It has a nice beat, nothing wrong with it at all, But for Aston, it seems to send out a wave of calm euphoria that I can feel tingle through my own chest.
That’s what music does for people. It provides us with emotions that we can’t describe or explain.
And Aston lives for it.
Because he has so little of his own to hold on to, I guess.
“I like it,” I whisper.
He nods with that pleased smile still ghosting his lips.
“Sit down. Read,” he waves vaguely at my sister’s book in my hand.
I take a seat next to him, our elbows brushing as I try to turn away to open the diary. My back leans into the chair with my legs tilting off just near Aston’s thighs. He doesn’t watch me, even if he is acutely aware of my every move. He just leans back against the wall and seems to lose himself in the melody. I know he’s pretending not to care what’s in this notebook. He’s also pretending not to be aware of me.
All the while keeping me company. Distracting me if I need it, but giving me space as well.
My heart melts as I watch him avoid me entirely. He blatantly ignores me, really. He’s better at it than most children even.
It’s sweet, in an awkward way.
How could I ever have thought he was my sister’s tormenter?
I take a slow breath in, despite my lungs protesting that there isn’t enough space within the tightness of my chest.
Then I open the journal.
July 19th
Men are trash.
Recyclable and reusable.
But still terrible for the environment.
A loud laugh falls from my lips before I can stop it as I stare down at the short but adamant entry. Aston peers at me from the corner of his eye, but when I cover my smile with my palm he abruptly looks away.
I close my eyes as I imagine her painted red lips saying those few lines. She’d never! As a vampire, she kept our time together rather short and to the point. She asked about our parents, and myself. Short small talk that didn’t really resemble the person I remembered at all.
But as my sister, she was always witty and funny.
And for some reason, this entry reminds me of that side of her.
Even if there was a darker meaning and reminder lying just beneath the surface of these inky words.
I flip through the entries until a more recent date appears.
September 1st
Confessing to Kira how hard life has been here was strange. It felt… painful to talk about it. I know I need to, but I guess after two years I’m still not ready.
Maybe I’ll never speak his name to anyone as long as I walk this Earth, but at least I know he doesn’t have the power to push me down any more. He can pretend all he wants, but we both know what he did. What he’s still doing. I’ve shut my mouth and kept to myself here in Crimson City, but I’m not alone.
Kira still cares about me.
And someday I’ll be able to tell her more than just a few small details about the man who took everything from me.
My stomach sinks fast and hard.
