Path of the Vampire forum

C L O V E R
We should talk.

Those three little words had her doubting every word, every sentence, she’d constructed to try and explain away his insecurities and his doubts and his jealousy. Dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and black leggings, she could have made the meeting anywhere, but she chose the apartment they shared. The conversation deserved the privacy of their apartment, their little recess in such a large world, and she needed the comfort of knowing that there were so many steps between him and that door, between him and the fadeportals. No more secrets. They kept no more secrets. And yet she found herself wanting to keep just one, just two, just three. She took the initiative because she knew she needed to take the initiative, as if their relationship, just reinforced, would suddenly turn to shambles. Clo didn’t want it to get that bad again; she told herself that she never wanted to fall victim to insecurities, to allow him to fall victim to insecurities. And so she had to tell Jesse about Trigg.

Trigg wasn’t a secret worth keeping. Nothing had happened. Nothing would have happened. And yet she felt the blood slosh around in her gut. Nerves, she told herself, just nerves. She’d sired two, Runi and Song, so close together, and she meant to lure Trigg into the fold. Three. Three of them. And she wanted more, so many more. She had to have four more. No, five more. The blood made a violent churning and she had to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Clo stumbled into the bathroom, lifted the lid, and vomited up her most recent meal, a middle-aged man by the name of Richard. She gagged. She dry heaved. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d thrown up in the toilet, she might have tried to consume the mess all over again. That thought repulsed her. She slammed the lid on the toilet, flushed, and brushed her teeth. The taste of old blood was worse than anything. The time she’d wasted did nothing to help her gather her thoughts.

What the **** was she going to say? After she finished brushing her teeth and placed her toothbrush back in its spot, she pressed her palms to the edges of the sink and leaned there. She searched the mirror for her reflection, but she saw shadows dart from side to side, from left to right. Athena had gotten the raw facts, everything that Clo couldn’t say to Jesse. Athena always got the raw facts. Athena knew more about what went on in Clo’s mind than Clo did, more than likely.

“I met someone,” she said, reciting her email, verbatim, aloud. “You’d hate him. He’s rude. He’s a thrill-seeker. He’s a blood thief.” Clo raked her fingers through her hair and then pulled it back into a messy ponytail. After she finished, she stopped and stood there, skipping right to the end of her email. “I’m only making trouble for myself, aren’t I?” ‘Tit for tat,’ he’d said, those words echoing in her mind. Clo made her way into the living room and settled on the couch, but she replayed the words over and over again. The email. Trigg’s words. Jesse’s possible overreaction.


J E S S E
In the text he’d said that he was interested, and it wasn’t a complete lie. And yet, he had reservations. Clover was doing as he had requested; she was communicating with him, though he didn’t understand what she was trying to say. It was egotistical to think that he was all she could want or need, that he could fill every gap and void in her heart and soul. What was he doing wrong that he couldn’t? But he’d be a hypocrite if he told her she shouldn’t need anything else. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d needed a family. He needed many over a few. This wasn’t any different, was it? Clover was a woman. They’d both been human. Maybe this was nature’s way of playing a cruel trick; the biological clock still struck twelve, and progeny were the closest thing to children, weren’t they? Wasn’t that why some vampires opted to call them childre?

Jesse took the cash from the customer; a deposit for a design they’d just agreed upon. The design had been filed away and the date put in the calendar for the first session. It was going to be a sleeve, Star Wars themed. The guy looked to be around thirty-two years old; he was toned, looked after himself, could probably take care of himself, too. And yet Jesse saw the way his shoulders sagged, a sigh of relief, as soon as he was out of the parlour and out of Jesse’s presence. He smirked, before he remembered where he was going.

He’d followed his customer to the door and flicked the sign to ‘closed’. It took five minutes to tidy up and to flick off the lights, to lock the front door and the side door. He slipped into the locker room before using his tome, holding the weathered leather in his palm as he whispered the words he knew by heart. Within half a second he was standing in the middle of Limbo. He filled his lungs with air, mind violently skipping over all the different possibilities. He wanted to know. He was interested. He wasn’t going to dismiss Clover’s needs, and he was going to dismiss the notion that he could fill all of them. He forced serenity unto himself, and walked through the door of the apartment with a smile on his face.

“Clo, you—oh there you are,” he said, seeing her on the couch as he dumped his keys in the bowl by the door and peeled off his jacket to toss over the back of said couch. He dropped down beside her and pressed a greeting kiss to her temple.


C L O V E R
If she were human, she might have been sweating, her palms might have been clammy; instead, she laced her fingers, just to keep from fidgeting, and then angled her body so she could look at him. The kiss had made her even more nervous, if it were possible. He seemed so ******* happy, so ******* content. She wanted to change her mind. She wanted to stick to the basics and rely solely on her secrets, yet again. After all, she kept secrets for a reason, to spare the both of them. Athena hadn’t offered Clo advice, though Clo hadn’t expected a reply in the first place. Athena placated her or reassured her, whenever a reply did come through. Clo didn’t need such things then. Not even Athena’s words would have helped the situation, or so Clo told herself. She didn’t realize how long she sat there, the awkward silence building, until she finally opened her mouth.

“His name is Trigg and I want to sire him.”

The way she introduced the subject just begged for questions. Why had she presented his name first? Why had she presented it in such a way that seemed to beg for some type of approval? Maybe she meant to draw Jesse in, to make him a part of whatever game she’d decided to play, whatever complicated maze she’d entered. And it was a game. And it was a maze. Normally, her games ended in death, but she meant to alter the rules, just as she’d altered the rules for Song, just as she’d altered the rules for Runi. Tell yourself it isn’t different, Clover. Tell yourself he’s normal, Clover.

“He’s the one that blinded me,” she added, her hands clenched so tightly that she felt as if anymore strength would shatter the bones. “He might be the one Ysmir shot.” She led Jesse a little further down the rabbit hole, as if retracing the fall would somehow help them both understand what had happened. Clover also felt lost. Outside of the cavern, she felt too vulnerable. She felt dirty. She felt guilty. She felt wrong. But they were communicating, she reminded herself. They were pulling out all the stops and preventing any secrets from blossoming between them. Even if it was hard, even if it was uncomfortable, she had to press forward.


J E S S E
If they were happy and normal and both equally content, this would be the point at which Clover returned the kiss. Perhaps to the temple, but that would be too formal. Maybe to the corner of his lips, or his lips proper. A peck. Honey, I'm home! What did you do with your day? No, given their proclivities, Clover might climb onto his lap, pleasantries passed with the promise of something more later.

But there was still something there, something they had to whittle down and destroy to become that kind of couple. The happy kind. Was it a pipe dream? Did such a thing exist? Had Jesse ever seen it? He blinked and turned, twisted on the couch so that he could face Clover, one knee bent and up on the cushion, one elbow resting on the back of the couch. A breath of air dropped from his nose and he arched a brow.

“Trigg…?” he asked. Why did that name sound so familiar? Trigg. Trigg. He repeated it ten times then shook his head. It would come to him, eventually. No point dwelling on it until it came to him. “Okay…” he said, waiting for Clover to continue. Uneasiness coiled in his gut; he remembered the promise he had made and he had to try to cling to it. He already knew Clover’s methods were different. Now it was his turn to try to understand them.

“Did you enjoy it, when he blinded you?” he asked. He closed his eyes. Scolded himself. Was that what he meant to ask? It’s where his thoughts had naturally meandered. It was a shock even to him that he managed, for now, to keep his voice calm, even—even if his body had stilled, unmoving. Their bodies sat perpendicular, their knees a finger-width apart. They didn’t touch. “What does he have that you’re missing?”


C L O V E R
No, she hadn't enjoyed it, but she waited. She wanted to be as patient as he seemed, to give him all the time he needed. But with every word, she felt worse. This is how you make him feel, her mind reminded her. She viciously fought against those thoughts, but when she looked at him, at the way he closed his eyes, at the way he saved that question for last, he seemed tired. Tired of the games she so loved to play. And she couldn't blame him. Her methods were questionable, at best. She would have been furious, if he hunted the way she hunted. But she excused her behavior; she excused her methods. She was wrong to do so.

“It scared me, when he blinded me. I hate being without my sight. I wanted to kill him. I went back and threatened him. And then we ran into one another again. I didn't stop stalking him, especially not when he'd overstepped his boundaries,” she frowned, her expression clearly showing her distaste. And then they'd met again. They'd met again and again. Clo didn't know why she didn't surrender, probably because that wasn't her style. Letting him win wasn't an option, and it was between winning and losing.

“He just reminds me of us, and I want that. He can be rude. He shows thrill-seeking behavior. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing,” she explained, an excited smile soon blossoming on her face. “You'll love him.” And yet she doubted those words as soon as they were spoken. “You'll probably hate him,” she corrected herself. “He's a blood thief, and I,” she stopped, sighed, and longed to retract the beginning of that sentence, all of that sentence. “I give him my blood in exchange for his blood.”

“It's no different than when I used to sell it on the streets,” she quickly defended, “and I can stop whenever I want to, whenever you want me to. If you want me to.” Clo didn't want to stop, but she could, and she would, if Jesse disapproved. “He's fucked up. He's great. I want that. I want the mess.” She didn't know that she'd begun to tap her fingers on her thighs. She just wanted him to touch her, to support her, to agree that they needed a little more chaos. But she feared he'd focus on her giving her blood to him. He’d misunderstand.


J E S S E
She wouldn't be able to see the way Jesse bit the inside of his own lip. He'd been waiting for her to say yes, she had enjoyed every second of it, and it was a relief when the answer was different. The relief was short-lived. Deep down, Jesse hated that he hadn't found the ****** then, hadn't pushed for more information. He could have been angry that he was only hearing about this obsession now, when it had been going on for so long. On the other hand he could understand. Why would she tell him? He'd only have taken away her fun. Even now, it wouldn't be too hard. He had a name. An occupation, of sorts...

Trigg. Again, it tugged at the back of his mind, a memory barely there, an encounter almost lost among the numerous encounters Jesse had each night. Whenever he was at work. Serpentine.
"You found something that was missing..." Jesse started, trying to get it straight in his mind, unable to focus on vague half-memories in light of what Clover had just said, of what she'd just told him. He was trying so very hard to remain calm. He didn't even move to breathe, except what air he needed to form words. He was trying to figure out whether she'd actually answered his question, and what it meant. "You like it when people take your blood, is that what's missing? No, can't be. Once you turn him, unless he's a necurat, that'll be gone. You want... mess? Is that what's missing? Should I stop trying to ..." he laughed, then, the sound mirthless and cold. His struggle to remain calm had slipped. Why was it so hard to try to understand? Why was it so hard to listen, to try to remain unbiased, as if he had no stake in this at all? Because he did have a stake in it. And it felt like what Clover wanted was the complete opposite to what Jesse was giving. It was the complete opposite to what Jesse himself wanted.

"I hate him and I haven't even met him yet. He reminds you of us? Are WE missing? How do you do it? Do you meet in a quiet bar and slash your own wrist so you can bleed into a cup for him? How does it work?" he asked. Did he really want to know? Was that the question he should have asked? He couldn't take it back, now.


C L O V E R
She watched and listened, waiting for his calm demeanor to slip out of place. When he laughed, she cringed. He’d made everything about him, and she couldn’t blame him. He made the circumstances about his own achievements and shortcomings, when Clo had never once considered those things. Or had she? Had she really been looking for some sort of happiness outside of her marriage? Absolutely not. Clover loved Jesse. She didn’t want him upset. And yet she upset him. She always seemed to upset him. They had more miserable moments than they had happy ones. It was astonishing how they managed to make things work, and maybe it had something to do with his work and her hobbies. Maybe their schedules kept them involved in other things enough to distract them from their own mess of a marriage. But Clover loved that mess of a marriage. She wanted to step back to the night of her surprise and start all over again. She wanted to prolong the silence and have him hold her in his arms. And they’d laugh. ****, they’d laugh. And everything would be alright again.

“It’s not about what you are or aren’t doing. I’m happy with you, Jesse -- I love you. He reminds me of us because he’s daring, he’s artistic, he’s a sarcastic little ****,” she explained. No longer did she want to reach out for him, to have him reach out to her. She kept to her self-assigned space. If she could have curled up tighter, made herself smaller, she would have, but that would have inhibited their conversation. Clo wanted so badly for him to understand her. He just didn’t. She remembered a time when he understood her so well, when she thought he’d finally unravel the mystery and she’d never have to explain herself, that she’d never have to feel like the odd girl out.

“It’s only happened once now.” The beginning, yes, the beginning. Every story had one. “I asked him if he ever went home, and he said he was busy. He was busy drawing me.” Just in case he thought to interrupt, she held up her hand to indicate that her silence meant nothing. She had more to say. “He’d painted red blood, and that made me smile, so I corrected him. I told him I bleed black. I offered to show him. Something happened--he fell,” she frowned, eyes narrowed as she recalled the whole scenario over again, “and then he was bleeding. I told him he smelled like a mixture of sweet and sour. And then he offered an exchange, his blood for my blood. And I said yes. There was no bar. There was no cup.” She felt she had a right to know things from his perspective, so she tried. She reached out, figuratively. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Please.”


J E S S E
Drawing. With that one word, with that one occupation, it suddenly hit Jesse. The piece of the puzzle fell into place. Trigg. Yes, it had only been a short conversation but a conversation nonetheless. He’d given Jesse his card; Jesse had looked up his artwork, and had been surprised at his talent. For a guy who spoke some weird language that Jesse could barely understand. The conversation had been so short, the interaction So strange that Jesse hadn’t got a fix on the guy. He hadn’t liked him, hadn’t hated him. There was too little time to tell. And there he was, the memory now stark in the forefront of Jesse’s mind.

“Golden eyes, scrawny. Covered in tattoos,” Jesse described him. “Says weird things. Slang words from a different language?” he asked. He wanted to be sure it was the same guy. And somehow putting a face to the name calmed him. Why? Maybe it was resignation. She had found something that was missing. Jesse, too, was scrawny and covered in tattoos. He sucked in a breath, shoulders squared.

“I’m thinking, Clo, that I still don’t understand. I’m thinking…” he exhaled. He let go of the anger and focused, truly, on the issue at hand. That something missing, if it had nothing to do with him… it sounded a whole lot like…

“… that I’m worried. Is it the progeny? You think by siring it’s going to fill some gap? Do you… I mean when you hadn’t sired for a long time, did you start wanting to kill yourself…? I’m not being insensitive, I’m just… I’m worried.” He’d suddenly flipped; he’d taken a different approach. He tried to take himself out of the equation.


C L O V E R
So the two men had met, at one time or another. Clo didn’t know whether that irritated her or relieved her, so she let him continue speaking. After he finished his description, she nodded at him, but did nothing else. She didn’t know what to say. He’d met Trigg. He had to have some idea of how the man acted, right? Or maybe the meeting had been too brief. Maybe they’d simply met in passing. Asking seemed out of the question, especially when the direction of the conversation shifted. No longer did he worry about himself. He’d turned things around onto her. Clo should have welcomed the change, the movement from Trigg to Jesse to Clover, but she wasn’t sure. His questions left her feeling uneasy. Had he peered into her head lately? Maybe he could see every part of her.

“I just needed one,” she began, slowly so as not to lose herself or her train of thought. “I just wanted one,” she amended. “But I couldn’t take just one. I needed two. I had to have two. I needed Runi and Song. And now I need Trigg. I just need one more and then I’ll stop,” she reasoned. “I won’t sire anymore.” Even she didn’t believe the words, not with the nonchalant way in which she spoke. She just lacked too much conviction. “I just need something and this helps. I’m always one step closer. It’s like siring makes everything okay again.” There was a sigh, followed by the overwhelming need to turn the conversation around again. She felt as if she were under his gaze, like being beneath a giant spotlight. What if she passed inspection? What if she failed? “What does it matter, if I sire a lot? It’s not hurting anyone. None of mine actually give a damn about one another.” And it didn’t bother her at all. She turned people for her own pleasure, for them to look to her, not to each other, not for each other. Maybe that was a mistake, but she didn’t see it as one.

“I’m not suicidal,” she stated. Clo stopped to think about her turnings and how she felt. They made her feel better, but that didn’t necessarily mean there was a correlation between her depression and her turning rate. “I’m not,” she added, feeling another refusal was needed. “I’m fine.” He’d made her doubt herself again. She was turning people close together, without much planning at all. Song should have died. Runi should have died. Trigg should never have happened. She wasn’t hunting and changing her mind. Clo was actively seeking childer. “You think I’m fucked up, don’t you? That there’s something wrong with me. Are you going to ask me to stop?”


J E S S E
It started to make sense, kind of. Jesse leapt to conclusions like an absolute pro, and he wanted to slap himself for not seeing it earlier. Why it should suddenly have cropped up, he didn’t know. What could the cause of these things be? He hadn’t even decided whether his issues were magically inclined, a curse that he had rid himself of. He didn’t know whether it was mind over matter. But if it was something that could be passed on from sire to childe, through blood, was it possible that it might have been some dormant thing in Clover that had suddenly sparked to life?

It made Jesse feel both better and infinitely worse, if this was the answer. Better, because it wasn’t Trigg that she needed, but something intangible that his presence could provide. It had nothing to do with the man himself, but the bond that she shared with him. But, Jesse had to go through hell and back to release himself of the desire, the need. Clover claimed it was hurting no one, but eventually **** would hit the fan.
“You can’t sire people and force them to fill the gap. I know this, because I tried. I can’t call you fucked up. It’s how I felt. You remember? I kept talking about this thing that I needed and siring always made it better, for a time. I don’t care how often you sire, I don’t. I’d be a hypocrite if I did. I just… disagree with the terminology. This… taking blood and giving it back and sharing, sounds so ******* intimate and I don’t like it. I’m imagining him pinning you to some filthy sewer wall, his hands on your body and I just… want to rip his ******* eyes out of his head,” he said, fingers closed into a fist, his sentence meandering from cool concern to a clench-jawed growl.

“If I lecture you it’s only due to experience. Every person I’ve sired recently have accepted it. It’s been a result of some combination of accident and their choice, and it’s been calmer. I’ve been happier. If you force people only because you want them, it’s not… I’m not sure how it’s going to fill a gap if they all end up loathing you for it…”


C L O V E R
His words angered her. Of course she could force people to fulfill her needs, her wants, her desires. Forced turning or not, they belonged to her; they owed her their lives, for she could have simply ended them. She could have snapped their naps and left their bodies to rot in some dumpster. She could have! She chose to save them though. She chose to gift them with vampirism. Instead of ignoring his words or resenting him for them, she did her best to listen, to pay attention to him, and to recall the times when he’d struggled with a siring addiction. But things had been different back then. His progeny had been extremely possessive, a thing she could no longer deny. Her childer lacked that quality, didn’t they? Weren’t they all too wrapped up in their new lives to give a damn whether she created more vampires or not? She didn’t care, did she? Jesse always had to make her question herself. But when he circled the conversation back onto their previous topic, she immediately pushed those thoughts aside in favor of getting angry.

“Yes, I let a human man pin me to the filthy sewer wall and have his way with me!” Her voice rose, but she levelled it off and merely hissed the last few words. Then she frowned, her arms crossed over her chest. Her sarcasm likely wasn’t wanted, but he had insulted her, whether he knew it or not, whether he meant to or not. “If you dislike me sharing my blood, then I won’t share my blood with him anymore. No excuses. No argument. But you’re the only man I want pinning me anywhere and doing anything. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, but I will.”

She tried to calm herself in the way that he’d calmed herself. She focused on other things, like the fact that he’d handled it much better than she’d thought. Things could have gone much worse. That thought seemed to relax her more than anything. Things hadn’t gone as planned, and that was a good thing. She’d expected him to walk out, really. She probably would have, had the tables been turned. “I could have killed them. They could have died. It’s really a gift,” she defended, her shoulders lifting for a shrug, “so they should be happy. They should be thankful. They’ll appreciate me and enjoy my company, or I’ll disown them.” Her brows furrowed, she tried to explain herself better, but the words never seemed to come out right. She ignored Crimson and he seemed perfectly fine, though she’d never admitted how much it meant to hear from him sometimes, just to know he was still alright. “I haven’t run into a case that complicated,” she admitted, “but it might happen.”


J E S S E
Jesse’s lips pressed into a thin line. Clover’s anger was out of place. How often had she got jealous for no reason? She hadn’t told him what she’d pictured, but the jealousy had been there. In spades. Not just with women. With everyone. And Jesse understood. It implied a lack of trust. But if she could get jealous, then so could he. “If jealousy is a form of flattery then you’ve got it in spades, and I’m allowed a taste,” he said. It was merely an aside, and it wasn’t the focus of their conversation. He swatted her anger aside like it was an annoying fly. On any other night he’d have placated her with his lips and his hands. He’d have pinned her to the couch and given her no leeway to move. But he wasn’t finished.

“Pretty sure when I sired you, I called it a gift. I forced it on you, said you should love it. You remember the hell you gave me? Did you accept it as a gift? Did you appreciate it from the get go? You… you want to be human again. I read your journal. Why would you be so determined to call it a gift when the only thing stopping you from taking a possible cure is the fact that I wouldn’t?” he said. He’d never actually talked to Clover about the cure; he’d not mentioned to her that he would, in fact, make that sacrifice. If it was truly what she wanted, if she wanted it with all her heart… he’d hate it, but he would do it.

And maybe he wouldn’t hate it. Maybe he’d enjoy settling down and having babies, and putting this darkness and brokenness behind him. He hadn’t thought about it, because he honestly didn’t believe there was a cure. He believed there was a weapon, and that they wouldn’t be human again. They’d be dead. For good. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just offering my advice based on my own experiences. It works better when it’s something they want—you and I aside. That’s all I’m saying.”


C L O V E R
He really had to take her back to that night, the night when they first met. She’d been on the run. She’d been looking for an escape. He’d plucked her from the dirty sewer and slapped her into a new world, one she never could have imagined, and did she flourish? She supposed so, in a way. Back then, back at the beginning, she’d thought it a curse because of the difficulties that came with being a vampire. She never got to say goodbye to anyone or anything. He’d ripped her from her life and given her a new one, all without asking. Didn’t she do the same? And yet she loved Jesse. Everything had worked out, in the end. Nothing said that her forced turnings would hate her; nothing said that her forced turnings would love her. There were multiple possibilities. She just couldn’t find the empathy within herself, the emotions needed to understand things from the standpoint of her victims. She only saw her experience and her feelings and her wants. She let him continue because she had nothing to say then. She heard his words until they were no more, and then she continued gathering her thoughts.

“It took time,” she admitted, replying to his first questions. “You didn’t turn me because you wanted me. You turned me because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I’d seen too much. I wasn’t an extraordinary person you’d found on the streets. I was nothing. You cleaned up a mess. That’s how I felt. That’s what I thought.” She had to think to recall some of the nights directly following her turning, but those thoughts lasted for some time. Clo had always wanted to be special, to be different -- she still struggled with that desire.

“There are a few things I miss about being human, things that I’ll never get back, things that I’ll never be able to have. I’d rather not talk about them. But it was more than just you that made the thought of becoming human again impossible. What would we do? Continue slaughtering people, setting fires? And hope we don’t get caught and tossed in jail? I enjoy what we have now and I realized it was selfish, too selfish for me, to throw everything away for possibilities. But,” she struggled then, “maybe I just lack the compassion and concern needed. I don’t care if I rip everything away from my victims. I just want them to want me, to need me. I feel like if they ask, they won’t appreciate it as much. Or maybe I just enjoy watching the cruel reality set in. It’s probably a mixture of things, Jesse.”


J E S S E
"Isn't it better to give them back a life that that someone else stole from them, then? Use that. Tell them they'd be dead without you, and not by your cause," he said. What two legs did he really have to stand on? Balthazar hadn't been planned. Jesse had let his brother stumble out of the tattoo parlour with the hope that the bite wouldn't take, that the guy would just wake up like from a nasty hangover and get on with his life. But it hadn't worked out that way. Raegan? If he'd stopped and called an ambulance she might have lived, but instead he'd hastened her death. Sometimes he felt she only forgave him because he'd ripped the heart out of her persecutor's chest. It hadn't been an act of heroism. It was just the blood lust, the frenzy taking control. Marisol, even. She'd been teased and tortured and threatened by the both of them, though in the end her life had been saved, and it was neither of them who'd taken it from her to begin with.

"Look, I don't understand the way you go about it. I had a need and I didn't pick and choose who I wanted to sire. I plucked them off the street and provided flimsy excuses as to why I thought they'd work. And... I still turned you," he muttered. "I could have killed you for being a witness, as I've killed so many others for just being a witness, but I didn't. I turned you because there was something there, something in you that I wanted to keep, and preserve. I wouldn't have done it otherwise," he said. What had it been? The tattoos, he thought. He'd admired the art on her skin, the sleeve of vibrant colour that would have taken hours of pain and endurance to collect.

"And if we ... if it was a cure, if it wasn't just a weapon, if we wouldn't die and it wasn't some trick. If it was real, if it was... maybe it wouldn't be possible. You won't talk about it, but I will. Maybe it'll help you, maybe it wouldn't..." he reached out. Finally, he took Clover's hand, the one with the wedding ring on it. He held her hand, admiring it before bringing it to his own cheek. "Maybe we'd be able to give it all up, this violence. If we were human, maybe we wouldn't need it. We would settle down. Have children," he said. The last two words were a whisper, barely there. And he couldn't look her in the eye when he spoke them. He'd looked away, focused on some random stain on the couch. Probably blood. Probably his. Hers was black, and it didn't stain.


C L O V E R
Trigg didn't matter. Forced turnings didn't matter. When Jesse took her left hand, she inhaled sharply, as if she'd still considered them on separate continents, divided by a vast expanse of land and sea. Maybe the cure would have been great. Maybe the cure would have been a success. Maybe everything wrong with her head had something to do with her turning and the cure would have fixed all of her problems. But he had to mention children. She watched him, waiting for him to gather the nerve to look her in the eyes, but he continued looking elsewhere. She lightly nudged his cheek with her left palm, trying to get him to look into her eyes.

“Would you really want that?” The words hurt, not because she wanted different but because they just hadn't really broached the subject as honestly as he had just moments ago. She didn't want to get into specifics, to talk about how she wondered where they'd go, what they'd do, but she couldn't help it. Kae had already reassured her that Jesse would be there, and she'd been right. Of course.

“I wondered where we would go,” she admitted, raising her other hand so she could caress his cheeks, so she could just enjoy touching him. “I wondered what we would do for a living, if we'd get boring jobs, if you'd still be a tattoo artist. I wondered if you'd want kids. How many. If you'd be a good dad. If I'd be a good mom. I didn't want to say something because I thought you'd be upset. I thought we'd get so much more than we have now. And it'd be ours.” She closed the distance between them to lightly kiss his lips. She didn't need him thinking the cure meant everything, but it came with the promise of something different, a world where they weren't sadistic killers, where the hunt didn't matter. She'd be able look herself in the mirror again and see someone worthwhile -- no, simply someone different. “Not more,” she fixed her words, finally. “Something different.”

It didn't matter, but she felt so desperate to say the words. “I'm sorry I can't give you a family.”


J E S S E
With the nudge, Jesse looked. It was like losing a staring contest, but the opposite. Who could avoid each other's eyes the longest? Jesse lost. The conversation had done them good, though Jesse was still jealous. He was still angry. He liked Trigg less than he did before, and hadn't answered Clover when she'd suggested she stop giving her blood. Her blood was precious and, just like she was possessive over who could harm Jesse or not, he too felt possessive of her blood. It was only his to see. Only his to spill, when that specific kink was craved. That the blood thief had harmed Clover at all should mean instant death, but Clover's attachment had provided the lucky human with a force field. Jesse could only hope that some other ill luck found the guy.

But they'd reached a kind-of accord. The topic and changed and shifted until they'd landed here; the ultimate communication. A topic that hurt them both equally; it was a tease, offering them hope for something they could never have. At least, in Jesse's opinion it was a pipe dream, a farce. The building had been blown up, and who knew who had a hold of the cure, now? What if no one did? What if the hope of it was just... gone, up in a puff of smoke? He'd never pinned anything on it. He hadn't allowed himself hope so that the loss of it couldn't hurt him. His fingers tightened around Clover's hand. While she'd kissed him his eyes and closed, his lips welcoming hers like her kiss was a soothing balm, a medicine he didn't know he needed. Now, his eyes snapped open, the brightness of them sharp. He had a habit of reprimanding her when her apologies were not required.

"That's not on you," he said. "I made you this. It should be me apologising because I took that ability from you," he said, his voice a harsh whisper, gruff and broken as it always was. "I imagined I'd still be an artist. You'd be a writer. We'd move overseas, far from this place. Your home. We'd have two kids. Boys. Twins," he said. He'd thought about it. Sometimes, now he had the ability to withstand the sun, he suffered insomnia. Sometimes, these were the things he thought of while he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He didn't have to answer her first question. Would he really want it? He never thought so, until it became an impossibility.

C L O V E R
They both apologized, but apologies meant nothing when the problem would never be remedied. They’d never have a family. They’d never move away from Harper Rock. And if it wasn’t her fault, and it surely wasn’t his fault, then Clo simply blamed karma, or maybe she blamed the world itself. She couldn’t decide. She’d finally met someone worthwhile and she’d never be able to give him anything greater than herself, and that would never be enough for her. No moving. No homeland. No twins. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. She told herself that it was the reason she never brought up the subject, that the truth just made her feel even more inadequate, though as a woman.

Clo’s hands had found their way back to her lap, where she twisted and turned them all over again. She'd imagined along with him, as if they were slowly walking down the yellow brick road together, but she just couldn't bear to continue. And even though she couldn't bear to continue, she found herself going, her mouth opening, the words overflowing. “I tried for a baby, when I was human. It was a terrible idea. It wasn't the right person. I would have regretted sharing a child with him. I met you, and I'm with you, and I can't give you that. And it's not your fault, Jesse. It's not. It's just not,” she said, reinforcing the words and shaking her head. “What we have now is more than enough for me. We make the most of our nights together. We make the most of our time together. We'll never have those things, but tell me it's okay to want them, to think about them. It's okay to keep dreaming, isn't it?”

Would it hurt him if she continued to think about that imaginary lifestyle? Would he think he wasn't enough? She wondered. She worried. He was enough, more than enough, and everything beyond him simply seemed like a bonus, but she's couldn't find those words to explain herself. The words had to speak for themselves in the way she reached out to touch his shoulders, to smooth down his arms until she reached his hands. They touched to communicate. She simply needed touch. She wanted to lie there and explore him all over again, cramped on the couch, spread out in the bed, wherever he wanted. Clo traced along his fingers to his fingertips and then clasped his hands. “I want to touch you,” she spoke softly. Not in the sense of hurting him, not in the sense of playing with him, simply to make the connection. “You'll never have to worry, Jesse,” she felt the need to add, “I think you had my heart the first time I kissed you. I just didn't know it yet.”


J E S S E
The smile that tugged the corners of Jesse's lips was no doubt out of place, but it was his default. There was relief in their connection, in the touch, in the fact that he wasn't sleeping elsewhere tonight, or that Clover herself hadn't walked out on him. He'd said he would try and he knew he never actually believed that he could do it. And when he saw Trigg again--if he saw Trigg again--there was no telling what he would do or how he would react. A kneejerk reaction, a twitch in the psyche. "I think I had your heart before you kissed me, otherwise you wouldn't have done it," he said.

He stole back one of his hands so that he could run inked fingers over Clover's cheek, up over her temple, along the hairline and behind her ear, slipping through her hair to pull her forward, to kiss her. A gentle kiss, not unlike the first kiss. A little deeper, a little longer. More intentional. Willing. His forehead rested neatly against hers and, though the smile remained it lessened, just a little. "I think we can talk about it," he said, pulling back just a little so he could look Clover in the eye. "I think it'd be unhealthy not to. Before sleep, maybe. We can imagine all the things that are not," he said. He was right, wasn't he? If they kept their woes to themselves, if they never got them off their chest, it would be damaging, mind and soul.

"I get angry. I will get angry. I will disagree with things but that doesn't mean you have to stop, completely. You have my heart. It took me longer to realise. Longer to ... give it back, but I handed it over properly and completely with that ring on your finger," he said, hand curling into hers, thumb playing against the ring on her finger. The one that matched his; he never took it off. Did she? Did this... Trigg, did he know she was married? He swallowed, he stopped thinking about it. She'd got so angry that he had imagined her in flagrant positions with another man. So he stopped. He imagined her only in flagrant positions with him. Though he didn't touch her any more than he already had. She'd said she wanted to touch him. He didn't say no.


C L O V E R
And even as he kissed her, their foreheads touching, she imagined their lives as they were versus as they could have been. The worlds differed so greatly that she had to resist the urge to smile, to laugh, to express the humor that came along with such fantasies. But she refrained. She listened to him and nodded. Before they slept, they could talk about their imaginary lives. She’d write mostly fiction, but she’d appreciate nonfiction just as much. And maybe, just maybe, she would write a children’s book, just something to fill her time, just something she could dedicate to her boys. She could cook -- ****, she could eat, she could taste -- and she’d be a fantastic chef, of sorts. Unknowingly, she’d begun to frown. She expressed her longing in the only way she knew how. She simply sat there and frowned, right up until he continued speaking.

Clo wondered then, wondered yet again, if he could really handle how she attracted people, how she introduced them into her world. And she wanted so badly to take his hands and walk him down the road, to lead him. But if he couldn’t handle her ways, then he’d likely reject them, he’d likely reject her. She did feel guilty. She did feel dirty. Clo recalled exactly how she felt when she lured Trigg closer, when she agreed to the exchange. And that meant she’d done something wrong. She’d even urged the man not to leave marks. She knew. She knew what she was doing and did it anyway.

“I think I should stop though. You don’t understand.” She wanted to show him, but she knew he wasn’t ready for the rabbit hole. Jesse wasn’t ready for Wonderland. Maybe he never would be ready for the upside down world, the jumbled pathways and countrysides. “You don’t understand how I reel people in, how I set their minds at ease, how I manipulate them. If I showed you, you’d be furious. If I showed you, you’d walk away from me. And I should stop. I should. But there’s such a high, Jesse. There’s such a high,” she said, repeating the words to emphasize them. “It’s not what I’m missing then. It’s that I crave more. I want to be idolized.” Every word sounded wrong. Every word sounded clumsy and misplaced. “I want that,” she said, much lower, so much closer to a whisper. “I should have stopped before, but I’m selfish, I’m so ******* selfish.”


J E S S E
"Oh come on," Jesse exclaimed, hands dropping from where they'd settled, tenderness slipping from his limbs like an icecube introduced to an oven. "It's like you read my mind? I was just telling myself not to imagine you in places I would't like and then you go and... go and say that. Jesus ******* christ," he said. It was hard to remain seated, to stay there. He'd said she'd still have his heart regardless of how angry he got and she'd taken that promise and ran with it. She'd said he'd walk away if he knew how she went about luring in her potential childer. She lay that crumb out for him to follow, an itch that he couldn't just ignore.

"You know I'm going to ask, don't you? You can't just say that and then not expect me to want to know details. What have you done? What do you do? Do you ..." he swallowed the words. He frowned, and shook the image from his head. A growl rumbled in his throat as he tried not to rage. His nostrils flared as he pushed breath from his lungs. Had she got so angry that he'd accuse her of allowing some human to pin her to a wall because she'd done it, and was guilty? Or because she'd been the one to do the pinning? Had he just got the details wrong? Had she cheated on him?! No, it didn't line up. She'd denied that already. And he trusted her, didn't he?

"Tell me, Clover. Tell me so I don't sit here and imagine how bad it could be," he demanded. He'd taken his hands back. He'd withdrawn the promise of touch. Clearly, he'd thought they'd finished, but they hadn't. Clover hadn't got it all out. She hadn't told him everything, she'd had more. She'd always had more. And though Jesse wasn't sure he wanted to know the details given Clover's adamance that he'd walk away, he had to know them. How, exactly, had they idolized her?


C L O V E R
He pulled away and, deep down, she knew he would, that he’d treat her like she’d already done something horrible, and maybe she had. Maybe she’d overstepped the boundaries. Maybe it was too late. She deserved his reaction; she deserved every bit of it. She sat there, deprived of his touch, knowing better than to try and close the distance. She’d only told Athena, and she’d grown tired of carrying the weight of her secret, the weight of her ways. She was stupid to think that she could trust him, but she’d opened her mouth. The words should have come easily, but they stopped at the back of her throat, choking her, killing her. Clo sat there like a phantom, just something leftover from a previous life. She felt that way, at least; she wanted to feel that way.

“Sometimes I,” she struggled, “sometimes I compliment them. I tell them they have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair.” That wasn’t bad. It wasn’t that bad, she told herself. “I want them flattered. I want them to feel appreciated. I want them to think I want them. With Runi, I told him I wanted to take him back to my place, and then I repeatedly crushed his skull. I do that with them. Practically all of them. Some, I simply chase.” Silence followed, a heavy silence that promised nothing more, but she felt a weight on her chest. “I use my looks to lure them in, promising them a good time, usually I use the word ‘fun,’ and they fall for it. They think I’m pretty. They think I’m something special. It’s pathetic, but I like it. I play with them then, typically by dismembering them.”

She sat there, wringing her hands again, tugging on the bottom hem of her shirt. Every nervous habit suddenly resurfaced. “There’s nothing more than that. I make them want me and I slaughter them. Men. Women. Typically women.” Everything came to a grinding halt then, and she waited for him to speak, for him to say something, anything.


J E S S E
Jesse rubbed at his temple, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to come to grips. She was nervous. She was fidgeting, and Jesse was getting a headache. It was a struggle to try to focus on Clover and her needs rather than what he must not be giving her that she should go out looking for someone to crave her, to idolate her. Would she be seeking such a thing from other people if she got it from him? Maybe he needed to smother her with it. Maybe rather than pull away, he should be tying her up. When he opened his eyes they were as sharp as always. They were inquisitive. They were ... frustrated.

"So you make them believe they can sleep with you before you punish them with pain and death. Except for the ones you want to turn. Do you torture them before you bring them back to life? Or do they open their eyes to immortality still thinking they can have you?" he asked. "Do you wear your wedding ring or do you conveniently leave it at home, so they don't figure it out?" he asked. "Should I be apologising rather than getting angry? For ****'s--" his eyes widened, and then he laughed. He scratched an itch behind his ear that wasn't there. He looked at the ceiling. He imagined all that time they'd been distant and all those old doubts came rushing back. He tried to push them away, tried to ignore them. Tried to summon all those things Clover had said to negate his insecurities.

"Do you ... I mean you want a mess. Do you want to bring them home...? Do you... want a threesome? An orgy? With you in the centre, a goddess among men?" he asked. He sounded bitter about it. He hated even asking the questions, but they were still questions. There was still curiosity in them. They were genuine. Was it what she wanted? Was she bored in bed? Did she need something different? Why couldn't she just ask?


C L O V E R
Yes.

No.

I don't know.

“I fractured Runi’s skull and shattered his ribs,” she answered, having listened to him, having suffered through his words, “so I think he understands that there's no sex, Jesse. He gets it. I don't want him in that way. I never wanted him in that way.” But was that the truth? Had she ever wanted Runi in that matter? Yes, she'd spoken the truth; no, she'd never wanted Runi in that manner. The man simply presented himself as something special. Clo liked special things, unusual things. And yet she seemed to withdraw from his next question.

Did she remove her wedding ring? Sometimes. It scared people away from her. It drove people to hide from her. Sometimes, her heart begged her to admit, only sometimes. “Sometimes I remove my wedding ring, but only when I'm hunting to kill or to turn. Not when I'm stalking. Not for him.” She chose not to say Trigg’s name, thinking it better to avoid uttering such a taboo word. “It scares people away. I can't get victims when they think I'm simply cheating. I always have it on my person though. I slip it back on when I'm done with the mess. Only when I'm done.” She knew she was wrong as soon as she explained herself. Why hadn't she grasped the concept before? Never remove the ring, Clover. Never.

“I don't want a threesome. I don't want an orgy. It's not about the sex. It's about the high I get from knowing they want me and I'm going to kill them for it. I just want them to need me. And then I want to snatch their lives away. Sometimes I talk about us. Sometimes I talk about the weather. I want to make them think there's a connection, even when they're dying. Is it wrong? Do you think it's disgusting? I do this and I come home to you. I've been doing this for years. Before we were together. I don't want to stop.” She sounded so desperate that she disgusted herself. She didn't know herself anymore. “I do this and I go home to you and I'm fine. I'm fine.” Clo couldn't look at him, so she looked down at her wedding ring, the one she wore like a treasure, something to be protected from that part of herself. “I don't know what else to say,” she trailed off.


J E S S E
Jesse didn't look at Clover anymore. The tenderness had passed and he was no longer thinking about the children they would never have, in the house that would never be blessed by the sound of children's laughter. It was a concept he had mourned ages ago, and he had to grips with it already. It wasn't something in his future, and he was okay with that, most of the time. Instead of looking at Clover he looked at his own hand, thumb playing with the ring on his finger that he'd not taken off since the day it had been put there. There was a permanent indentation in the skin beneath it, now; it'd probably bounce back if he were to take the ring off for a few weeks. Not that he intended to.

He was thinking about eternity, about marriage between vampires. After a human lifetime, things would be different, wouldn't they? Or would that jealousy and anger and hurt always be there? Would they always cause petty arguments? Was this a petty argument? Should he be as hurt as he was that she should take her ring off, the ring that signified their everlasting love and commitment to each other, to lure in her prey? Or was he overreacting? Did he cease to exist in those minutes, those hours that she hunted? Did they touch her, the way she'd wanted to touch him? The urge was there to take it off, his ring. To put it in his pocket as he walked away. To make sure she saw him do it, so that he would know that she might have some inkling of how it felt. He even went so far as to pull the ring from his finger, to weigh the metal in his palm.

But he couldn't. He couldn't let her think that he wanted to leave her, that this was somehow the straw that broke the camel's back. He wasn't going to leave her. They would work through this just like they worked through everything else. He slipped the ring back on his finger and when he looked up, there was a new determination in his eyes. "I'm going to try it for a while. Is that okay with you? I'm going to try hunting the same way you do. The next person I sire will be someone I've stalked, and picked especially," he said. He didn't tell her she was disgusting, nor that it was wrong. Nor did he agree and tell her it was fine. Instead, he'd wait and see how she felt if the tables were turned.


C L O V E R
No, she wanted to say. He wasn’t allowed to hunt the way she hunted, the way she used herself to garner attention, to reel the most vulnerable into her web. But she found herself unable to deny him, for denying him meant denying herself, and she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to surrender something that made her happy. She found herself growing angry, angry at him for things he didn’t even do. Her businesses were out of her hands. He wanted her to stop her hunting tactics, though he hadn’t said as much. He wanted her to give up killing, didn’t he? Selfish, she decided. He was so ******* selfish. And, for a moment, she forgot that she was the same. She balled her hands into fists, so tight that the ring dug into her flesh, and then she relaxed. So focused on the thought of her own unhappiness, she simply nodded. Yes, she decided. It was fine. Because even if she told him she’d stop, she knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a liar, lying just wasn’t her style, so she couldn’t lie to his face and continue with her ways. And yet, telling him it was fine meant lying right to his face. What the hell was she supposed to do? Pull away? Punish him in the way that he punished her?

“I’ll stop,” she said, and she hoped that he believed her. “I won’t do it anymore. I’ll give it up. I can’t imagine you acting in the way I act, so I’ll give it up.” That time, she did mean it, though it hurt to say those words. She’d give up on Trigg, on future childer. She’d give up chasing something she wanted and something she needed. And she blamed Jesse, even though she hadn’t said as much. He’d tried, and succeeded, to get her to change, she decided. But she hated it. “It’s just not worth it.” Honesty. Her words suddenly reeked of honesty. She wanted him to argue that she could continue her ways, but she also wanted him to be content; Clo wanted him to move on, before she had anymore flashes of anger and doubt. What would she do with herself, if she meant to give up all she knew, all she was good at? Go back to making traps at that ******* table? Go back to that woman mourning over **** she knew she’d never see, never have, again?

Marriage was about compromise, but what did that really mean when she found herself giving everything and him nothing? That thought circled around and around in her mind. She wanted to hurt him, to tell him that sometimes she just needed a break, that sometimes she just needed to feel more appreciated, more valued, but she couldn’t hurt him anymore. Something told her he’d hate her words anyway. What was the point anymore? What were they doing? What was she doing? Finally, she sighed. “If you want to try, then try. Go ahead. You don’t need my permission or my blessing. But I won’t do it anymore.” Maybe she’d simply given up. She’d grown used to the idea of surrendering.


J E S S E
"I don't know what you want me to say?" he asked. He was clearly frustrated, his own anger pushed down and locked into a neat little box. "I said it to make a point. It's not my style. I don't have the same patience you have, not when hunting. Do what the **** you want, Clover, honestly," he said. She was deflated. He could see it in every slump, hear it in every word. She wasn't happy, like he was an adult and she a child, and he was taking away her candy. And she really wanted some ******* candy. How was this a conversation? They were talking, they were sharing things, but it didn't feel like communication. He pushed himself from the couch and stood. It pained him to do so. All he wanted was to be happy with Clover. If he combed every day since they'd been married, how would the happiness compare to the unhappiness? Would it stack up or would it be far outweighed? And yet, he circled back. He pointed at Clover. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He turned away, and growled his frustration. The heels of his palms dug into his eyes as he continued to shake his head.

She'd said she'd been doing this for years, before they were together. "Years," he repeated. "You've always wanted to be idolized, and admired, and loved, and you'd think you'd get all that in marriage, you think the man you married could give you all the admiration and love that you need for a thousand years over. But I'm not," he said, dropping his hands. The landed on his hip and he stood there, unhappy and ill at ease. "Just... keep doing what you want and maybe one day I'll get my **** together. I'll give you everything you need, so much that you won't need to find it anywhere else. Yeah?" And he wasn't having a go at her. There was no sarcasm in his tone, there was no bitterness. There was a genuine desire to fix this some other way -- in a way that didn't involve walking away or shouting or being completely ******* miserable.

"I used to, Clo. I used to flirt and lure women into dark alleyways. I used to kiss them before I killed them. Virgins, mostly. You know how much I love the taste of Virgin blood," he said. He even almost grinned, but it died before it was even born. Blood fuelled with lust was always better than blood tinged with fear, but these days it's only fear that I drink. Only fear. "If they weren't virgins I'd **** them. Because why not? It wouldn't ruin the purity of the blood if that purity was already gone," he said with a shrug, and another shake of his head. “But I married you. I committed to you. I haven’t had fresh virgin blood unless by accident, and even then it tastes like fear. It’s never bothered me, that I had to give it up. But I assumed, you know, that you wouldn’t like it if I kept acting the way I used to, so I stopped,” he said, pointedly. And then, again, he shrugged. He had to. Now, now he was going to be sarcastic. “But just keep going about your business, Clover, and I’ll figure out how to keep your attention.”


C L O V E R
Somehow, he’d made her feel even worse. She turned, sitting properly on the couch, and began to bounce her right leg. He wasn’t enough? Wasn’t he enough? Every night she hunted, she made it seem as if he weren’t enough, as if he weren’t all she needed in a man, in a relationship, or in life. Clo imagined him luring women in the way she lured men in; she imagined him returning to his old ways. Her heart clenched just as tightly as her fists clenched. “You’re enough, Jesse. You’re enough. Don’t make this about that, please,” she spoke, voice as small as she felt. “I wouldn’t want you hunting the way I hunt. I wouldn’t want you hunting the way you did before. I do disgust myself. I am ashamed of myself. And I should have known it was wrong when I felt those emotions, but I kept going anyway.” And she did. She never seemed content. Clover didn’t know what it was like to feel whole, and maybe she never would. She’d always wanted more and more, even as a human, and maybe that missing piece never even existed.

Clo bit down on the inside of her bottom lip until she tasted the disgusting black blood that existed in her body. “As a human, I was never content. I always wanted more and more. Nothing satisfied me. Not my relationship. Not my life. Nothing. I never knew what it was like to feel whole. That doesn’t mean you aren’t enough. It just means I’m not appreciating you enough. I’m not looking at what’s right in front of me. I should have told you this before we got married. I should have told you this before we got together. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I was afraid, afraid as I was a few minutes ago. I don’t want you to resign yourself to allowing me to go about my ways.” When had her hands stilled, coming to rest atop her thighs? When had her leg stopped its incessant bouncing?

He’d hurt her without even trying, and it angered her, but she had something more important on her mind. How could she have left such dark thoughts penetrate her mind? How could she have doubted he’d stay there, talking to her? Clo stood up, but she refrained from touching him. It would have been a mistake. “I never knew how much you gave up for me, because you never told me. I didn’t know. I love you. I don’t want you to be upset. I don’t want you to think poorly of yourself. I don’t want you to think poorly of me. I just want us to be okay again. I just want us to be okay.” She’d had to repeat those words, making them once for him and once for herself. “Please trust me when I say I’ll stop. No more stalking. No more luring. I can find alternatives. I don’t want you to be the only one making sacrifices” Clo didn’t really practice other ways, but she could. She would. Maybe they would just as easily fill the void, the gaping hole that would seemingly always exist, one driven by something she had yet to define. She had no idea what he’d surrendered when he’d given in to her, and maybe that would have made the difference. She wouldn’t have kept such a dirty little secret.


J E S S E
"Stop... saying that," he spat. They were both standing, now, and he had Clover in his sights. He wouldn't look away. He wasn't struggling with anything anymore, and though he was ashamed he could face up to it, could admit to it, and could vow to do something to change it. Jesse Fforde wasn't one to allow a problem to stagnate, not when it affected something important to him. "We're always here having these discussions and it might not be about that, no. I trust that you don't think it's about that but I don't feel like I'm doing enough," he said. He was faithful, yes. He didn't flirt with other women, he barely even looked at them. When he felt desire it was always Clover's face that he saw, always her body he wanted to touch. He would always come home to her, and he couldn't fathom leaving her. But just showing up was never a full job, was it? He shook his head.

"You didn't know because I didn't see it that way. I didn't give up anything because it was just no contest. One day I did it, the next I didn't and I never thought about it after that. It wasn't something I struggled with, it's not something I struggle with now. It was something I once loved but then I moved on to something else to love, something better," he said. He wanted to say that it was natural progression but he didn't want to make Clover feel stunted. It was obvious that she struggled with something that he couldn't quite grasp; she'd been struggling with it all along, where he'd only struggled with it for five seconds, in comparison. And now he didn't. If there was a piece he felt was missing, it was the one standing right in front of him. And it wasn't missing at all -- it just needed to be flipped and turned until it slid into place. Its edges didn't need to be cut, its lines didn't need to change. Once again he'd talked his way through his anger and had arrived at the point he wanted to make.

"I haven't sacrificed anything. To sacrifice means to feel pain at a loss. I've stopped doing things. I've given things up, I've found alternatives, but sacrifice is too strong a word for it. It never pained me to do it. If there are things you feel I'm stopping you from doing that pain you so much to give up, maybe you shouldn't. If it's not easy, then I don't want you to suffer," he said. His arms had been crossed over his chest but now his hands were spread out in front of him, palm up. They were playing a game of 'who feels the worst', and frankly he'd had enough.


C L O V E R
Sacrifice. She'd chosen the right word and he'd picked it apart, right down to its bones. Feeling bare felt a lot like feeling ashamed. Feeling vulnerable felt a lot like feeling disgusted. Except she didn't feel those ways. Clo simply felt naked. All of her armor had disappeared. She never wanted to wound him, but she had. Something was seriously wrong with her, but she didn't need to admit what she'd already admitted. Where he'd given up his past hobby, she clung to hers, as if her little games kept her afloat. And that did imply her marriage wasn't enough; and that did imply Jesse wasn't enough. He stood there, palms facing up, and she still wanted to curl up and hide, to hide her bare form from him. But she stood strong, just because that wasn't what she needed to do. She didn't need to hide from him anymore.

“No,” she said, absolutely certain of that word, of the meaning of that word. “I will stop. I can change just as easily. I can make adjustments, I mean. This is something small. It should be something small.” But it's not something small, Clover. Some little voice sounded from inside her, but she swatted the background noise aside in favor of continuing to speak. “Would it make you feel more at ease? Just tell me I can make a difference now. That you won't hold this against me. I don't want you jealous or angry. I don't want your self-esteem to suffer. I want to do what's right.” And that little voice, that background noise, disappeared. He stood there and all she wanted to do was take those hands, but hers remained at her side. Unsure. Uncertain. “I wouldn't want you doing this to me and it's only right I don't put you through it.”

Had she phrased herself right? Would he pick her words apart once again? She hoped so. She hoped not. Clo took a hesitant step forward, afraid that being too close would simply drive him away. They were magnets. They weren't magnets. She wanted him to be content, just as much as she wanted him to reach out for her. After a while, she asked another question much lower. “Can I hold you?” She felt wrong for asking, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable. “Are we done discussing?”


J E S S E
Jesse stood as still as a pillar, only his eyes moving as they tracked Clover's movements. He didn't know how he felt nor whether he wanted the discussion to be over. He didn't know whether he was still angry or sad, whether he wanted to beat the horse that lay dead between them. She mentioned his self-esteem and his eyes flickered, that flinch as he felt her get closer to his weak spots. To everyone else he wanted to put on a mask, to pretend like his self-esteem was full and robust and in perfect working order. He'd pulled it off so well before, and he thought he was doing so again. Of course he was! Clover only knew about it because he'd told her. He reminded himself that. He had told her, because he had wanted her to know. And she wasn't sticking a knife into it. She never had, not on purpose. It was okay. It was Clover.

"I trust you," he said, finally. He wasn't going to be jealous or angry. If she said she was going to stop, then he trusted that she would. It would make him feel more at ease, yes. He nodded. And he wouldn't do it to her. He wouldn't do what he had threatened. He often threatened so much, but never did follow through. He didn't have it in him. Not in regards to Clover.

She asked whether the discussion was over, whether she could hold him, and at first Jesse didn't respond. He asked himself whether he wanted to walk away, to take some time on his own to recover from the discussion. He eventually concluded that he didn't want to walk away. In the vein of their previous discussion, to walk away now felt like a sacrifice. It would pain him to do so, because he didn't like leaving things unresolved. And this discussion was as resolved as it was going to get. He nodded, allowing his limbs to relax, lifting a hand to cup Clover's jaw as he pressed his lips to her temple. He went back to the couch where he sat, and gestured that Clover should join him.

"We'll watch something," he said. The TV was right there, the remote control beside him. He reached down to loosen the laces of his boots so he could make himself more comfortable.


C L O V E R
His hesitation spoke volumes about where they stood; she felt as if they had a whole world between them. Clover recalled a time when he might not have needed to pause, a time when they were on better terms. Only moments ago, before she’d thought to reveal her deepest secret to him. Of course he’d reacted badly. Of course he’d reacted with distaste. And it shouldn’t have surprised her, but for some reason, it kind of did. When he eventually spoke, she felt her whole body relax. Clo hadn’t even noticed when she’d tensed, when her muscles had betrayed her, body and soul. She stood there, basking in the relief, and then he finished closing the distance between them. He climbed mountains. He crossed whole seas. He kissed her, in the way he had just minutes, hours, or days before. Clo couldn’t remember how long their disagreement had lasted, but it felt like forever. He kissed her temple and she took the kiss with grace. She accepted the brief show of affection.

He said they’d watch something, but she preferred watching him. So as she made her way back to the sofa, as she reclaimed her former position beside him, Clo allowed her gaze to travel between the television and his face. Did she really trust him? Had they truly resolved their differences? He’d kissed her. That meant something. She told herself whatever she needed to hear to relax, and she did relax, but she needed more reassurances, the type that she refused to request.

“I like this show,” she suddenly said. She didn’t really care what channel the television stopped on, but she thought she should speak up before he changed the channel. What had she done? He hadn’t been ready. She’d forced everything on him and watched as he choked. Clover felt worse and worse. It was her turn to climb mountains, to cross whole seas, just to kiss the corner of his lips. She did that, successfully, and then she tried her best to focus on the show. What if he didn’t really trust her? What if their argument carried on for days or weeks? What if she simply gave up hunting altogether? That would have been better. That would have been safer. The characters on the show did something funny. The laugh track kicked in. Clover didn’t laugh at all. Instead, she kissed Jesse once more, right on his cheek, and relaxed back into the cushions. They were fine. They were okay. The next time the characters did something funny, Clo smiled.