The

broken
hearted
girl
I felt the slight pressure of fingertips on my arm. The fingers crept
upwards, towards my shoulder and up to the neckline of my shirt. I
breathed heavily as the fingers reached my face, my lips, and his lips
reached down to mine. Our breath mingled as his mouth crushed mine.
The moment was perfect. But perfection can go wrong in an instant.
“I love you, Cady,” he breathed as his mouth left mine. I was too out of
breath to say much.
His fingers left my arm and began tugging on the neck of my shirt,
trying to lift it off. When I realised what he was doing I began to pinch at
his fingers, trying to make them release my shirt and after a few moments
he gave up.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he asked, appalled.
I sat in silent horror, thinking of what would happen if he had
succeeded in taking off my shirt.
Because Jackson Scott, my boyfriend of seven months, did not know
my biggest secret. And he never would. I would never tell anyone. I had
promised myself that almost nine years ago and I was not breaking now.
I settled on the easiest possible explanation for my behaviour. “I’m not
ready yet.”
Disappointment and understanding washed over his features. His
mouth turned down at the corners and he ran a hand through his hair,
messing it up but not noticeably.
“Do you know what Cady? I’m fine with that,” he said after a few
moments pensive silence.
My heart lifted and my hand shot out to his chin and pulled his face,
and more importantly his lips, towards me.
And he truly seemed okay with it. We left his parents’ bedroom and
walked down the hall to his. His room was bright and surprisingly adult for
a boy his age. There was not a football poster, a nude calendar or any
other trademark of an eighteen year old boy’s room. In fact it was tidier
than my room, and my room was tidy. After all, it should be; I was hardly
ever in it.
I sat on his bed and smoothed the silk sheets absentmindedly as I
watched Jackson move about his room. He moved with an easy fluidity
that seemed unnatural and yet compelling at the same time. He moved
with the grace a ballet dancer could only hope to achieve.
Jackson was fiddling with the photo frames scattered around the room
– they were the only sign that anyone lived in this room. I knew every
photo in the room well, mostly because I was in them.
Jackson and I were both in the highest rank of teenage popularity at
the local school. Everyone looked up to us and we pretty much ruled the
school. He was fiddling with the photo of the Halloween party three years
ago, the day when we had met. That picture had always embarrassed me,
partly because I was wearing a bumble bee outfit that emphasised all the
wrong things and partly because of the way I was hanging off Jackson’s
arm with a sickly-sweet smile on my face. I had been fourteen and
overjoyed that a fifteen year-old had kissed me. He turned to another
photo, one taken a few weeks ago when we were at a party. I was sat on
Jackson’s lap smiling and holding his hand, looking a completely different
person to the sweet thirteen year old in the neighbouring picture.
He turned away from the picture frames with a sly smile on his face. I
jerked from my thoughts and realised I had been staring, and he had
noticed.
The smile stayed in place as he came to sit beside me on the bed and
put his arm around my shoulders.
“You okay?” he asked me quietly, a look of concern tainting his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Better than fine. Great.” I couldn’t even see my smile
but I knew it was so obviously false that someone less receptive than
Jackson could have picked it up.
He pushed me backwards onto the bed and crushed his mouth once
more to mine with the same passion as before. I wondered idly if he
bottled up all his passion for the rare occasions like these; we barely ever
kissed in public and when we did it was on a par with kissing your
grandmother. But these were the kisses I treasured, the kisses when we
just let go and acted on instinct.
But I hadn’t even noticed while thinking all this that Jackson’s hands
were scrabbling at the neckline of my shirt again and my hands were
pinned behind my back, the full force of both out weights pushing them
down.
“No, Jackson, no,” I murmured around his mouth. He paid no attention.
And my shirt was over my head before I could get my hands free and
stop him.
And the look of disgust as he surveyed my body was just as I had
pictured in my mind.
“What . . . how . . . Cady?” he stammered. I knew his mind was working
away, though, piecing together pieces of evidence it had locked away for
this moment.
And realisation dawned in his eyes.
He pointed an accusatory finger at my face, scrambling off the bed and
towards the door while still keeping his eyes on me.
“Jackson, its okay, just calm down.” I had risen off the bed and began
taking slow steps towards him, arms raised as if I were giving myself to
the Police.
 “Get away from me. GET AWAY FROM ME!”
I grabbed my shirt and bolted for the door, tears stinging my eyes. I
ran downstairs and opened the door before pulling the shirt back over my
head and running blindly down his street. I heard Jackson screaming as I
ran.
That was the day I decided to leave home.
That was the day Cady Cooper died.
And that was the day that Arcadia Cooper was born.

Chapter one

Driving through the night, my vision blurred with unrelenting tears, had
given me a chance to think and decide on the perfect place to run to and
the perfect story to tell.
It had been only four hours since the Jackson-fiasco; I spent one hour
packing my entire life into seven boxes and a bag and three hours to drive
halfway down the country to the only place I could go.
So that left me here, facing the frosted window panes of a door I hadn’t
seen in almost twelve years.
I raised my fist, my fingernails digging into my palm, rapped three
times on the wood and waited. And waited. And waited . . .
As I turned away from the door, tears threatening in my eyes, I heard
the distant rumble of footsteps and a low, throaty voice. The door opened
and it was like a memory coming to life.
The man in the doorway was a little older than I remembered, a little
balder, a little more haggard with a pot belly I definitely had never seen
before. But he was fundamentally the same man of my childhood.
In this doorway stood my father.
My parents had split up when I was five and I had lived with my mother
ever since. When they had been together I had liked my mother a lot
more than my father because mum was always interested in watching
children’s TV and always got takeaways when she had to cook and, of
course, being five, I thought she was the best parent ever.
Of course, being seventeen, I now realised she was just lazy. She had
watched children’s TV because she didn’t want to clean and she got
takeaways because she couldn’t be bothered cooking.
“Hello?” he asked in a voice that struck my memories again. His voice
hadn’t changed one bit.
“Hello. I’m really sorry to impose like this but could I just ask a
favour?” I said this nervously, reading the obvious confusion on his
features. “I really need a place to sleep tonight. Well, I actually need a
place to live. If you don’t have a spare couch I don’t mind sleeping in the
car . . .”
“I’m sorry but, um, who are you?” His light blue eyes, so similar to my
own, roved over my body, trying to put a name to the face.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Arcadia.” I felt a strange compulsion to hold out my
hand to shake, like you would do for a stranger. Instead, I tucked a lock of
long, black hair behind my ear, an action I only ever did when I was
nervous.
His eyes became far away, searching his memory for my identity.
“Arcadia, is that you?” he finally said, his hands twitching towards me,
his eyes becoming wide.
“Yeah it’s me. So can I stay?”
“Um, well, we have a pretty full house . . .”
I turned back to the car, tears blurring my vision, as he spoke.
“Arcadia, do you really think I’d turn my own daughter away on the
doorstep?”
I turned on my heel and stared disbelievingly at the familiar stranger
on the doorstep. When he smiled I ran forwards and enveloped him in a
vice-tight embrace.

My pen seemed to doodle my thoughts into my notebook; scribbles of half

formed thoughts and odd sketches littered the page.
My eyes roved the room, sliding over the almost-familiar faces of my
classmates as they took notes from the lecture. It had only been six days
since I had run away from my home and my dad had already enrolled me
in the local college where his step-daughter Jessica went.
Of course, I hadn’t expected my dad to have sat pining for my mother
for twelve years, but how much he had moved on surprised me. Denise,
my dad’s new wife, was beautiful, with her deep brown eyes and coffee
coloured flawless skin, and she was really nice too. She was everything I
could have wished for in a mother and more. Jessica was Denise’s
daughter, not by my dad, and she was a year older than me.
Unfortunately, she had not inherited any of her mother’s personality. She
was every inch the spoilt brat American style cheerleader stereotype with
her long blonde hair and tan skin. My dad had fathered two children with
Denise – Carrie and Oliver. Carrie was twelve and, thankfully, nothing like
her bigger sister, and Oliver was a quiet, shy three year old.
I glanced up as I heard Jessica’s shrill laughter from across the room.
She was perched on her seat in-between the two evil minions she called
her best-friends – Pamela and Ellie. They were whispering to each other,
laughing and pointing in my direction. I turned my head back down to my
paper. Jessica had decided to hate me and be generally spiteful – making
my whole transition into a new college even more difficult – as I had
‘ruined her life’. When I had arrived dad suggested that I share with Carrie
and Jessica as the spare room was being decorated. After much false
protest about privacy and needing my own space they had agreed to let
me stay in the spare room on my own. I really needed my own room
though – I wasn’t just being spoilt and picky. I couldn’t sneak out of a
shared room at night as often as I needed to, and I couldn’t explain why I
needed to anyway. At the time I hadn’t known that Jessica was planning to
move into the room, so that was strike one against me.
Strike two had been becoming the centre of attention at college, a spot
usually reserved for Jess. I had ignored the attention, shooed all
‘welcoming committee’ members and generally been quiet but that
wasn’t enough to fade into the background. I had decided when I enrolled
at the college to become the social opposite of myself at my old school.
Then I had been the popular, confident, sexy Cady. Now I was the
reserved, shy Arcadia.
As another Jess-laugh reached my ears I turned my attention back to
the lecture. Ms Turner was a slightly frumpy forty-year-old lecturer at my
new college, teaching A-level history and geography, neither of which
really interested me.
I followed Ms Turner’s eyes to a frightened looking girl directly opposite
me. I stared at her – along with half of the class – and found a familiar face
looking back at me. I searched my memory and found a slightly fuzzy face
that was almost identical to the girls. The face belonged to Rosie Walsh,
my best friend from childhood.
With a pang I remembered all of the friends I would never see again. I
felt a hollow pit where my stomach should be when I thought about them.
I missed them already, after six days without them, and my mind
wondered how long it would take them to forget me. I made a mental note
to call them soon and let them know I was still alive.
Of course, the emptiness I was feeling for my friends was
overshadowed by the cavernous hole where my heart and lungs should
be. It felt hard to breathe just thinking about him. Jackson had been
everything to me – my best friend, my sister, my boyfriend and mother all
in one. He looked after me and we talked about everything together. I
missed him so much I thought I would burst.
Maybe I should call him too . . . my mental voice suggested. I will admit
it was a very appealing idea. My pen had already started tracing his
mobile number on my notebook. I hastily crossed it out and mentally
shouted at myself for ever even thinking of calling him. I could never
speak to him again, even if he called me, because I needed to start afresh
and cut all ties with my old life.
Even as I thought all of this, a mental picture of Jackson swam in my
vision making my heart squeeze painfully tight.
As Jess was climbing into my car she made no effort to hide her constant
looks of anger. Strike three came when she had missed the bus she
usually went home on and had to ride with me in my car. Not only was she
pissed that I could drive while she couldn’t but I also had a car.
Admittedly, it was not a very nice car, but it was practical and pretty. The
outside was a deep purple paint and the seats were made of plain black
material but the car held special memories for me. This was the car that I
had passed my test in. This was the car I had kissed Jackson in after our
first proper date. Jackson’s smell still clung to the upholstery and I inhaled
deeply and closed my eyes, pretending that he was beside me.
“Hello? Are we going to get home anytime soon?” Jess’s shrill voice
issued from beside me, completely dispelling any illusion that Jackson was
beside me.
I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Jess made a point of
waving to all her friends and looking sad as I drove her away. I would only
have to put up with Jess for about ten minutes if I took a shortcut.
“Didn’t you want to say goodbye to your friends?” she asked in her
I’m-so-innocent-and-sweet voice. When I didn’t answer she continued, her
voice becoming more mocking. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have any.”
My eyes burned as I remembered all the friends I had left behind. If
Jess could have seen all my old friends she wouldn’t be laughing. I was the
most popular girl in school and dating the most popular boy in school.
Practically everyone was my friend or wanted to be. Now I had no one.
I only had to hold on for five more minutes and I could break down in
peace.
Jess had been speaking while I thought. “If you haven’t even got any
friends here it’s no wonder that you left wherever you were,” she hissed.
“You know, they’re suspicious. They really want to know why you left. I
think I know.” I didn’t even have to look at her to know her favourite
malevolent smile was stretched over her face. “Who’s Jackson?”
I stamped my foot on the break as I swerved into the driveway. “How
do you know Jackson?” My voice had risen embarrassingly and I sounded
like I was about to cry; I probably would if I didn’t get away from her soon.
She ignored me. “I think that you tried to get with this Jackson guy and
he rejected you. I think you’re embarrassed. I think he doesn’t like you.”
I had reached across her seat and positioned myself in front of her
face. “I said where did you see his name!”
Her eyes betrayed the fear she was feeling and she took a big gulp of
air.
“You will never talk about him again!” I screamed. I was really losing
control, scarily so, but it felt so good to unload some anger.
She nodded weakly and I climbed off her, out of the car and through
the front door, locking the car as I went and not really caring if she had
gotten out or not.
Chapter Two

Jackson, I’m so sorry

Jackson, talk to me
Jacky? It’s me
Please, just talk to me

After a few futile attempts at writing Jackson an e-mail I gave up. There
was so much I needed to say – too much to put in an e-mail, or even a
letter. And I knew the chances of him actually reading said e-mail were
slim.
I slid my chair back from the computer and kneaded my head with the
heels of my hands.
It had now been thirteen days since I had last seen Jackson, or any of
my friends. This was the longest we had ever not spoken to each other.
Even our most serious fights only lasted a week at most.
I glanced at my calendar and noted it was Gemma’s birthday. Gemma
had been my best friend, after Jackson of course, and today was her
seventeenth birthday. She had been planning a big night out for months,
taking all out best friends out to clubs and all crashing at hers afterwards.
I had been looking forwards to it since she had begun arranging it. My
eyes darted to my bedside table and the mobile phone that lay dormant
there.
I made a snap decision to call her, wish her a happy birthday and
check that everyone was okay.
I perched on my bed and tapped in the number. She answered on the
fifth ring.
“Hello?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“Hey Gemma! Happy Birthday!” I called into the phone, smiling at the
familiarity of her voice.
She paused. “Who is this?”
Rising off the bed and into the path of the mirror I saw the shock cross
my face. “It’s Cady. Remember me?”
“Cady? I don’t know a . . . oh, Cady! Hey!”
Tears leaked out of the corner of my eyes and rolled down my face.
She had forgotten me completely in less than two weeks. More tears
escaped my eyes as I mumbled an excuse and put the phone down.
I didn’t even bother calling anyone else; if Gemma, my best friend, had
already forgotten me, I didn’t hold much hope for anyone else
remembering I existed.
I sat back on the bed and watched the small glittering beads of
sadness race down my face.
And I must have fallen asleep somewhere during my silent sobbing, as
I opened my eyes and where the sunlight had been struggling its way
through the curtains before there was now the eerie glow of moonlight.
My phone told me it was ten-fifteen. Jackson would be home from work by
now.
Without even stopping to think about it I clicked Jackson’s name from
my phonebook and listened to the call tone.
“Hello?” he said in his bright phone-answering voice.
I felt a stiff lump in my throat at the sound of his voice. He repeated
himself.
“Hello, Jackson.” My voice sounded hoarse from crying.
 I heard a rustling from the other end and the long bleep of the dial
tone.
I pulled myself off the bed, wiped the tears threatening my eyes,
brushed my hair from my face and tied it to the back of my head.
As I put my hand on the door handle I realised that I was painfully
hungry and knew instantly that this hunger wouldn’t be satisfied with
food. With a sigh, I headed away from the door and out of the window,
into the night.

“So, going anywhere today? It is Saturday,” dad said, his concern not
entirely hidden from his voice. He was obviously hoping that if I left the
house then I would perk up and the terrible depression that had settled on
me would lift.
“No, I think I’ll just stay in and do some more work,” I sighed, pulling
my eyes up from the table and giving him a weak imitation of a smile.
“Are you sure? I think Jessica is going to one of your friends houses.”
Jess walked into the room and snorted. “Yeah, our friends,” she said
sarcastically. “No she’ll stay in and mope about Jack –” She cut herself
short as I shot her a look that clearly told her to shut up.
Dad ignored the slip up. “Well, I’m sure that you’ve made some of your
own friends here.”
Seeing the twinkle in his eyes and the obvious longing for me to be
happy and decided to spare him my company.
“Actually I could call . . . Gemma and go out. She said something about
a film she wanted to watch,” I lied quickly, ignoring the twinge in my heart
as I used my ex-best friend’s name.
Jess shot me a quizzical look and left the room. My dad was positively
grinning as he reached for his wallet and handed me a small wad of notes,
insisting I take them and have fun.
So the plan was already set in my head. Get dressed and drive my car
out to some field and mope there all day.
But when I got into the car and threw my purse, keys and phone onto
the passenger seat I changed my plans.
I would call Jackson again, and this time if he put the phone down on
me I would just drive to his house and confront him.

“Hello?” Jackson said down the handset.

“Hey Jackson. It’s me, Cady.” My heart was beating so fast that it was
hard to speak.
“Cady? Just leave me alone.” His voice was blunt and hard, nothing like
the Jackson I was used to.
“Wait, just hear me out.”
He paused and then finally said, “Fine.”
I took a deep steadying breath, reciting the speech I has been mentally
writing, when he spoke over me. He now sounded hurt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I wanted to blame it all on him, to say he wouldn’t have believed me
and then he would have turned his back on me but it wasn’t the truth.
 “Because I didn’t want to lose you. I’m selfish and I didn’t want what I
am to get in the way of us. And I’m sorry for all of this.”
And now I wanted him to say that I hadn’t lost him and that he was
going to drive and find me and take me home, but he didn’t.
I could almost hear the phone shaking as he trembled with anger.
“You’re right. You have lost me.” Each word was like a dagger, cutting his
words across my heart and carving his hatred into my memory. “I hate
you. If you ever speak to me again I will call the police and if they don’t
help me then I will hunt you down and kill you like the monster you are!”
He slammed the phone down, cutting that sound into my memory along
with the others, and I stood there for twenty more minutes, still holding
the phone to my ear, as my mind dealt with his words.
Jackson hated me. And I don’t mean silly teenage ‘hate’, I mean
proper, killing fury hate. He would happily kill me.
And I would happily accept it. I could picture his beautiful face
contorted with anger and bloodlust as he repeatedly jabbed a knife into
my chest. I would happily stab myself at the moment.
I shut myself back in the car and curled up on the back seat, feeling
the tears run tracks down my face and I shook with sobs so strong that
they rattled my ribcage.
I noticed a small wad of black material underneath the driver seat and
pulled at it. A long black sleeve emerged, followed by a large piece of the
material and another sleeve; Jackson’s jacket. He must have left it in here
the other night, when I was around at his – the last night I had seen him.
I cradled the jacket to my chest, inhaling his scent deeply and
pretending it was him wrapped in my arms and not just a piece of
clothing.
I sat like this, picturing every perfect piece of Jackson’s body, until my
tears ran dry. And even after they stopped I still sat clutching his jacket
like a mad woman.
My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock. It was almost eight
p.m. and I should probably be getting home soon; I hadn’t thought to ask
about curfew before.
Driving around in the premature darkness was eerie. The car was too
silent and I felt like somehow the darkness was clawing at the windows,
trying to get inside. I heard a whisper of my name and shivered.
I flipped the radio on and turned it up loud, trying to banish the sudden
bad feeling I was having. It didn’t work. I was tense, nervously jumping at
any sudden movement or noise, all the way home.
Chapter three

After I had checked my reflection in the car wing-mirror – I couldn’t really

walk in with twigs in my hair and blood on my face with no explanation –
and started towards the door. I heard the quiet rumble of my father’s
laughter from inside and remembered that told him I was seeing a film
and not moping in a field all day. I plastered a plastic smile on my face as
I walked through the door, put my keys noisily in the bowl and called out,
“I’m home dad.”
His laughter stopped and he entered the hall while I had hanging my
coat up.
“Arcadia, do you know what time it is?”
I turned expecting anger but he merely looked confused. “Um, eight
thirty?”
“Yes, why are you in so early?”
And he summed up my life in that one moment – everything was the
wrong way around. The teenage daughter who lies and says she is going
out with her friends and goes to be on her own is shouted at for being in
too early. I almost laughed with the impossibility of the situation.
“The film finished quickly, so I came home. I’ve got a load of homework
to do,” I lied quickly.
He studied my face for a few moments before letting me pass through
into the living room.
When Denise offered my dinner I had to refuse – the day’s events had
taken their toll on me and I felt sick. I made a poor excuse about feeling
sick and having homework to escape to my room. When I was on the
stairs I turned around to grab a glass of water when I heard hushed
voices.
“. . . asked Jess and she has no clue. I think it’s boyfriend trouble,”
Denise’s knowing voice hissed.
“Really? I hadn’t even known there was a boyfriend,” my dad
whispered back.
“Neither had I but I heard her ask Jackson to forgive her in her sleep.”
I spoke in my sleep? I hadn’t known that! What else had I told her? My
mind swam with grim possibilities of who knew what thanks to my sleep-
confessions.
I heard the front door bang closed and ducked into the shadows as
Jessica streamed past the stairway, her long, blonde hair like a flyaway
cloak behind her.
“Hey, I’m gonna grab a drink and go upstairs. See you later,” she
called to them, oblivious to their discussion.
 After a few moments I heard Denise speak. “Jessica, do you know why
Arcadia left home?”
My heart thudded erratically in my chest as Denise spoke. Jessica was
the only person who knew about Jackson here, and I had planned to keep
it that way, and knowing his name would take my dad and Denise one
step further towards discovering the truth about me.
“No. She never tells me anything,” Jess said breezily. “’Night.”
They said their goodnights and as I heard Jess on the bottom step I
ducked into my room.
I needed to think about what to do. Dad and Denise were getting closer
to discovering all about me every day, and I couldn’t – I wouldn’t – let
anyone else turn away from me because of what I was.
I needed to think clearly and I knew the only way I could ever think
clearly. I ducked out of my window silently and out into the night.

When I clambered back into my window, there was a piece of paper on my

bed. I opened it. In Jess’s elaborate, curled writing it read:

Arcadia,
They know you left. And this isn’t like a sisterly warning; this is just to rub
it in your face. You will be in soooo much trouble.
From, your perfect step-sister.

“Damn it!” I whispered under my breath.

“It’s Friday,” my dad said conversationally over dinner.

I glanced up lazily from my food to him and was surprised to see the
glee on his face. He’s a bit over-enthusiastic for Friday isn’t he? I mentally
questioned.
“Going anywhere nice?” he continued. His smile widened and his eyes
seemed to gleam the same happiness he was exuding.
“No, why?” I asked, genuinely bewildered. It wasn’t like he hadn’t
expressed much interest in my non-existent social life for the past month,
but this was different. I knew he was up to something.
“Jessica mentioned going for a film night with some of your school
friends. I thought that you would be going too.”
I almost smiled as the prospect of getting Jessica in trouble popped
into my head. I knew for a fact that one of her evil minions was throwing a
party tonight – a full blown house party with drink, drugs, smoking and
sex among other things.
“Oh. No I don’t really fancy it,” I lied.
“No, go ahead. I thought it would be fun.” Dad looked disappointed at
the thought of me deliberately missing social events. I couldn’t stand the
disappointment in his eyes.
I trudged upstairs, deciding to actually go to the party and not just hide
out in a cafe until it was a suitable time to go home. But this plan involved
getting invited.
 Jess was reluctant of letting me go to the party, but the threat of telling
to Denise on her was too powerful so she threw a selection of clothes at
me – “I don’t want to be embarrassed by you!” – and agreed to let me
take her and bring her back.
Once in my room, I sifted through the gaudy clothes, all revealing and
in neon colours, and abandoned them to wear some of my secret stash of
clothes.
No one knew about my secret stash. All my favourite clothes I wore at
my old school’s parties and out to clubs lay in a box under my bed. They
were all the clothes that represented everything to do with Cady Cooper.
And now I wasn’t her anymore it seemed fitting not to dress like her.
My favourite top – black with cream lace straps and encrusted with
diamantes that enunciated my breasts – and favourite jeans – faded grey
skinny fit jeans – were lifted from the box and placed over my favourite
bra and knickers set – the ones that flattered my bum and pushed up my
breasts. I even styled my hair in the way the old Cady did – lying long on
my back with a slight raise at the roots. I looked, felt and was dressed like
myself a month ago and felt a brief flash of pleasure.
I was the old Cady: smart, confident, loved. If I could keep this up for
the night I might even make some friends.
I slipped into a pair of Jessica’s dominatrix heels and stuffed my phone
and money in a clutch bag. Jess’s jaw dropped when she saw me.
“Where’s all the stuff from?” she asked, bewildered and probably a
little jealous.
“Oh, it’s just some stuff I had hanging around,” I breathed lazily as I
swished past her, grabbing my keys and a coat.
The ride there she was silent, staring at my clothes with obvious lust in
her eyes.
I’m hiding these clothes under the floorboards when I get home I
mentally promised, stifling the little girlish giggle that came tacked to the
thought.
The party had evidentially started when we arrived. Drunken men were
staggering across the lawn and the bass of the music was already making
my head hurt. I grabbed a drink from someone’s hand – the way the old
Cady did – on the way in and wandered off to find something to do. I
promised myself one thing.
By the end of the night, I would be over Jackson.

The bass was pounding in my chest – my unusually prominent chest I

might add – and although my head felt fuzzy, I felt the best I had in over a
month.
In the two hours I had been at the party I had been asked my name
thirty-seven times. No one knew me. This was when I realised I could be
the old Cady again. Jackson couldn’t ruin my life by making me change
myself.
But even as I tried to settle to the ways of the old Cady – flirting with
everyone, even taken guys – and pretty much ending up in a bedroom
with someone, I felt strange. Whenever anyone got too close to me,
whenever I felt a kiss coming on, I felt sick to my stomach. I literally felt
like I would be sick.
It was later, when the alcohol buzz had faded from my thoughts that I
realised that I couldn’t just become the old Cady again. I had changed
when I left my life behind, and the part of me I missed – the fun loving,
care-free Cady – had died with that change.
Jackson doesn’t even have to be near me to ruin my life, I thought to
myself, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. I blinked them back.
Another three beers and five vodka-and-something’s and the fun buzz
was back, numbing all the pain of my mind.
The guy I was talking to reeked of stale alcohol – as did everyone – and
sweat. I excused myself, grabbing another drink from an unsuspecting
hand and staggered towards the stairs.
And this is where I made the mistake.
I knew how drunk I was – make no mistake, I was not inexperienced in
alcohol consumption – and I knew my limits but somehow I found myself
wandering up the stairs, tripping as I went, and flinging myself on top of
the coats in a bedroom, spilling half of my drink over myself as I did so.
I needed a chance to think, to clear my head, and that would have
been nearly impossible to do if I had stayed downstairs, with the party.
My plan had not quite worked. I had not gotten over Jackson that night,
as I had promised. In fact, I had realised and probably strengthened the
hold he had over me. I felt so stupid – I was letting my ex-boyfriend
control my life. I sounded like a crappy teenage film.
The door creaked open and I heard soft footsteps on the carpet. Then a
soft, almost whispering voice drifted from the doorway towards me.
“. . . I know Anna, but we could still make this work,” said the voice,
sadness and regret threaded into each word.
A quick buzz of reply.
“I don’t care; I just want things to be normal again.” The voice was
deep, obviously a man’s.
Another buzz, this time longer than the last.
“Okay. Fine. Bye,” he said.
He sat lightly on the foot of the bed and exhaled loudly. I wanted to
reach out and hug him, but my mind had different ideas. I rose from my
sprawled out position, like a corpse in a zombie film, and asked if he was
alright in a whispered voice.
“Jesus Christ!” he screamed, jumping from the bed in shock. He looked
around the room, from the pile of coats he had dislodged to me, still
entangled in the bed sheets. “What are you doing in here?”
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.
He came and sat far away from me on the bed, leaning away from me
as if I was a leper, and asked me again what I was doing here.
“Thinkin’” I slurred, giggling afterwards.
“Alright. I was being broken up with.”
I looked into his face, noted the way the moonlight accented parts of
his face, and saw the sadness buried deeply beneath the calm facade.
I leaned into him and, on impulse, touched my lips briefly to his and an
explosion took place in my lips.
 It felt like being electrocuted and burned at once, a stinging, warm
sensation that wasn’t as unpleasant as it sounded. I pressed my lips
harder to his and the sensation intensified.
Before I could register what I was doing I was straddling his chest,
pulling at the buttons on his shirt, and kissing him all at once. The alcohol
fuzz in my mind was weaker, and I knew that this outburst was not due to
my drunken state.
“What are you doing?” he asked around my lips. I didn’t bother
answering.
I frantically popped the last remaining button and, forgetting myself, I
pulled at the base of my flimsy top, yanking it up over my head, and I
didn’t pause until I heard his intake of breath.
I was showing my stomach, the scars I had hidden for so long.
“What? How?” he asked, reaching out his fingers to stroke my skin and
the ugly blemishes staining it. I pulled myself away from him before he
could touch them.
“What are they?” he asked again, reaching to touch the scars
peppering the skin just below my breasts. I jerked away again.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed, tears blinding my eyes and I flung
myself around the room, grabbing all my possessions and running out of
the room.
I knew that tears were running down my face. I knew that I was half
naked. I knew that I had left my coat and phone behind but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was getting out of there.
I heard jeering and shouts as I ran down the stairs, clutching my top to
my front, and out the door into the night. I hid behind the garden wall as I
pulled my top back on and ignored the callings of the boy who had seen
my scars.

Chapter Four

I stayed in the rest of the weekend, my paranoia overtaking my need

to appear normal to my dad. I didn’t even dare hunting, scared that I
would bump into the guy on the way, so it was a bit of an understatement
that I was grouchy. I had been living off the emergency supplies I keep
for, well, emergencies. I had only ventured out of my room since Friday to
go to the toilet and grab some food while everyone was asleep.
When my dad had asked about the party I made some generic lies,
that is was fun and I met a load of new people, before going up to my
room and not resurfacing for two days.
And, besides being so starving hungry that I would happily have eaten
my dad, I was so sleep deprived it was insane. Every time I shut my eyes,
I say the guy’s face, the look of horror, and if I continued to see it
distorted into a grotesque imitation of Jackson’s look of disgust.
 But all too soon it was Monday and I would have to go to college. All I
could do was hope and pray, futilely, that the guy didn’t go to my college
and at the least that he had forgotten me.
But, as usual, my life didn’t go as I wanted it to. It had been alright for
most of the day, the odd person recognising me and then dismissing their
suspicions, until my free period.
I did as I usually did during this blessed hour a week – I submersed
myself in a novel. The ‘welcoming committee’ who I, personally, thought
were nothing but humans with lapdog minds, had stopped coming and
bothering me, preferring to sit and do whatever they did – probably plot
world domination by assaulting people with pin badges.
I was sat in my usual spot, my face buried deep in my current book,
when I heard the door slam and I looked up reflexively, regretting my
instincts immediately.
There he was. Standing there, silhouetted against the window, he
looked like an angel. His dark brown hair was styled untidily and he was
wearing a smile that showed his perfect white teeth. I watched him talk to
his friends, giving hi-fives and laughing, and I suddenly had an
unexpected and unwelcome thought.
I so wish that was me.
I shook my head slightly, tearing my gaze from the girl he was
embracing, and fought the sting in my eyes as I realised it was true.
I tried to hide my face behind my book, but I wasn’t quick enough. We
locked eyes for all of a second, but that was all it took.
I felt a twinge in my eyes, a faint echo of the buzz I got while kissing
him and it took all my willpower to look away and hide my face, hoping
that he would dismiss me.
I thought he had decided to ignore me and felt a strange mixture of
relief and disappointment grip my chest. I felt a tapping on my knee and
dropped my book slowly. I saw the hand, and followed it up the arm to the
face where he was staring down at me.
“Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?” he asked. His voice was
smooth as silk and twice as pleasurable. Once again, I felt the faint twinge
of pleasure.
I nodded mechanically and rose from my chair to follow him out of the
door. I felt eyes follow us on the way out and their confusion was almost
tangible.
He led me to an empty English classroom and closed the door behind
him. I perched on the teacher’s desk and he sat beside me.
I could feel the tension and suspicion radiating out of him as he turned
to face me.
“Hi again,” I mumbled, trying to erase some tension by breaking the
silence.
“Hi.” He was blunt, showing me that he had no time for false answers
and evasions. I decided that I did have time for false answers and
evasions, and I was telling him nothing.
“So, I met you on Friday . . .” he continued.
“You were getting broken up with; I was drunk and hiding in coats.” I
smiled warily.
 “Look, I’ve got a question to ask you.” I braced myself for the lies I
would have to tell. Attacked by a dog? Too sad. A gunshot wound? Too
unbelievable. “What were those . . . scars? The ones all over your
stomach. They looked painful.”
I inhaled deeply but he cut me off. “I mean, I don’t want to pry, but I
really need to know.”
“They’re bite marks. I was attacked when I was a kid,” I said. Really, it
wasn’t a lie. I had been attacked as a child and they were bite marks. But I
knew my vague description would immediately make him think of dog
bites.
“Really? I thought they looked too thick to be bite marks. I thought
they were stab wounds.” He still sounded cool, calm. He had a hint of
disbelief in his voice that was almost undetectable.
Damn, I should have gone for stab wounds.
I got up and went for the door but he grabbed my arm, spun me
around to face him, and glared deep into my eyes.
“Tell me the truth now! I am sick of being lied to by girls!” he snapped,
his eyes going wild.
As I wrenched my arm from his I was nearly shaking with anger. “You
want the truth; let’s see how you deal with it!”
“My mother was a crappy mum, always letting my wander off on my
own, even when I was little. I was eight and we were in town. She was
shopping and she sent me off to play by myself for a few hours and I
wandered around for ages, like an eight year old would.
“I was wandering the way I thought led to my friend’s house but I took
a wrong turn or something and ended up in a real shady area of town. It
was a nasty, the place with the most drug dealers and alcoholics in the
country. And there were these boys in an alleyway. I thought one looked
about my age, so I was going to go and play with him . . .”
I barely registered speaking the words out loud and flew back into my
memory. Everything was as clear as the day it happened.
I had walked over to the boy and asked him to play and he had
laughed in my face, calling me stupid kid. He told me to leave him alone
or I’d be sorry.
“Why?” I had whined.
His friends has laughed and urged him to tell the truth.
“Because were vampires you stupid kid,” he laughed.
Indignation had surged through my veins. If there was one thing I had
hated, and still hated, it was being laughed at. “Vampires don’t exist you
idiot!”
Their faces had stiffened. “What? You think I’m lying?”
I nodded and an overwhelming sensation of dread took over me. I
instantly wished I had left when they told me to.
“Should we teach her a lesson?” the boy asked another, older looking
boy.
They jeered in approval. One boy, a slight, dark haired boy near the
back of the group faintly argued that I was just a child, that should I really
be made like them.
 Another told him to shut up and smiled maliciously at me. “Were going
to teach you a lesson little girl. And by the end of today, you’ll know how
real vampires are.” He lunged forwards and pinned me to the ground. I
felt my legs flop onto the ground with a jolt. The first boy was rolling up
my dress, his cold hands roughly handling my body. I stopped fighting and
watched in horror as he lowered his face to my stomach and screamed
when I felt the double stab of pain. And it happened again, and again, and
again, each time more painful than the last. I felt my warm blood run over
my stomach and drip onto the ground. I saw him lap up some of the blood
from my punctured skin with quick strokes of the tongue.
They left, laughing and talking loudly about being hungry now, and I
knew I was going to die of blood loss. By the time they found me, I would
be dead. I closed my eyes in acceptance of my fate and tried to drift off to
sleep.
I awoke in a warm room, splayed out on a sofa. I lifted my dress to
reveal my stomach and saw a thick white bandage wrapped around my
midriff, obscuring the wounds I still felt on my skin.
There was a young man watching me from a worn armchair across the
room with eyes too told and wise for his face; his were the eyes that had
seen too much to stay young. He smiled when I looked up at him and
called his wife. His wife was just as young as he was, with a kind, loving
face.
“How’re you feeling love?” she asked gently, patting my hand with her
own.
I had jerked back and almost screamed when asking her who she was
and where I was. She told me what had happened.
Her and her husband had been walking past the estate and seen the
boys leaving, blood on their clothes. Within a few minutes they had found
me and carried me back to their house to nurse me. They told me that
they were like me.
“What are you talking about? How on earth are you like me?” I had
asked, terrified of the answer as I already knew it.
“Were vampires. But were not like those boys who attacked you. Were
nice,” she said, giving me a warm smile.
At first I hadn’t believed it, but after a while they had worn me down
and I began to believe them.
I came back to the present and looked at the boy. His face was kind,
shocked and there was a build up of moisture in his eyes. He stood up and
wiped a tear I hadn’t known was there off my cheek before me pulled me
into a tight embrace.

My favourite song from childhood was blaring in my car as he drove me to

his house. He was driving my car as I was in no fit state to drive – unless
being on the verge or a nervous meltdown was a fit state – and he was
making sure I couldn’t escape. I began to absent-mindedly tap my foot to
the beat and hum the tune under my breath.
We had now gotten on to better terms. He was Jared Fox. He lived with
his dad, too, and had a little brother and sister. He knew I was Arcadia
Cooper, sister to three and vampire.
 “Are you sure your dad won’t mind?” I asked quietly, almost inaudibly.
He glared at me for a second, telling me clearly that I was no way
getting out of telling him the whole story. He had already asked if he
could come to my dad’s house until I had made an excuse about a full
house. The truth was that if I brought Jared home my dad would probably
have a fit of happiness and explode.
We pulled into the drive of a huge white house with three other cars
parked in the drive. I couldn’t help but let my mouth hang open when I
saw it. He grinned and towed me in by the arm. The electric jolt was
muffled by the think jumper I was wearing, but I knew we could both feel
it.
He breezily excused himself from his dad, telling him that I was a
friend from school and I needed help with my homework.
We went up to his bedroom and it was almost identical to Jackson’s. I
fought the urge to double over at the pain in my chest, the aching hole
where my heart used to be.
His room was brightly decorated, the walls coloured in different blues,
ranging from sky to almost black. The bed was swathed in thick blue
coverings and light from the overhanging window spilled onto the spread.
There were even less indications that someone lived in the room than in
Jacksons; there were a few sparse picture frames, an alarm clock and a
sign on the back of the door reading ‘Jared’s room, Keep out’ in childish
scrawl. I walked over to the picture frame beside his bed and recognised
his father, although he was much younger. Jared, also younger, was stood
next to him, his arm around his neck. He was stood with a young boy and
girl who looked uncannily like him being held by a beautiful woman. She
looked like a very feminine Jared, with long blonde hair and flawless
make-up. His eyes were the exact same shade of vivid green and the
same shape.
“That’s me and my family, pre breakup,” he murmured over my
shoulder.
My heart ached for him, in the same way that it ached when I thought
of my old family, only worse. It wasn’t just self pity; it was true sorrow for
his suffering.
I had an inexplicable urge to reach out and embrace him, to chest to
mine and let him bury his face into my hair. That was too intimate a
position – too dangerous.
“You’re room is . . . nice,” I said conversationally, struggling to find a
positive word for the bare room.
“Stop trying to evade the subject. We have some serious talking to
do,” he scolded at the same moment I realised I wasn't even trying to
evade his questions. Far from it; I actually wanted to answer them, to get
everything off my chest.
He pulled me down to his bed and sat on the opposite edge, staring at
me with determined eyes.
“So what more do you want to know?” I asked.
He paused for a moment and thought. “How can you go out in
daylight?”
 I almost laughed. “Myth. Most vampire superstitions are myths. Like
turning into a bat; what kind of idiot thought that up?”
“What about garlic?”
“Myth.”
“Crucifixes?”
“Myth. And I don’t sleep in a coffin, I don’t prey on young girls and I
don’t live forever. Any more?”
“If you don’t eat little girls, then what do you eat?” He suddenly looked
nervous.
I couldn’t help laughing then. “I eat animals, like most other people. I
eat food, real food, and drink animal blood. Occasionally I get bags from a
blood bank.”
He kept on questioning me relentlessly for three hours, asking
everything from my old schools to my family life. I conveniently left
Jackson out of this conversation, but every time I talked about my old life
his memory popped into the front of my mind, threatening to spill out.

Chapter Five

After he had finished his seemingly endless questioning he offered to

drive me home. This was a bit confusing as he wanted to drive my car
home, then walk back the three miles to his house. It seemed to make
much more sense for him to just stay at his house but he persisted and
wore me down.
The journey was silent but not awkward. It was a comfortable silence,
the silence only achieved when two people had nothing to say because
they had already said it. You were never this comfortable with Jackson a
mind voice hissed.
I reasoned with the voice that Jackson and I had always had a wall
caused my secrets and lies. But with Jared all the cards were on the table,
and they spelt out ‘VAMPIRE.’
When I pulled up outside my house he made no move to get out. I
turned to ask him what he was doing, tell him that he was not coming in,
but my words were lost in my throat. He was staring at me, his deep
green eyes like windows to his mind. We both seemed to be thinking the
same thing. We each leaned forwards until out lips were almost touching
when his hand twitched towards me and I looked away. The spell was
broken. We each leaned away from each other and got out of the car. I
hastily directed him to the nearest bus stop and nodded him goodbye.
In the house it appeared that Jared’s presence had not gone unnoticed.
Jess took me to one side in the hall and hissed at me so quietly I almost
couldn’t understand, “Why were you with Jared?”
“I went to his house,” I said, startled at her hostile reaction.
“You . . . stay away from him. He’s mine and you’d better not forget
it!” she whispered and stomped up the stairs.
 My dad and Denise had noticed too and I was bombarded with “Oh,
who was that boy?”s and “Has Arcadia got a boyfriend?”s.
I brushed their comments off and went to bed to sleep uneasily. Every
few seconds it seemed I woke up from falling headfirst into deep green
eyes.

Two weeks had passed and Jared and I were practically inseparable. My
dad couldn’t have been any happier and neither could I. I felt like
everything had fallen into its rightful place. Jared’s family loved me,
especially his little sister Melanie who loved me styling her hair for her.
Jared hadn’t been over to my house to meet the family yet because of
Jessica. Her frosty glances and hostile actions had taken their toll but not
warned me off Jared as she had wished.
I was currently sat in front of my mirror, wearing some of my favourite
clothes from Cady-days and styling my hair. It was funny, now I hardly
ever thought of my old life; it seemed like a different lifetime. I had found
a way to look not to Cady but not too given-up-on-life and came out with
the new improved Arcadia.
I whistled as I grabbed a cereal bar and rushed out of the door, calling
goodbyes over my shoulder. Jared was waiting at the bottom of my drive,
his face pointed own while he read the book I had recommended to him,
and as I got into the car his face snapped up and he smiled.
I had to admit, Jared’s car was a lot nicer than mine. It was the same
blue as the sky on a blindingly sunny day and it always smelled of leather
and, for some strange reason, apricot Frubes.
We drove and prattled about unimportant things like homework,
people, the films we wanted to see and had already seen; life in general.
We talked all the way to the cinema, as we were going to go see a film,
and as we walked to the building.
We paid for out tickets and popcorn and sat to wait the twenty minutes
until we were allowed into the screening. As we sat his hand twitched
towards mine and he almost held my hand. My heart seemed to jump into
my throat and lodge there. I realised with a shock that I wanted him to
hold my hand and I wanted him to hug me tightly and never let go.
In the screening I tried to sit as far away from him as the seat would let
me but and the lights went down his arm snaked around my waist and
pulled me towards him, and I let him. I tried to concentrate on the film but
my mind kept going off on its own wanderings. The lead woman had eyes
a little like Jared’s . . . the lead man has lips just like Jared’s . . . that guy’s
voice sounds a bit like Jared’s . . .
I turned towards him, just to get a sneaky look at him in the dark and
saw him staring at me too, the same longing expression on his face as I
could feel on my own.
Suddenly our bodies lost control and our faces were leaning towards
the other, lips slightly parted and we kissed.
It felt like an explosion, a violent petrol bomb exploding on my lips and
reverberating down the rest of my body. Every inch of my skin felt like it
was alive with electricity and burning. My lips felt white hot against his
and I was worried that the intense heat would burn him. I pulled back
slightly but the arm around my waist flew up to grip the back of my head,
keeping my face to his. Our breathing was coming in ragged rasps as it
mingled. I felt a part of him and he felt a part of me, like our souls had
merged. I could almost sense his pleasure in my mind and body.
We broke apart suddenly, both breathing so fast it was almost
hyperventilation, and stared at each other, searching the others eyes and
looking directly into their soul. His soul screamed for me, wanting more
delicious kisses, and he grabbed my hand and we practically fled from the
cinema and into his car. We sat in silence, both taking in the electric
sparks bouncing between our bodies. We both stared forward, out the
windshield, at the passers-by.
Finally he said, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” I breathed, after a slight hesitation. “I’ve never felt
anything like that before.” And it was true. Kisses with Jackson had been
fierce and passionate but never as good as that; compared to kissing
Jared, kissing Jackson had been like kissing a lion cub.
“Did you feel what I felt?” he asked suddenly.
“I think so. It was like being plugged into an electric supply, but
better.”
I saw him nod from the corner of my eye.
“Is it strange that I want to do it again?” he asked.
I shook my head and before I knew it I was pressed against him, my
body curving around his and his lips sending intense waves of pleasure
down my spine. We broke apart breathing heavily again and he started up
the car.
“Where are we going?” I asked dazedly, my skin still zinging from the
electric pleasure.
“Home,” he said with a tone that made it know that we were going to
his home, not mine.
His home where no one was there.
My breathing suddenly got more ragged as I struggled to breathe.
Hundreds of images flew through my head, most including me minus my
shirt, and I suddenly felt sick.
As we tumbled thought the door he called out, asking if anyone else
was home, and, satisfied with the silence, took my hand and led me to his
room.
Once in his room he sat me on the bed, closed the door and sat beside
me. He leaned close to my face, lips puckered irresistibly, and I leaned
back, away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, as soon as he noticed her
withdrawal.
“Nothing,” I said with feigned brightness. “Can’t we just watch TV or
something?”
He didn’t believe me; that boy was too perceptive and persistent for
his own good. He kept asking me what was wrong until I told him.
“It’s just . . . we can’t be together,” I admitted sadly, staring at my
interlaced hands.
“If this is about Jess forget it. I’m not interested in her, I’m interested in
you,” he consoled plucking my chin between his fingers so I faced him.
 “It’s not her. It’s that were different. You’re lovely and caring and kind,
and I’m a monster. We don’t go together.”
I began to cry and he clutched me to his chest, rocking me gently like
a child and making occasional pacifying noises.
A while later I had gone into better detail. I was a creature of the night,
a damned soul, a vampire. And he was the closest thing I had ever found
to an angel in my life. Light and dark didn’t go together.
He tried to convince me otherwise, saying that I was not damned, I was
not a monster. I was just a victim and should be treated like anyone else.
And that he wasn’t perfect either – that he had dark places in his mind
too.
“Jared, listen to me,” I pleaded exasperatedly. “I am a dark creature, a
killer and I always will be. I bare the marks of my kind and the marks can’t
be erased no matter how much you try to make up for them.”
“What marks? Your scars? They don’t look too awful. They make you
look brave, just like you are.”
I lifted the base of my shirt up, exposing a pair of angry red scars, each
about the width of a pencil that made me what I was. He flinched
backwards at the sight of them.
“They aren’t that bad,” he said despite the look of appellation on his
face.
I jerked the rest of my shirt up, exposing more scars, and pulled my
jeans down the reveal the marks on my upper legs. Each scar hit his face
like a whip, making the frown lines deeper and his eyes narrow.
“You see,” I said through tears, “Even you can’t stand to look at them!”
He pulled me towards him and I felt an electric zing on my stomach,
and another. I peered down at Jared and saw him kissing each scar,
touching them with care.
“What are you doing?” I sobbed.
“I don’t hate your scars. I don’t even hate you for having them. I hate
the people who did this to you for forcing this life on you and making you
think about yourself like this. You’re talking as if you aren’t good enough
for me, like you’re evil and shouldn’t be let out in public. But really it’s you
who’s too good for me. I could never go through what you did when I was
eight and still be alive.”
I cried a while longer and he drove me home, giving me a quick kiss at
the driveway.

As soon as I got in my phone buzzed, announcing a text message. It was

from Jared.

Be alone in your room at 10.30 tonight. I’ll call you. I have something to
say to you x
At 10.31 he phoned. I answered on the first ring.
“So what do you need to say?” I asked in a hushed voice.
There was a muffled “I” and nothing more. I repeated the question,
explaining about bad signal.
“I said, I love you Arcadia. I really honestly love you.”
 The words formed and fell from my lips with no effort at all. “You know
what Jared? I think I love you too.”

Chapter Six

It was at night, when I was fast asleep, a voice intruded on my dreams,

gradually getting closer and closer until it woke me up.
“Arcadia,” a voice whispered in the stale air of my room.
A cold shiver reverberated down my spine and I felt suddenly as if I
was being watched by unseen eyes.
 I rubbed my eyes dazedly and stared around the room. I needed Jared.
I glanced at the clock and vaulted over the foot of my bed and out of the
window.

I felt a pair of warm lips caress my throat and my eyes opened slowly to
glance around the room; I knew immediately where I was. I twisted my
body so I was facing the kissing lips and pressed my own cold lips into his
warm ones.
I had snuck into his house at about four a.m. after the terrifying ghost-
voice and hadn’t left since, feeling safer while being held in his arms than
sat in my bed alone with the darkness. I pushed all dark thoughts into a
deep corner of my mind and another warm kiss wiped them from my
memory almost completely.
This night-time meeting had not been a surprise; I had been sneaking
into his room regularly for the past three weeks. His parents and my
parents knew nothing about this arrangement. Practically every day I
woke up in Jared’s room, cradled in his arms like a treasured child, and
feeling warm and special. It made me feel lucky that I had found Jared;
there were few people who found someone who is perfect for them in
every way who thinks that they’re perfect too.
His kisses had stopped and I opened my eyes to see why. He was
staring blankly at my face, his features twisted into an expression of deep
thought.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him gently. He didn’t often waste a
second of the snatched time we had together on thought. We were too
busy doing other things.
“I was just thinking. Did it hurt when you were . . . you know . . .
bitten?” he asked slowly, his eyes not refocusing.
“Why?” I breathed suspiciously. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.
He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at me. I self-
consciously smiled at him. “Arcadia, I was just wondering whether you
would do something for me.”
My automatic response was to say ‘of course, anything for you,’ but
instead I narrowed my eyes at him and said “What?” in the same
suspicious tone as before.
“Okay, don’t get mad, but I was thinking about how you said I was too
good for you. And I said you were too good for me.”
“I remember.”
“Well, I want to even the tables out. I want us to be the same,” he said
shortly as he thrust his wrist underneath my face. I could see a great
pulsating vein beneath all the skin and had to turn away quickly. He thrust
the arm back under my nose and I turned again. Then he took my cheeks
between his thumb and forefinger and out his wrist up to by mouth. I
kissed the wrist gently and peppered kisses on his palm and on each
finger tip.
“I won’t change you. I will never change you because you are perfect
and I don’t want to flaw you,” I whispered, trying to lean my face
inconspicuously away from the arm and the pulsating vain.
 Before he could reply I spoke again. “Breakfast? I want some of your
Dad’s waffles.” I dragged myself off the bed and threw myself out of the
window, leaving Jared in his pyjamas with ruffled hair looking as
bewildered as the first time I jumped out of his window. By the time I had
gotten home, left a note explaining where I was, changed and drove back
to Jared’s he was fully dressed and presentable and already halfway
through his first portion of his dad’s signature breakfast waffles. After
making idle chat with his dad for fifteen minutes we took our leftover
waffles and sat in the living room to watch TV. The channel was set to the
news and just as Jared was about to turn over a headline caught my eyes
and forced my stomach into my throat.
“. . . a youth, Jackson Scott, has been brutally attacked and killed by
what looks like a pack of wild animals, possibly dogs trained by a gang to
attack . . .”
I ran from the room, covering my mouth with my hand and violently
threw up my breakfast in the toilet.
Jackson was dead. He had been killed. He wasn’t alive anymore, and
somehow this made me feel ill.
Why should you care? a small, rational part of my mind asked. He left
you because of what you are, and now you have Jared who’s ten times
better than Jackson was.
But the strange thing was that I didn’t know why I cared. Sure, I had
been close to him but for the past few weeks I had all but forgotten about
him. I truly hadn’t cared about him, so why now, when he’s dead.
I found out when I re-entered the living room and saw pictures of
Jackson’s wounds.
Jackson’s perfectly muscled chest was punctured by hundreds of blood
red marks, with some flesh tearing, but each mark as circular and about
the width of a pencil.
I suddenly understood everything.
Jackson had been killed, but not by a gang with violent dogs. No,
Jackson had been killed by an angry gang, the true predators of this world,
and his corpse now bore the same scars as mine did.
Jackson had been killed by vampires.
And as soon as my mind recognised the words as truth the world went
dimmer, as if the lights had gone out, and suddenly I was falling
downwards into the inescapable darkness below me.

I woke a few minutes later and stared dizzily around the room. Where am
I? I automatically thought before everything came into focus and I
realised where I was. I was in Jared’s living room with a cold towel
absorbing the sweat on my brow and Jared holding my hand, his face
close to mine but not touching it.
Before I could wonder what had happened memories rushed at me,
slamming into my mind with the force of a large truck. Oh, God. Jackson
was dead. He was dead.
I felt the dizzy sickness settle on me again and fought it back; I didn’t
need to pass out again.
 As soon as Jared had noticed my eyes were focued he exhaled loudly in
relief and whispered gently into my ear, as if I had suddenly gone deaf,
not fainted. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I slurred, my mind still foggy. “Yeah, I just need to call
someone.” The words came as a shock to me and my first instinct was to
call Gemma or some other friend from my old town to ask about how
Jackson’s family was. But as soon as I thought of Gemma I knew I was
wrong and knew who I had to call. I practically ran to his room and
snathed my phone from the bed. I dialled quickly, knowing the nuber by
heart having asked for advice from them so many times before. It rang
and rang until I thought they wouldn’t answer, and then the connection
click sounded from the phone.
“Cady, is that you?” breathed the whispery soft voice of my best friend
in the world, excluding Jared of course.

There had been thrilled screams and tight embraces all around when
Mary-Angela and Dominic emerged from their car, slightly ruffled by the
two hour car journey, to be greeted by Jared and me. I had wanted to see
them for so long and I had been bordering on calling them for advice
several times in the past few months but I had always resisted for one
reason or another. Mary-Angela and Dominic were the vampire couple
who had saved my life.
Mary-Angela and Dominic looked exactly the same as when I had first
met them nine years ago, the day when my life changed forever. Mary-
Angela’s hair still shone like a fluffy blonde halo around her face and
Dominic’s child-like face still looks mischievous when he smiled. There
was not a grey hair or wrinkle between the couple, despite the fact that
between them they were almost one hundred and fifty years old. Mary-
Angela and Dominic were not only some of the world’s most
compassionate vampires but they were some of the only vampires in the
country who had chosen eternal youth at such a young age. There is a
spell that exists amongst the witches of the world to halt the aging
process of a vampire but it is very complex and painful, not something a
person undergoes on a whim and especially as young as Dominic and
Mary-Angela.
“Cady! Oh my God, I’ve missed you!” Mary-Angela called as she got
out of the car, after pulling up her jeans and pulling her jacket down over
her impossibly smooth stomach. “Why didn’t you call sooner?” she
breathed as she ran and enveloped me in a rib-crushing embrace.
Dominic was standing awkwardly by their car, staring at Jared with
alarm and curiosity mingled in his eyes.
“As soon as you left you should have called us and let us know. We’ve
been going out of our minds about you. We even asked that Jackson boy
and he didn’t know. Did you two have a fight?” she asked in a long
ramble.
“Yes and no. You see what happened was-” Mary-Angela cut me off
with a gasp.
“You two didn’t break up did you? You were such a cute couple.”
 My eyes widened in alarm as I stared at Mary-Angela. I tried to warn
her away from the subject of Jackson with my expression and it seemed to
work, but not before I caught Jared looking confused and concerned. I
could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he pieced together my
reaction to Jackson’s death with what Mary-Angela had said; I hadn’t yet
told him about Jackson.
A few hours later we were sat in a café talking animatedly and
reminicing. Mary-Angela had practically fainted with pleasure upon
hearing that Jared and me were a couple. She had had the sense to keep
quiet about Jackson here.
“What I don’t get is why you called us up here today. You sounded
urgent on the phone. What’s the matter?” Dominic said, this voice smooth
as silk.
“Well, doubtless you heard about Jackson Scott, the boy who was
murdured,” I beagn to explain, carefully avoiding Jared’s eyes and
pretending not to notice the suspicion rolling from his body in thick waves.
“And did you notice, when you looked at the . . . body, that the marks on
him looked familiar?”
Dominic, being much quicker on the uptake than Mary-Angela,
instantly knew what I was talking about but Mary-Angela took a few
moments, glanced at her own scars on her hip bone, and then clamped a
hand over her mouth.
“Exactly,” I said. “So I wanted you out of the area in case there are
dangerous vampires there. I also wanted you to be here, to see you again.
It feels like a lifetime since I last saw you.”
And we continued in idle chatter, everyone deliberately avoiding the
subject of who could possibly have killed Jackson, fearing an answer we
didn’t want.

My dad was surprisingly kind to Dominic and Mary-Angela. I explained that

they were friends of mine and they had come to see me for a few days. He
was letting them stay in the guest room, next to mine. Jessica had scoffed
at the mention of the word ‘friends’ and taken me to the side while
Dominic and Mary-Angela went to their car to get their bags.
“What kind of scam are you pulling?” she hissed bluntly, grabbing me
by the neck of my shirt and pulling me into her face.
I flashed her my dangerous eyes, the eyes that glowed faintly red and
generally warned people off before speaking. “There is no scam. These
are my friends who are coming to stay for a while.”
As I walked away I heard her say “I saw that Jackson kid was killed.”
I flew at her, outraged that she would talk about Jackson for some
unknown reason, and almost hit her across the face.
“Just. Leave. Me. Alone,” I hissed through clenched teeth before
turning my back on her and stomping up the stairs.

Late that night I woke again to the sound of the whispery voice calling my
name in the darkness. The name chilled me to the bone and I huddled up
in the duvet like a small child in the throes of a bad dream.
“Arcadia . . . Watch out!”
 And with those words the air was still in the room and the voice was
gone, leaving no trace of its presence except a chill in my bones and the
sudden feeling that I was never alone.

Chapter Seven

I woke up in the morning at two thirty as I usually did and vaulted from
my windowsill onto the mossy ground below. Dominic and Mary-Angela
were meeting me at the front of the house so that we could drive to a
larger hunting region; the place where I usually hunted wasn’t big enough
for three vampires to hunt in. Mary-Angela was stood looking positively
angelic and way too much like a supermodel to be going hunting and
Dominic was waiting in the car. We piled in the car and drove north-west
until we were in the perfect hunting space. It was vast and teeming with
life, from small snack animals to the large main-courses.
We had been hunting for ten minutes when I heard the voice again.
“Arcadia . . . You’d better watch out. We’re coming . . .” The voice
sounded eerily close, so much so that I dropped my kill and whirled on the
spot. I called to the others, hoping that the sudden icy cold in the air was
just my imagination but fearing that it wasn’t. I forced them to leave half-
fed and promised twice as long a hunt the next morning.
It was Saturday morning when I climbed back into my room via the
window and changed. Normally I spent Saturdays at Jared’s house or out
with Jared, but now I had guests to entertain.
“What do you want to do today then? Shop? See a film?” I suggested to
them over breakfast.
“I’m hungry,” Mary-Angela complained, her face twisting into that of a
sulky child. “I need to hunt,” she added under her breath.
“Alright, you can hunt, just not where we were before. It felt . . .
dangerous there.” I knew that it felt more than dangerous there, but there
was no point in worrying anyone about my hunches and bad vibes.
 We collected Jared at about eleven and headed down towards the
beach and the pine woods that lay next to it, brimming with animals. My
mouth watered at the possibilities of food – rabbit and mice and even
wolves if we were lucky. And the best part of the plan was that I felt no
bad karma around the place. In fact, I felt quite optimistic about the trip.
My optimism was soon dashed and destroyed.
The wind swirled around my face, lapping at my hair and blowing sand
into my eyes. It felt like the caressing touch of a lover, gentle and familiar.
I felt like a huntress, stalking my prey though the woods, dropping into
trenches every few minutes to avoid detection. I had the wolf in my sight
and was slowly tracking it through the underbrush. Every time he turned
his grey muzzle towards me to smell me out I ducked out of sight. I was
about to pounce from the trench I was in and feed when the gentle breeze
turned fierce.
The wind began to whip my face, trying to cut my face with its sheer
force. It no longer felt like the caress of a lover. No, now it was the touch
of a killer about to take his victims life, and enjoying it. I felt a chill deep in
my bones and convulsed in the shallow trench.
“Arcadia . . .”
The wind carried the message along with another bone chilling gust of
wind.
“Arcadia . . . Were coming!”
I stopped convulsing and stared towards the sky, trying to seek out the
danger. For some reason I had envisioned black wraiths descending from
the clouds to take my life, but instead I saw nothing but blue sky.
I still felt like danger was coming.
“Arcadia . . . Were here!”
I heard the voice in my mind this time, not just whispered on the wind.
It was an actual voice, cold and deep.
I stumbled from the trench and ran towards the beach, all my thought
directed towards finding Mary-Angela, Dominic and Jared and running
away. I knew that Mary-Angela and Dominic were near the beach and
Jared was on the beach its self waiting in the car for me to come back.
I was running wildly, the voice following me and whispering my name
at me over and over. I was nearing the beach when I fell.
“Too bad princess, you’re quite a runner,” a voice whispered in my ear.
I felt the cold breath on my cheek and almost fainted.
I was roughly flipped over to face the sky. A face leaned into my vision.
It was not an ugly face. Actually, it was the opposite of ugly. The face
was clean shaven with perfect full lips and wide turquoise eyes the colour
of the sea in summertime. But at that moment those perfect features
were twisted into an ugly menacing expression, like the bully child who
just gotten what they had wanted for a long time. I had a strange
compulsion to spit in his face like I did when I was a child. Another man
leaned in next to him, and another. They all looked the same – like the
bully who won. There was something other about them though, something
not quite right. They seemed to smell different to other people; they
smelled old and dusty, like clothes that haven’t been worn for a long time.
I sniffed discreetly and recognised the scent. Vampire.
 That was how he had been whispering into my mind. Vampire’s can
develop telepathy that was not affected by distance. That was how he
tracked my down as well. Vampires could also learn to track with scent or
mind essence. He had obviously followed mine.
The first man tut-tutted at me and shook his head in mock sadness.
“Somebody’s been a bad little girl haven’t they?”
I wanted to ask him what the hell he meant but I kept my mouth shut.
“Don’t you know what you’ve done?” he asked with false surprise in his
voice.
I didn’t move once again. He went on.
“Well, we were on out travels and we bumped into a boy in a bar. He
said he knew you. He said a lot of things.” He breathed stale breath onto
my cheek so cold that almost sent a shiver rocking through my body. “He
was called Jackson.”
I sucked in an involuntary breath and instantly regretted it.
“Well, we got him nice and drunk – isn’t it useful how affected humans
get by alcohol? – and he told things about his ex-girlfriend Arcadia. He told
us a secret that we weren’t to tell anyone else.” His eyes were shining
with glee as he said this. He was really enjoying this. “He told us that his
little girlfriend was a monster, that she was a freak. And he told us that
she let him find out about her and then ran out of town. Now that wasn’t
smart was it now?”
I felt my eyes try to widen and held them still. I would not give him the
satisfaction of being afraid.
“And now, what we can’t get out heads around is why you ran away.”
He said it as a statement, inviting an answer but not demanding one.
“Not talkative is she-”
“What else could I do?” I whispered, felling warm wetness on my eyes
and blinking back. “I had to leave. I would be run out of town if he told
anyway.”
“But why not kill him? He’s only a human.”
I realised then what he was. He was not only a vampire but a vampire
supremacist – a vampire who thought that he was better than humans.
“Because he was not only a human. He was my boyfriend. I loved
him!”
He looked revolted and surprise, as if I had just slapped him in the face
with a wet fish. “You’re disgusting! How could you love one of them?”
“Because humans are just people like you and me. No wait, they’re
people like me, people with a heart. Not revolting monsters like you!” I
leaned my face forwards and said the last words against his skin. He
jerked backwards as if I was the revolting monster and stared at my face,
his eyes wide with confusion.
“Get up! Up!” he shouted suddenly, pulling at my shoulder with stubby
pink fingers. His fingers were pulling at my jacket and the strength behind
them pulled my upwards. Within a few moments I was stood upright
facing him, dazed and sore.
He ran towards me and punched me in the face, his bunched fist
cutting underneath my jaw and snapping my teeth together. One of his
henchmen came and did the same. They were all laughing when the
ringing in my ears ceased.
The man came back again and punched my in the gut while the
henchmen grabbed my legs and dragged me to the floor. They began to
kick and punch me in the stomach and legs; I curled up into a foetal ball
on instinct. They grabbed my shoulders and flipped me face down. I was
too sore to move so I stared at the sand beneath my face.
“Go get some firewood,” I heard the man order a henchman and I felt a
pair of kicking legs cease the assault on my body. There was still a two
pairs of punching hands and kicking feet though and I began to realise
that I would in fact die here.
My mind was shouting at me, asking why I didn’t fight back, why I
didn’t call for help. The truth was that I didn’t think I deserved life. I had
grown up thinking I was scum of the earth and a few months of love would
never change that. I didn’t deserve help, and this slow and tortuous death
was God’s way of saying that I deserved death.
The acrid scent of burning wood reached my nostrils and I breathed in
relief. At least they would throw me in the fire soon and I would die.
I assumed with the combination of fire and the lack of pain signified
the end of torture I was to be killed imminently.
But then I heard the best and worst sound in the world.
Jared’s voice.
“Arcadia? What’s going on?” he called. He sounded distant, far enough
away that if he ran to the car, drove away and never looked back he
might live. But Jared was too caring to do that, too selfless.
“Arcadia what’s-” His question was cut short.
“Lance, check if he’s human,” the man’s voice barked in command. I
heard the shuffling of feet and could almost see Lance grabbing at Jared’s
shoulders, tugging his face towards his and inhaling. I could almost feel
Jared shiver as the cold hands touched him and my heart swelled
painfully.
Look what you’ve done. You’ve sentenced an innocent person to death
because of the monster that you are, a growling, angry part of my brain
shouted. I knew that this was true and my heart swelled again.
“Human,” barked a rough voice. “What do we do with him boss?”
He seemed to deliberate for a moment. “Let’s hunt him after we’re
finished with the girl.”
The other men snickered and I felt Jared’s warm body be dumped next
to mine. I heard the wind blown out of him as they kicked him in the gut
and I whimpered. I could deal with my own pain, but not with other
peoples.
I chanced a look at Jared and he was facing me, his clear green eyes
like windows to his soul that only I could see through. He was showing me
how sorry he was for this, how he wished we had more time. I tried to
convey the same with my eyes before the moment was snatched away
from us.
Ice cold hands gripped my wrists and ankles and I felt the floor
disappear. Jared’s warm body no longer lay next to mine. I was being
carried towards a new kind of heat, a burning, painful heat.
 “Arcadia?” I heard a woman’s voice call out behind me. “ARCADIA!”
she screeched, obviously after seeing me.
Run Mary-Angela. Find Dominic and run! I urged with my mind,
knowing full well that I wasn’t telepathic in the least.
I hear a mumbled command to quieten her down and the hands on my
ankles disappeared, only to be replaced a few seconds later by another
equally uncomfortable pair.
“Any last words sweetheart?” the voice breathed down my ear and I
held back a shiver.
I shook my head, fearing speech was impossible, and felt the heat
intensify on the left hand side of my body.
“Leave her alone!”
I opened my eyes, for I had closed them for death, and saw Jared
standing tall and proud, his eyes blazing like green fire.
The man at my wrists violently dropped me and went to Jared. He
punched him in the face and Jared’s head snapped backwards. His lip was
bleeding.
That small trickle of blood, slowly tracing its red path down his chin
gave me strength. I kicked and thrashed the man at my legs until he let
go and swiped his legs from underneath him. I then kicked him in the
head at the exact point to make him pass out. His body went limp on the
ground.
Mary-Angela was grappling with a long lean man with greasy brown
hair while her mouth formed silent screams.
Jared took most of my focus though. He was being held by the first
man, the boss, in a headlock. The boss glanced at me with malicious
shining eyes and leaned his head down, into Jared’s hair.
Jared screamed.
And I saw red.
I sprinted over to the ban and kicked him in the face, snapping his
head back and knocking him over in one. He looked up at me with
imploring eyes, asking me without words to spare him. I refused. I kicked
him in the same place as his friend, making him pass out on the sand.
Mary-Angela had dislodged herself from the brown haired man and
now stood beside me, hand in hand with Dominic. I was about to breathe
a sigh of relief when Mary-Angela screamed.
“Cady! Look at him!”
I followed her finger to where Jared lay sprawled on the floor, blood
pouring out of the two pencil size marks on his neck.

Chapter Eight

My world screeches to a halt in that second. All I can see is the red of
Jared’s blood, slowly dripping his life onto the sand, and his pale, distant
eyes. Those eyes, usually piercing green, were pale and lifeless. The usual
bright spark in his face was gone, leaving the way for a deathly pallor and
ghostly expression. His hair looked too dark in contrast and all of these
minute changes combined to make him look dead.
 I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted to break down and
cry over my lost love. But the heavy hand on my shoulder, anchoring me
to my place, kept me from moving. Dominic whispered in my ear “Arcadia,
we’d better move him soon. If we’re going to change him we’d better do it
fast.”
The words rolled around my mind, not taking on any meaning until
Dominic’s hand left my shoulder and he flew to Jared’s side, holding his
boneless neck up and putting his face next to the bite wounds.
Did I really want Jared to change? I knew that I had said no, but now
was a different circumstance. Now it was not vampire or human – now it
was vampire or death.
Can I force him to become like me? Can I make him live as a dark
creature when he is so full of light? Can I condemn him for eternity?
If you love someone you have to make these decisions, thinking of
them and not yourself. I had to decide whether Jared would be better off
dead. And I think I found an answer.
I knew that Jared would put on a brave face, pretend that he didn’t
care that he hated his life. I knew that although he was truly unhappy with
me, he would never leave me. He would live his life, day after day,
pretending to be something he isn’t – happy.
But I am too weak to make the right decision. Too weak to make the
decision that is best for both of us. I just have to decide and live with the
consequences.

He looks more like the aftermath of a bad gore film than a real person. His
arms are covered in blood and his neck has four gently bleeding holes on
show. His face is deathly pale and his eyelids, the colour of lavender
blossom is his pale face, are closed over the green eyes I know are fixed
and staring.
I am sat on the floor beside his bed, holding onto a blood soaked hand,
and staring at what I have done. I was crying before, but I cried myself
out. I have no more tears left with which to grieve.
A light hand falls onto my shoulder and I look up into the pale and
drawn face of Mary-Angela. She is saying something but I can’t hear the
words. I strain my ears in the hope that something struggles through, but
after a while she notices my lack of response and shakes me gently. She
repeats her words and this time I can hear.
“I said, I think we you start to clean him up before . . . you know.” She
shifted her feet uncomfortably and waited for response. I nodded stiffly
and she walked from the room, returning seconds later with a bowel of
water, paper tissues and two cleaning cloths. She dipped a cleaning cloth
in the water and went to dab at Jared’s arm when I grabbed her wrist.
“I want to do this. Alone,” I croaked my voice hoarse from disuse.
When she left I began to dab softly at Jared’s arms, his neck, his face,
wiping away the remnants of his terrible ordeal. By the time I had finished
the water in the bowl was bright red. I noticed with a pang that I was not
hungry, not even slightly, even though I had been around fresh blood for
so many hours. I laughed, and again, until I was in full hysterics. It was
funny how I search all my life for a way to stave off blood, and the answer
is to kill your boyfriend and then you never get hungry. I laughed until my
eyes found more tears to cry and sat sprawled on the floor as the
teardrops splashed onto his floor.

“We’d better get you cleaned up now,” Mary-Angela said when I had once
again cried myself out. “It won’t be long now, and you don’t want to look a
state when he wakes up.”
I let her drag me from the room, my hand going cold once it released
Jared’s, and she mopped my face, rubbed cream on my sores and cleaned
the blood off me before making me change clothes and letting me back
into the room. Dominic was leaned over Jared’s face, his expression
puzzled, and I looked at him questioningly.
“He should be awake by now,” he told me quietly, keeping his eyes
fixed on Jared’s still lifeless face.
That’s it, the nasty voice in my head said. And for once I didn’t try to
stop it. You clutch at a last hope that would make everyone unhappy and
you FAIL anyway. You’re pathetic; you knew that this would happen
anyway. Either he would die in the process or kill himself afterwards, once
he knew what he was. Why get so upset? It was inevitable – who would
want to be like you?
A sot splutter reached my ears and my head jerked up. I saw Dominic’s
surprised expression, Mary-Angela’s delight and finally I saw Jared.
Jared’s face was raised off the pillow, his neck supporting its self, and
his skin was a little less pale, his eyes bright and his face was bright with
his usual life.
I ran to his side, grasped a hand in mine and felt him squeeze gently
back. A tear slipped from my eye, but it was a tear of happiness. I leaned
down to his face and kissed his perfect mouth gently and felt it respond
beneath my own.

We were sprawled on the sofa in his house – his parents had gone out for
the night on his instruction – feeling the warm blood gush though our
veins and revelling in the feeling.
I couldn’t help but feel the scene was tainted by what I knew. I knew
that Jared could never be happy living like this, living in the darkness, and
would eventually leave me.
“What’s up love?” he asked lazily, his eyes full of vital curiosity and
concern. He tilted my chin towards him and held it between his thumb and
forefinger. I decided to confess everything, thinking that he might leave
me now and lessen the blow, as I would be expecting it.
“I was just thinking out the future. About how bad everything is going
to be.” His face tilted to the side in concern and I carry on. “Well, I know
that sooner or later you’re going to leave me for making you live like this
and be a monster. And I know that you won’t be happy like this. I’m just
too selfish to let you go.”
 He reeled backwards as if I had slapped him. His eyes widened in
shock and he gasped as the words sank in.
“Is that what you really think?” I nodded slightly and his eyes got even
wider, which I didn’t even think was possible. “Arcadia, I’ll never leave
you. I’ll never leave because you have given me exactly what I wanted.
You’ve made us the same, so now we can be together properly, no slight
differences separating us!” His eyes were alight with joy and the feeling
almost caught on to me, but not quite.
“You’ll never forgive me for doing this to you – ”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he whispers quietly as he pulls my face
towards his. I can feel the sincerity in his words as we kiss and I begin to
think that everything will be alright after all.

Jackson had left me broken and bruised, ready to die rather than face the
world, and Jared has picked up the pieces and put me back together.
And this is why I love him.