To Be Obscure

| CH. 33

We'd made it to the bed after round three and ruined the sheets. By the end, Charlotte nearly carved her name into my shoulders and licked the blood from her lips from the bites near my neck. I was riddled with teeth marks and scratches.

But so was she.

We laid beside each other, hands clasped within the others, eyes lost in the moonlight reflected on the ceiling. The voices of people echoed outside, carried upon the wind that blew through the cold night. I reminded Charlotte that we needed to go to them, to end this, but she refused to move.

I partially agreed. As much as I wanted to fulfill my revenge, I didn't want to leave her side. A part of me felt as though it were a dream, one I didn't want to wake from. I'd spent fifteen years lost in nightmares. This was my escape.

"When I left, I thought I could easily forget you," I started to say.

Charlotte rolled and tried to cover my mouth with her hands, but I shook my head. I took her hand in mine and faced her, moving the dark strands that fell over her face. Her lips parted to talk. I took my turn to cover her mouth with my hand. "Let me talk," I said, "please."

"Okay," she breathed.

"I drank, I smoked; I did everything in my power to drown out our memories, but I only managed to push them into dreams. Not only could I not escape you during the day,  our past plagued me at night."

Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed, and I traced the line around her bottom lip.

"Love, I didn't want to leave you, but you only seemed in pain at my side. Just know, my life has been a living Hell without you. And before you start to explain yours, I'm aware of the Hell you're in. It's why I need us to move, get out of this bed, and end this."

Her eyes opened with their bright, golden glow. She touched the scratch she left beside my ear, still tender and red. The warmth of her fingers dulled the ache. "Is it wrong that I'm afraid more than this Hell will end?"

I traced my tongue along my bottom lip. "You say that, but why? I'm here aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Then, Charlotte, nothing will go wrong. I've dealt with worse"

"But this," Charlotte touched the side of my temple, gently pressing down on the bone, "I know it's worse than it ever was. It's only a matter of time before I lose you."

"Charlotte."

"No," she kissed me, tears in her eyes, "you forget you lost three hundred years of your life. Your family is here, and you knew nothing of them. Now, you lose days while you walk. So, please, let me stay here like this."

Shaking my head, I pulled away from her hands. I couldn't look down at her sad, brown eyes. Instead, I looked down at my hands. Yes, I'd forgotten, but that wasn't the case. I remembered the men and women I killed; I remembered the weapons I yielded. Perhaps, Nathan was wrong; my brain wasn't deteriorating within an old injury. It could have been psychological, my conscious trapping itself in a pocket of my mind to mask my own internal pain. Like a victim of violence, splitting my consciousness in two: one being my reality, and the other, my dreams.

"You won't lose me," I said again as I moved off the bed and slipped on my clothes. "I promise."

"You've made me lots of promises," Charlotte muttered under her breath as she lifted the blankets to cover her breasts.

I pulled my head through the hole of my shirt and watched her, watched her frown deepen and the lines around her eyes moisten. I was prepared to apologize because it was all I knew to do, but down below, there was a crash and a scream. Both my eyes and Charlotte's popped open wide. Outside the window, the quiet voices rose in volume.