"Ara!" He held a finger up, tilting his head awkwardly away as if he were fighting a deep, instinctual urge within him-what it was, I couldn't tell. "Don't say what you're about to say. If you say it, it's been said, and you won't be able to take it back."

I held onto the urge to yell at him, to scream at him, but I could only hold it so long; it burst out in a singular cry. I folded my face into my hand. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate-"

"Ara, Ara, stop." He gathered me in his arms. "Ara, please, please don't do this, my love."

"No. You stop it. Don't you call me that. You can't call me that and then leave me." I grabbed his shirt and looked deep into his eyes, my tears stopping. "You don't know what you're doing. You can't leave. I'll die if you leave, David. I'll never be able to co-"

"You have to cope, Ara." He unfolded my fingers from his shirt. "You've got no goddamn choice."

"No. I do. This is love. This is life. I'm alive." I tapped my chest. "I'm alive. We get a second chance, David. Don't waste that."

"I won't." He looked into me, and I could almost feel him reaching out to stroke my face, but though his eyes said he wanted to, his hands stayed by his sides. "I'm leaving you so you can live. A life with me-running, hiding, like dogs, Ara, would be a waste. I will walk out that door-" he pointed across the room, "-and you have the choice to either say goodbye to me now, or never have the chance again."

It hurt so much-in my heart. I rolled my head back, letting my face crumple with the pain of his impassively conclusive words. "David. Please. You can't. I won't live without you. I won't, and you can't make me."

But he took another step away from me. "I'm sorry, Ara."

My mouth dropped with the disbelief my heart suffered for each inch of space between us. The fight in me turned to fear, and I tried to move my legs-to get up and run after him, but they felt like jelly; I could barely even move my toes.

"David." I reached out. "David. Don't. Please. Don't go."

He looked away from me, his eyes scrunching tightly in the corners as he closed them.

"David, I love you. If I could take it all back, I would. Just, please. Please stay with me-please don't leave me again. I want to be with you."

"But you can't be with me, Ara." He appeared beside me, stroking his thumb over the release of tears down my cheek. "I left you with scars from my involvement in your life, and it's time to put it right again. I love you too much to let you get hurt like that." His voice trembled; he steadied it with a breath. "And I can never watch you die again. I swear-" he clutched a fist over his heart, "-as long as I walk this Earth, as long as I continue to move, I will have to believe that you are alive-that you still exist, or I will not survive this human life."

"No." I reached for him, just managing to grasp his shirt before he could pull away. "David, please-you're making a mistake."

Behind David, the door flung open and Mike's smile dropped when he saw my face. "What have you done to her?" he growled, bounding toward me.

The tense energy tore away from the space between us as Mike pushed David aside. My outstretched hand gripped tighter, but my fingers slipped, and David backed away, one painful step at a time.

"Ara? What happened?" Mike asked, tucking my abandoned reach into my lap.

"No-" I pushed up from Mike's embrace and searched the room for David; he hesitated by the door, holding it ajar as his gaze quickly averted once it met mine.

"I know this will be hard for you, Ara. Believe me, I will regret this decision for the rest of eternity," his silky voice trembled. "But I cannot love you the way you are. I will only bring you pain."

"David," I whimpered. I'll die without you. Can't you feel that?

"Non, ma cherie. The sun will rise again in your world, but for me, it never will."

"Then stay," I whispered one last time.

He shook his head. "We were just a dream of mine, Ara...but even dreams eventually die."

My eyes closed as the words he spoke touched my soul and broke my heart; when I looked up from Mike's embrace, my David, my knight-was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Death, those of us who outrun it, can never escape it. It held me in its clutches long enough to steal my life, and though I could breathe and talk and was capable of human emotion on the outside, inside I was a cold, putrid corpse.

He left me-backed away, turned around and held his head high as he fled my life for eternity. No second chance, no discussion-just gone.

My body would heal, so they told me-it would take months of rigorous and painful physiotherapy, but it would, eventually, return to what it once was. But they were talking about my ability to walk to the bathroom by myself or breathe properly when sitting up. None of them knew what torments I suffered inside. Even the psychiatrist in Vicki couldn't tell.

"Ara?" She broke my reverie, knocking on my already open door.

I looked up from pretending to read my book. "Hm?"

"Um-" She shuffled her feet. "Emily's on the phone."

"Vicki!" I slammed the book down. "I told you. No phone calls. I don't want to talk to anyone."

"But, Ara, honey, it's been weeks-she just wants to see you're all right."

"Do I look all right? God, I can hardly even walk myself to the bathroom, I-"

"Yes, you can, you did it this morning, remember?" She grinned.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want visitors."

"Are you sure, honey? It'll only be a few mi-"

"I'm done arguing. I said no."

"Okay. I'll uh-I'll tell her to call back another day." Vicki nodded and closed the door.

I stared at the empty space for a moment, lip quivering, arms weighted with grief. I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't let Em see me. I missed her so much. I missed school, missed normal life, but I was so goddamn ashamed. I didn't even want to look at my own father, let alone my friends.

"Hey, ba-" I jumped, wiping hot tears from my cheeks, hurriedly grabbing my book as Mike swung my door open. "Ara? Baby, are you crying?"

"Nope." I held the book to my chest as he sat beside me. "I'm good."

"So, these are tears of hilarity?" He looked at the title.

"Yup. Funny scene." I forced a smile.

Mike's eyes narrowed, his head seeming to shake, though it held still. I knew he wasn't born yesterday, but I also knew that with the prudence they all exercised with me lately, he wouldn't push for the truth. The question was etching on his lips, though; he wanted to know why I cried if I didn't remember much about the attack, and a part of him, I was sure, wondered if David had something to do with it.

He asked me once, if there was some reason David had become so upset when he saw the wound on my neck-more upset than anyone else. I simply told him it was because David loved me more than anyone else, and Mike accepted that answer, temporarily. But he'd eventually start piecing things together, I was sure of it.

"Ara?" Mike said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Quit fazing out."

"Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

He sighed, eyes on my ring, then shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing. I uh-" he stood up, "-I'll be in my room if you need me."

"Okay, Mike," I said, and let him walk away. I couldn't ask him what he'd just said-not when there was a strong chance it was about our engagement. We hadn't mentioned it since I woke from the coma, and I wasn't sure I wanted to yet.

I stared at the door again for a while after he closed it, trying not to embrace the past-not to look on it and remember the bad or the good. It was, and would remain, exactly as the dictionary described it-the past.

As another night rolled to a close, Sam sat at the base of my bed and sketched pictures in his journal. He was good company. It was enough for him to just sit and be silent; he didn't need to probe or prod for details, attempting to assess my psychological state. It pretty clearly sat high at 'completely messed-up' since the attack-it didn't take a genius to figure that out.

"What do you think?" He held up his book.

"Wow, Sam, that's amazing." Not just because the grey sketch of the girl looked exactly like me, but because she was smiling-something I'd not done since coming home.

He rested the book in his lap and kept his eyes on it. "Ara?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Do you remember much-about the attack?" He pretended to retrace the lines on his picture. "Does it keep you up at night?"

I stared at my thumbs, clicking them over each other. "Yes. It does. But I try not to think of it."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too." I rolled over and covered my head with my blankets.

No one told Sam the finer details of the attack, but gossip had a way of spreading. He came home late from school the other day, kept back on detention after punching a kid who told him my dad lied-that the truth was, my attacker really had...violated me. But no one knew what actually happened; I'd take the truth to my grave-however far away that may be. And I didn't plan to stay in New England, either. My story made the news and all the major papers; there'd be no escaping the stares if I went back to school. Conclusions based on odd facts were the worst kinds of infectious humiliation. I'd already planned to jump on a plane and go back home as soon as I was well. Whether that was as Mike's fiance or not, I didn't care. I just needed to get away from here-away from it all.

David once said that it was kinder for a vampire to kill a human than to leave them alive, suffering in agony until they finally passed. He was right. Death would have been kinder. Perhaps that's why Jason left me alive-so I'd walk the Earth for the rest of my days, not only ashamed and broken, reliving the consequences of his cruelty in every nightmare, but also that I'd suffer it alone-without David. He must have known David would leave me if I wasn't capable of change. He set out to punish David, but I was the one made to suffer.

A wild winter gale rattled my windowpane, and the darkness of the night touched every corner of my room. I couldn't remember Sam leaving, and though I heard Dad and Vicki go to bed, I couldn't remember if they came in to say goodnight-like they always did.

The music vibrating through my earphones helped filter out some of the clatter from the wind, but I should've been more careful about the playlist I chose because, tonight, in the darkness, these songs flooded my heart with the agony of missing David.

I made myself small against the wall and hugged my pillow to my chest. The skin along my cheeks hurt from the constant wiping of tears, but as the cold turned them icy against my lips, I forced myself to blot them away. Then, as I sniffled, the memory of David's scent replayed in the darkness, an apparition of him appearing before me, making me lose the fight to subdue my sobs. I could hardly breathe, hardly stop my shoulders ferociously shaking as I bawled, muffling my cries against my hands. "You're not really here, are you?"

He stared down at me, his liquid-green eyes intense with sorrow, as if our separation hurt him just as much as me. "If I were, my love, I shouldn't be." Then, as swiftly as he appeared, he was gone again, the tone of his smooth voice ringing in my ears as if he'd really spoken.

I remained breathless, watching the breeze blow in through my window, a second passing before my heart beat again.

"That's it." I tore my earphones out and ditched my iPod across the room, tossing my pillows and blanket on top so I wouldn't have to think about it, then rolled over, shivering in the nakedness of my bed, wishing I'd at least kept my blanket. But regret only lasted another few sobs as the exhaustion of healing swept me under the grasp of sleep.

Morning has a funny way of turning up when it's not wanted. The unruly wind from last night receded with the moon, and the sun cast a scarlet ribbon across the horizon. Through the reflection of my antique mirror on the other side of my room, I watched a murder of crows flock in the open sky. It was early, but there was still so much beauty in the morning, despite the world's ignorance to its existence.

I snuggled up under my blanket, tucking my hand under my pillow, but held my breath, feeling something small and solid slip between my fingertips. I sat up and unfolded my hand, my skin going tight with bumps as a silver chain dangled down, swinging from my heart-shaped locket, the French inscription face up, bringing tears to my eyes.

He left this. He was here. I grabbed my blanket in a fist and tucked it to my chin. Why would he do this to me? Why would he leave this when I gave it back to him so I could move on?

I sobered myself with a shaky gulp of air and wiped my cheeks with my sleeve.

Because that was just it, wasn't it? Forever. I promised him my forever, and he promised me eternity. But I had to move on. He made me move on, though he would never let me go. And it occurred to me then, that I'd never let him go either, and needed to stop trying-needed to wear this, keep David close to my heart, alive in my thoughts, because he was a part of me, and I felt nothing if I didn't love him.

Mike would know; he'd know I missed David, but he'd accept it, because he loved me, too. I could never move on, not really. I could live for the rest of my life with Mike, and I could be his wife, but, as the fine inscription on the back of the locket read, I belonged to him-to David. I always would.

"Forever," I told myself as I linked the chain around my neck and let it fall against my collarbones-back where it belonged.

Day turned into night again, and I listened to the familiar sound of dinner conversation going on in the dining room, without me. Mike's booming laughter flowed up the stairs and poked me in the heart. I wished I could laugh. I wished I could laugh with Mike. But he seemed to be avoiding me. I think. Or maybe he was just trying to give me some space, I wasn't sure, but he hovered by my door a lot-hardly ever knocked or came in...just hovered. Unless I needed something. Care and help, but no companionship. It just wasn't like him to be so distant. Before the attack, there were never closed doors between us, but now it seemed like even the windows were shut-and I was all alone on the other side.

A screech of disapproval rose above the loud chatter of my family and Vicki said, "Greg, you can't say that. It's politically incorrect."

Dad didn't respond, but I pictured him laughing into his fist, his face red, his shoulders shaking.

"But it's true, Vicki," Mike said, "It's rude, yes, but..." I stopped listening. I didn't want to hear what they were saying. I didn't want to be a part of their conversation-nor did I want to sit here wishing I was.

I clutched my secret locket and waited for the arrival of another tear-provoked sleep.

When the faucet stopped running and the lights and doors were positioned in their nightly rest stop, I snuggled down in my bed, closed my eyes, and imagined David beside me.

"How are you feeling?" the apparition asked, smiling at me; I could almost feel the solidity of his fingers as he trailed them along my hairline.

"Better now you're here."

He went to smile, then looked up to my opening door; I quickly tucked the locket away and closed my eyes.

Mike stood in the doorway, waiting to see if I'd wake, as usual, then wandered over to lock the window I'd already double-checked-twice, drawing my curtains closed again after. I wanted to look up and see what he was doing then, since his gaze seemed to have a physical effect on me, as if my body knew he was staring, but if I let him know I was awake, he'd stay with me for the night and I'd never get back to my dreams of David.

"Oh, Mike-I didn't realise you were in here," my dad whispered into the darkness.

"Yeah, I like to check on her before I go to bed," Mike said in a deep, husky whisper.

"Is she sleeping?"

"Yeah." His solemn, almost broken tone obviously set my dad's mind wandering as it did mine.

"You okay, son?" Dad said, and the light filtering in from the hall disappeared.

"I'm worried about her, Greg."

I opened one eye to see my dad lean against my dresser. "Me too," he said. "I don't think she's okay, you know. She plays it tough-" Dad looked right at me; I closed my eye again. "But I never even see her cry. Not once. Surely something like this has got to leave a girl feeling something?"

"She cries," Mike stated, his tone empty. "I know you don't see it, but that's because she wants everyone to think she's okay."

"You've seen her cry?"

I opened my eyes a little; Mike shook his head. "But I hear her. At night, when she thinks everyone's asleep." Mike looked at Dad. "A few times I've come to her door, trying to decide if I should come in, but she smiles and plays it cool when I catch her." There was a pause. "She won't talk to me, Greg, but she needs to talk to someone before she buries this grief too deep and we lose her."