Head Above Water

34. Goodbye for Good

I woke up feeling better than I think I’d ever felt in my life. Energy was zinging through my veins, my senses were sharp and clear, and I felt like I could take on the world. I popped my eyes open to find Mal gazing down at me, his expression full of love and adoration. He smiled in acknowledgement of my waking.

“That’s creepy, you know—watching a girl while she sleeps,” I said, feeling partly serious, but also partly flattered.

“My love for you is creepy?” he asked incredulously.

I sat up towards him with a smile and planted a light kiss on his lips. “Never,” I whispered.

“What would you like to do today?” he asked as he got out of bed and picked some clothes from his dresser. “I imagine you’re pretty keyed up.”

“Yeah, I feel incredible.”

“That’ll be the vampire blood,” he commented casually.

“Do you feel like this all the time?” I asked.

“Hyper, not always. Strong enough to conquer the world? Yes.” He pulled on his clothes as I tried to wrap my mind around these new revelations.

“Wow,” I said stupidly. I could accomplish so much in life if I felt like this all the time.

“You have maybe five days feeling like this before you’ll have to exchange again or the blood will turn toxic,“ Mal warned.

“Is it always five days between? When you’re changing someone?” I asked, refusing to dwell on my time limit.

He shook his head. “No, the interval lengthens as the process goes on. Five days, every other week, once a month.”

I nodded without comment. Mal gazed at me pensively, but apparently chose not to voice his thoughts. After a small shake of the head, he asked, “So…plans for the day? What do you want to do?”

“What time is it?” I asked. The shades were still down, so I had no sense of time.

“Half seven,” he answered. “So what do you want to do this evening, I guess,” he amended.

“Half seven? What does that mean? It’s 3:30?”

“No, it means 7:30.”

I gave him a confused look. “How does that make sense? Is that a British thing?”

“Yes, it’s British,” he said as if I were slow, “and it’s a contraction for half past seven.”

“That’s lazy. We say the whole thing—half past seven,” I said in a snooty tone. “Or you could completely clear up the confusion and just say 7:30.”

Malcolm looked at me incredulously. “Why do I love you again?” he asked jokingly as he stepped forward to grab my forearms. “I’m having trouble remembering right now when you’re being so obnoxious,” he teased.

He continued to walk forward until the back of my knees hit the bed and then he pushed me backward. I fell onto the bed with a giggle and he crawled over me on his hands and knees. His old signature smirk was firmly in place as he hovered over me and I realized I hadn’t seen it for a long time now, which was a shame.

“Now. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said in a silky, smooth voice, “the evening is yours my dear. What would you like to do?”

I gazed into his glittering green eyes as I considered the possibilities. So many ideas popped into my head—things I’d assumed I’d never get to do, people I wanted to see, places I wanted to go—but only one really seemed feasible. A slow, Cheshire-like grin spread across my face as I lit upon an activity I was sure he would object to. “I want to drive your motorcycle,” I said, letting my grin morph into a smirk as I waited for his reaction.