"Horror," he stated, cupping his hand over mine, stopping it from lifting his shirt.

"Really? Why? They're so-icky."

"Not for me. I love a good, scary horror. I have this thing for blood; can't get enough of it."

Well, I never assumed that one. I just couldn't believe my ears. Sweet, kind David? Liked blood? It just didn't fit. I rolled onto my belly again to study his face. "Really?"

He just smiled and placed his hand under my shoulder blade, making me feel so grounded and so real with the weight of his touch. What was it about him that could come across as so harmless, when all I'd heard were stories about his bullying antics, and now he was telling me he liked horror?

"It doesn't suit you," I said.

"What?"

"Gore, horror. All that stuff. I can't picture you watching things like that."

He just laughed. "Guess we won't be having many movie nights then-since we have such different tastes."

"Oh, no way, we so will. You'll just have to watch chick flicks."

His smile widened. "I look forward to it. Of course, I would like to watch a horror with you-" He motioned to my hand on his chest, "-if it meant you'd snuggle into me to feel safe."

I rested my cheek on his shirt again. "We can do that without the horror."

"What about books? Can you read books with horror?"

"Yeah. I like some Stephen King stuff."

"Have you ever read anything by Anne Rice?"

"Yeah. I got swept up in the vampire craze. Basically, any books or movies about fangs, and I was there." I nodded. "You?"

"Yes. Even I fell victim to vampire pop culture."

I laughed aloud. "Yeah, but, personally, I prefer animal-eating vamps. Killing people is just-" I rubbed pretend goose-bumps off my arms. "It just doesn't appeal to me."

"It doesn't?"

"Nope."

"What if you met a vampire who was nice, like me, but killed people? Would you still like him?"

I shook my head. "I know there're girls who would. But, I guess, after seeing death firsthand-how it affects people, I'm not sure now."

He went ultimately quiet and still; I think he even stopped breathing.

I propped my head up again and his stunned stare at my face drew a smirk to my lips. "You okay?"

"Aspirations," he said suddenly, the stare washing away to a smile. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I sighed, knowing full well that his liquid eyes were hiding some deeper thought, but he wouldn't share it. "Um, I always wanted to be a teacher-like my dad. But now I think I kind of want to be a musician-write my own songs."

"I think that would be perfect for you."

"Yeah, me too." I rolled onto my back and took his hand again. "I'd like to be famous one day-maybe as a pianist."

"You'd need to get a piano first."

"Oh God, trust me, I know. I've been begging Dad for one since I was four."

"Why hasn't he bought one for you?"

"He wants me to be a teacher. Better income."

"Not if you were to make it famous."

I shrugged. "Guess he's seen Hollywood dreams go sour too many times."

"But it's not just big dreams with you, Ara. You're very talented-" he laughed on those two words. "I don't think you'd ever be happy teaching."

I felt warm then. "It amazes me how well you know me."

He frayed his fingers gently through mine. "You know, I wanted to be in a rock band once."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was a long time ago."

"Why didn't you?"

"Went in another direction."

"What direction?"

He did that pause thing he was becoming famous for; I assumed he was weighing up all the different answers he could give against the ones he would give to keep me out of his world. "I'm not so sure about that now. Might say I'm at a crossroads."

And that answer, believe it or not, let me into his world more than if he'd said Law or something like that. I smiled. "What direction do you want to take? I mean, what options are there?"

"That's just it; I don't know."

"How can you find out?"

"I can ask."

"Who?"

He sighed. "My uncle, I suppose."

"And what would the question be?" I probed.

His fingers tightened on mine. "When I know the answer to that question, I'll ask it."

I chuckled. "Is it that you don't want to tell me, or that you genuinely don't know?"

"It's that I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because I have secrets." His body became a firm board under me.

"I like secrets," I said, and the board turned to sponge.

"What if they're dark secrets?"

"What kinds of dark secrets?"

"Bad ones."

I really thought about that for a second-about the fear I had that he'd hate me when he learned my dark secrets. But I never imagined he'd have some-that there might be reasons I could hate him. "Then don't tell me just yet."

"When should I tell you?"

"One day."

"What if I didn't have much time-what if I had to tell you soon?"

That rubber mallet of destruction came at my soul again; I felt it getting closer. "What's your favourite sport?"

David didn't answer for a few breaths. "Hockey. You?"

The mallet missed completely, falling through the blankets under me. "I like dancing, but as for actual sports, I was never interested. It was a taboo subject in my house-much to Mike's disgust."

David cleared his throat, crossing his ankles over where they dangled off the end of my bed. "So he really did spend a lot of time there."

"Yep. Every day. He was a permanent fixture-just another piece of furniture. His mom and my mom were really close."

"You and Mike were, too?"

"Yeah. We were. I mean, we are, but we're just so far apart right now."

"Do you think things will be the same as before when he comes to see you?"

"I hope so. He's always been a constant thing in my life. It's been really hard without him." I crossed my hands under my head, losing myself to thought for a second before a smile expanded my lips. "He's kind of like a favourite pillow, you know, you can cry into it, it keeps you warm and comfy, and it's always there."

"But you don't sleep with it?" He tried to make it sound like a joke, but I knew he was also really curious. Everyone was.

"No, David. It's not that kind of pillow," I said slowly, then added, "It's a couch pillow. Mike's just a couch pillow. But this one-" I rolled over and traced circles over his chest; he tensed, his hand ready, near mine, "-this is my new favourite pillow."

He nodded, then took my hand, pressing his lips to it once. "I'm sorry. I wish the circumstances that brought you to me had been different. But I am very glad you came here."

"Me too."

"And I'm sure, when you see Mike in a few weeks, you'll fall back into step with each other right away."

"Yeah, probably." I shrugged, then curiosity itched. "So? What about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a brother. A twin."

"Really? Wow." I sat up next to David's hips, crossing my legs under me. This was way too interesting for a lie-down conversation. "Are you identical?"

"Yes. We look the same, but we're very different."

"Well, I gathered that. Why doesn't he go to school with us?"

"He chose a different path-stayed with my uncle, in New York."

"So, who do you live with, then? Are your parents still together?"

"My mother passed away when I was a baby, and my father followed not long after."

"Oh, David." I covered my mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago." He rested his arm behind his head.

"So, you grew up with your uncle?"

"Well, I was raised by my aunt, and when she passed away, my uncle took my brother and I into his care."

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you'd suffered a lot of grief. I feel bad, like I'm making a big deal out of my problems, but you-"

"Don't say that." He pushed himself up on his elbow and took my hand. "You have every right to 'make a big deal,' Ara. You just lost your mom. My grief, my loss, it all happened a very long time ago."

"Can't be that long ago. You're only a teenager." I frowned, half laughing at the way he brushed off his own grief-just like me.

He smiled and looked down at our hands, then took a deep breath. "I'm older than I look. The things I've been through in life have made me older-given me wisdom beyond my years." He laid back and said through a breathy smile, "Sometimes I feel like I'm over a hundred years old."

"Sometimes you sound it, too."

"I know."

"So, do you see your uncle much, I mean, since you moved away?"

"Every other week or so. I'll be seeing him tomorrow."

"What for?"

"We're members of a council. We have a few things to discuss."

"What kind of council?"