Chapter Text
“Please, Gruftine, I promise you'll like her.” Oskar's tone was pleading, something I'd long grown used to before. It didn't get through to me anymore.
“I promise you, I won't!”
“Why don't you give her just a chance?” The way he cocked his head and widened his eyes was a record as looping and broken as time itself.
“Oskar, I already did, years ago!” I gave him a slight push, standing up from my botany station to try and breathe. “Remember? When I saved you from that psychopath Polidori, time and time again, for, like, all of middle school?”
I began to pace angrily around the room, pretending to look at flowers and plants, clackings bouncing off my heels to the walls, and then back to us. My hands flowed their way to the baby hairs of my neck, feeling their soft comfort, and, before I could notice, pulling them out. I could not stop it, despite knowing what was happening. It was always like this. He followed me, the same oblivious, stupid wandering I fell for so long ago.
“This is different, Gruf. We have a whole… thing now. She really wants to meet you guys.”
A thing? A thing? I thought that if I had blood under my skin, it would be boiling. Since when have they been a 'thing'? How much did he stop telling me?
…How out of time was I?
“I mean, almost a thing… I mean… Ugh, whatever, even Stoker and Tinto agreed to go. We'll just go watch a movie and stroll around the town. It's really not a big deal. You literally never have to go again if you hate her, but at least give her an actual chance!”
“Look, Oskar.” I snapped back at him. “I already gave you enough excuses when you started liking this girl, and when I had to bust you out of life-threatening scenario after life-threatening scenario. I thought that if I gave you enough time warning you of how much risk you were under just by being around her, you'd come around to your senses and save your own skin, but noooo, you're too much of a foolish, self-entitled ‘hopeless romantic’ nitwit to actually understand and listen to the people that actually care about you.” I could feel that same old anger rising from my gut, speeding up my words, widening my eyes, making me tower over the small, cowering figure of my childhood best friend. “It is not solely because you deem a stupid, teenage love more important than the entire weight of the society and tradition you carry in your name, that you have the right to have the shamelessness of dragging the others – people I actually care about, Oskar, our friends – into going directly into this girl's trap. I can't go on and on and on telling you that she's bad news, because you never listen to anybody other than yourself!”
“Gruftine, wait, I-”
“Listen to the words you're saying! This is classic Polidori! You cannot possibly be this oblivious to think this is all fine and dandy! What are we going to do after the movie, Oskar? Please, grace me with your itinerary of fine, fine activities.”
“I promise it's nothing much, just the movie and-”
“And what? Oh, I know! Let's all dance around the campfire while singing beautiful vampire hunter melodies! What else can we do, Oskar? Play Just Dance on the WiiU? All sit for truth or dare to tell her how we're all vampires? Or perhaps take a long, comfy picnic out in the sun? Please! Enlighten me! Enlighten me, Oskar!”
He didn't reply, leaving room for my huffs to shrink into pants, then sighs, then silence. He carefully rested his hands by his sides in fists, his head dropping a bit as he stared at his black wing-tipped derby shoes.
“Four years,” I heard the quiver in his voice that appeared when he was trying not to cry. “That's how long she had to kill me. Scratch the fact that she doesn't know I'm a vampire, she had four years to feel how cold my skin is, to hate only seeing me during the night, to stare into my eyes and to run away because they're yellow. four years to be afraid, to hate me, to rat me out to her grandpa. And it didn't happen. If I told her I'm a vampire, I think she'd laugh in my face and rant about how they're not real. If you're going to be so judgy towards someone who doesn't even see us as half of the potential danger as you think she does, as I'd like to think spending four years liking her has taught me, then you're being, just… like…” He cowered away from me. “...a massive hypocrite.” He waited. I didn't react, so he continued, his apprehension growing into a shy fierceness.
“Look. If you don't want to meet her and you want to stay in this tiny little corner of the world where you never get to see anything new, whatever. You're right: I can't make you go. But I bet with every fiber of my being that Sunshine Polidori is one of the kindest, most genuine and funny people I've ever met – mortal or creature. You know above everyone else how much I like her, and I wouldn't care about the implications of liking her if I wasn't sure. If you want to be so high and mighty to lecture me about how I'm wrong, and how all of this, this love is wrong, then check it out for yourself, prove to me that all humans are indeed terrible. But for now, you're standing on a theory. Sunshine being a hidden villain is as true as vampires in her mind, for now. You're always complaining about how you're the only girl in the castle now, and how lonely you are, so at least make an effort. There's a whole world out there, dude, and I'm sorry that I actually want to explore it instead of being caged inside the school.”
Silence built itself into a wall between us. He sighed, clutching his head in his hands, like so many other times when he didn't know what to do. I had a feeling he'd been holding that in for a while, and that painted my crimson anger in a new coat of blue sadness. A stake to the heart.
“Oskar!” A voice rang out from a little crack in the door, squeaky, unsure. Tinto's voice. A shy creak and the sight of blonde hair soon followed as he peeked his head into the botany classroom.
“Hello, hi, thank Dracula I finally found you. Oh, hi, Gruftine. Stoker keeps screaming at me to 'style him’ for tonight. He won't shut up. Half of the crypt is covered in bad suits. Please help.”
He stepped towards Tinto, his ruffled black hair turning to show Oskar's careful face to me once again. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again:
“I hope you'll think about this. Truly. It would mean a lot to me and Sun- I mean, to me, if you went.” I couldn't move as he beelined towards the door, leaving with Tinto, leaving me alone. Again.
As I tended to the freesias, Oskar's words repeated. Four years. Had it really been that long? It couldn't be as serious as he was putting it. Oskar and I had been friends for triple the amount, and I'd liked him for ten, give or take: long before he was scared of blood, long before he was Oskar at all. I'd give him gardenias tied and twisted into rings, then get angry at him for not understanding what they meant. I was here long before that human – I daren't even say her name – ever moved to Luxembourg.
I remembered the anger I felt when I first saw Oskar's eyes dart around gleefully when he talked about this strange human girl he met in the woods, the bite of jealousy turning me vile. I was there first. I knew him inside and out. I knew who and what he was, who he truly was, and for that, I always felt I was infinitely more justified to believe I had a more solid shot than that tawdry little hemlock could ever have. I held myself with pride and grace, the way my mother taught me to, and I was everything a vampire had to be, conditioned to perfection. And yet, every time, her raggedy clothes and wild, spotted face drew him away from my grasp and into danger. I'd seen her before, and the way her lips pouted whenever she screamed and mocked how vampires are merely a legend drove me goddamn near insanity. The way he looked at her made a certain pressure rise between my ribs, crushing my bones, trying to claw itself out through my mouth. It almost popped my eyes out. Her blue eyes meeting his black ones. Their nervous teenage hands touching for half a second. I thought I'd die.
Arising from the anguish, I suddently felt a break under my hands, snapping me back to the now. The flower rested in the fold between my life line and my head line, broken, glum, a consequence of my temper. I didn't feel anything until I rammed into it, and I was left a sullen girl with broken things.
“Shit, I'm sorry, little guy.” The now. Focus on the now. I scuttled around the room and picked up floral tape and a makeshift splint, standing up to join the little flower with its family once again. With time, it'll heal. All plants heal. Why couldn't I be the same?
Oskar's monologue rang through my bones again twice in a row.
Stoker always made a point to say how stupid I was for not noticing Sunshine and Oskar's affections towards one another. I was forced to be in conversations about the stupid way the left side of his mouth curled upwards into his warm cheek when he spoke about her hair, the songs he sang about her after coming back to the castle, about how he'd sneak into my room to find roses to give her. Rose, the romantic mortal's flower, played to death by countless fools before him. “Cupid de Locke". “Like Someone In Love”. “Lovesong”. It was the same old tale, the same old troubadour I had always known. I'd fall asleep pretending to know what songs he'd sing about me, what gifts he'd give me, how he'd describe me to others.
I learned how to bake mortal food to make him his favourite cake for his 15th. I'd peer-reviewed every single poem he wrote. I'd told him the meanings of every flower I gave him and watched him give them to someone else. What had Sunshine sacrificed? What does she feel when she sees his clumsy hair sway, his echoing name in the night? Is it as familiar to her? Is it different? I sighed.
She had also stayed, after all. I knew there was something on her side, that it wasn't just a case of the one-sided affections of a teenage boy who wasn't very quick on the uptake, and I hated admitting it. I could only watch from the little window beside my coffin as he flew away, peeking at their love through purple curtains, seeing her hands wrapped around him and feeling myself shake, shake, shake. The window, far away from the action, far away from chance, far away from life. The window, where I could only turn to Arakula and my flowers for a deep conversation, since I couldn't have two successive talks with him without snapping. Maybe that's what ruined my chance. Maybe that's why he stopped coming to my room to gossip. Maybe that's why he chose her. It was my fault.
I dropped down to sit on one of the garden beds, stuffing my head between my hands, just like Oskar did. He was right. I had no way of knowing Sunshine. No way to prove him wrong. With a sigh, I stared down at my own dirty gloves, then up at the clock, then back down again. I had a few hours to pick something out, I suppose. I'm smart enough to get away from any trap she could set up.
I'd prove him wrong. I'd prove him wrong, then she'd be gone, and he'd finally see me, and not her.
--
“Alright, everyone ready?”
Oskar zipped up his jacket, wrapping his red and teal scarf around his head in a way I found cute. It scrunched his mouth closer to his upturned nose, and in him I saw the same old winters we'd spent watching bad human rom coms under checkered blankets, and I wanted to kiss his face all over again. I don't know what his obsession with big clothes that engulfed him whole was, but for the middle of February, it was fitting. Ever since Dr. Ironfang had proved him to be physically weak last year, suggesting his hemophobia caused him a sort of rare vampiric anemia, his sensitivity to the cold, cruel weather had grown more and more apparent. There was nothing that could be done if he didn't drink blood, he said. Tinto and I had secretly stolen and upcycled Stoker's expensive parka to try and help him not get sick again.
“Yes, for the millionth time, yes. Can we please gooooo already, loverboy?” Stoker drooped backwards in exasperation, kicking on his boots.
“Calm down. This is a human town. We have to be careful,” Tinto fidgeted with his headgear, trying to make it fit with his earmuffs.
“Yeah, yeah, we know the drill. We're 16. Nobody here except Stoker needs to hear the same rules repeated to them again, right? Dear Dracula, this turtleneck will actually kill me.” I fixed my own shirt and jacket, impatiently pulling my necklaces out of the collar to sit over my collarbone.
“Hey, if Stoker screws something up, I call dibs on us flying and leaving Stoker behind. Who's in?”
“Oh, me, definitely.”
“I'll sign up for that any day!”
We all chuckled. Another day, another joke for Stoker to be the butt of. It was routine. It was us.
“Alright, alright, losers, let's get going before my wings fall asleep.” He made way for his stocky build, quickly jumping off the ledge of the concrete window and soaring forward.
We quickly followed, wings flapping one pair at a time underneath the cold, bright moon. We slowly started to make out the flickering lights and wafting smoke of the town, taking note of its many inhabitants going to bed, seeing their candles and oil lamps simmer down into the quietness of nighttime. We barely spoke during our trip – there was nothing to talk about, only the shivering anticipation looming over our heads. Oskar made a left turn that took us to the alleyway next to the theatre, softly thumping on the ground.
“Okay, guys, being serious for a second, please, please, please, be normal. As normal as we can be, I mean. A lot of vampire stuff is weird to humans, and I really don't want Sunshine to believe we're a bunch of weirdos and never speak to me again. She's really excited to see you guys, but remember, she thinks vampires aren't real. So no talk about blood, no talk about food that moves, no talk about the school, and especially no talk about biting. I'm looking at you, Grimtale.” He whispered into our little huddle, turning around before Stoker could reply. “Alright, gang, let's do this! Operation Shooting Star, begin!”
“I think we should really stop letting him pick names for these things,” I heard Tinto whisper beside me.