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten anything except blood in what feels like forever.

The kitchen light flickers as I flip the switch. I grab bread, some peanut butter, and jelly from the pantry.

The scent of it is faint, almost muted compared to the overwhelming smell of blood that seems to linger in my senses now. But I manage to make a sandwich and bite into it.

It tastes... fine. Not like it used to, though. I chew slowly, forcing it down as another thought creeps into my mind.

Achilles said I'm not a vampire. That if I were, I wouldn't be able to stand in the sun. And that I'm not safe.

What does that mean? God, there are a lot of things wrong with me...with my life at the moment.

I remember Valentine told me the day I woke up at his mansion that Vampires can't get into sunlight. But here I am, attending classes like a normal person even when I'm not.

If I remember clearly too, I have never seen him in the sunlight. Never. He's more like a prince of the darkness.

And what's with the 'not safe' part? Are vampires generally endangered species or is there something or someone out there coming for me because I am a vampire that walks in the sun?

I grip the counter, trying to steady my breathing. The questions keep piling up, and I have no answers.

I need to talk to Valentine. I need to dump these questions on him and most importantly, I need some fucking answers.

His name comes to my lips before I even realize I'm speaking.

"Valentine," I whisper into the stillness, like he'll magically appear if I just say it enough times.

When nothing happens, I try again—this time in my head, focusing all my energy on him.

Can you hear me?

Silence.

I try again. Louder. Sharper. But there's nothing.

Frustrated, I glance out the window. The sun's dipping low, its final rays painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

The streetlights flicker on one by one, chasing away the shadows.

I retreat to my room, hoping sleep will dull the edge of my thoughts, but the moment my head hits the pillow, I feel it: that familiar burn at the back of my throat. Hunger.

I can't do this. Not again.

By the time night has fully fallen, I can't pretend to not notice the burn any longer, and I decide to distract myself from it.

Throwing on a hoodie, I slip out of the apartment, letting the cool night air wrap around me like a second skin. My feet carry me almost instinctively to the cemetery.

It's quiet here, as always. The kind of quiet that doesn't feel suffocating. I find the familiar gravestone, the one I've visited so many times I could trace the name with my eyes closed.

"Hi, Mom," I whisper, sitting down cross-legged in front of it. My fingers graze the cold stone, tracing the lines of the inscription.

It feels like forever since I've been here.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited. Things have been… different. Strange." I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

I take a deep breath, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I think I'm dead. Or at least, not alive. I don't even know what I am anymore." My voice cracks, and I bite down hard on my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"I have to drink blood now. Can you believe that? Blood. To survive." I shake my head, my vision blurring. "I don't know how this happened, or why it happened to me. I'm scared, Mom. I'm so scared."

The tears come then, hot and unstoppable. I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking as I let it all out.

The confusion, the fear, the anger—it all spills over like a dam breaking.

I stay there for what feels like an hour, pouring my heart out to the only person I feel like I can talk to. The gravestone doesn't answer, but somehow, it feels like she's listening.

Eventually, the tears stop. My head feels heavy, but my chest feels a little lighter. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I stand up, brushing dirt off my jeans.

"Thank you for listening," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "I love you."

The walk back home is quiet, the streets empty except for the occasional car passing by. By the time I slip back into the apartment, the hunger has dulled slightly, though I know it won't stay that way for long.

I collapse onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Valentine's name lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I don't call for him again.

Not tonight.