Dust

XXX

         

It takes me a moment to bottle up the burning in my chest, the utter rage I feel against Gael, and reach out for the bottled blood. It's cold in my palm, and I pull myself up to my feet, my shoulders shuddering. Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't think about him. It's nearly impossible. Gael, ever since he had kissed me in my basement, had become my everything, and when everything turns on me, I don't take it well.

    I fumble with the knob to Damien's apartment for a second, closing my eyes and letting the last of my tears fall. It's not worth it to cry over someone who was lost a long time ago.

    I push open the door, my stake in one hand and the blood in the other. I was too focused on Gael to notice the screaming had gone silent, which is why I'm surprised when I find Damien in a heap on the floor, his head ducked, every part of him trembling. I squat to the ground, releasing the bottle. It rolls alone across the floor, bumping Damien in the leg. His eyes, red and nothing else, peer at me over his shoulder, but he takes the blood and opens it, tossing the cap across the room and gulping it down.

    All is silent save for his swallowing, and I'm praying that it worked, still keeping my stake in my grip. I'm hoping I don't have to break up with my boyfriend (who apparently never loved me in the first place) and kill my best friend in the same day.

    The bottle hits the floor again, empty. I wait, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up tall.

    Then: "Gemma?"

    Damien turns towards me, his pupils visible. Never, I think, have I been so excited to see Damien's pupils. "Oh, thank God," I say, my stake clattering to the ground as I cross the distance between us and fold myself into Dame's arms. I don't care if there's no heartbeat beneath my ear—who needs the living anyway? There's still blood on Damien's shirt, sticking him to me, but I don't care. I'm just happy to be here with him, because Damien and my family are the only people I need. I don't need Gael. I don't need him...

    "I went all loco, didn't I?" Damien says, tightening his grip on me. "Daylights, Gemma, I'm sorry."

    "I don't care. I love you, Damien. I don't care."

    He pauses. "You were going to use that stake on me, weren't you?" His voice is soft and gravelly, and I pull away and stare at him, the blood he just consumed staining his lips. His hooded eyes are narrow and watchful as he frowns at me, waiting for my answer.

    I sigh. The last thing I need is for him to be mad at me as well, but that doesn't mean I'll lie to him. "Only if I had to, Damien. I would have done anything to keep from using it, but if...if I had to...I'm sorry. You know I would—"

    "Thank goodness," breathes Damien, lifting a hand to rake it through his hair.

    I sit back, blinking at him. "What?"

    "Gemma, if you didn't stake me just because I'm your best friend, and I killed you, I don't think I could go another day. It's good to know you'll defend yourself, even at the worst times," Damien says. "So thank goodness." He then goes to looking around, eyebrows furrowed. "Gemma, where's Gael?"

    Instead of answering, I just erupt into tears.

"Are you sure you want more of this stuff—"

    "Give it to me," I order, wiping my eyes for possibly the hundredth time today. Damien reluctantly passes the quart of ice cream across the counter, tossing me a scoop for it. The two of us, along with Finn sitting beside me, are in my kitchen at home, where I have been indulging in this cold treat for at least an hour. I know ice cream isn't going to make me feel better, not about any of it—not about Gael, not about Sloane—but it tastes good, and I can't stop.