More than Anything

Brielle

I avoid Everly for most of the day, like I always do. Last night was strange, and I wish I could just forget what had happened. I had told myself that I would bury my worry for Everly below several layers of dirt, but I guess that's not how it works. I had sat on her bed, hoping to comfort her. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just being stupid, but I thought she was actually going to tell me what was bothering her.
It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong. She had this look in her eyes that told me that she was seconds away from breaking, and I guess I felt the need to help her. I'm never going to help her again. I shouldn't have helped her in the first place. We're enemies and we need to act like it.
It's not like we don't act like enemies, but recently, I've felt like I've been worrying about her too much. I don't know why, exactly. I've hated her since first year, and I still do. I hate her more than anything; she's always there to ruin everything. It's like she was made to make me miserable. But recently, I've put my hatred for her aside too often. I've helped her, worked with her. I can't do that anymore. If there were an rule book for enemies, I would be breaking the number one rule. Well, not anymore. I'm done with whatever it is that's happening. I'm done.
I sit on the frost-covered grass in the courtyard, and eat the sandwich I stole from the kitchen. The sun is shining, but the air is cold, making my cheeks flush. I came prepared this time, wearing a winter coat, with a hat and gloves, but they don't do much to protect me from the cold. I would go inside, but I like sitting outside while eating my lunch. It reminds me of the time I've spent with Millie over the past seven years. In the warmer seasons, she would always sit outside with me. Sometimes, I would get her to come outside in the winter, but she would usually say no. We would sit in the shade, away from the rest of the students, and eat our lunches. She's always been here for me, and I wish she were here now. I could talk to her about what happened last night with Everly, and—no. Millie doesn't want to hear about Everly. She'll just say that Everly is controlling my life and that I'm lying to myself. I'm not. I've told her this; I've told myself this. Everly is just a part of my life, but she isn't controlling it. She doesn't have that kind of power over me, and she never will.
I finish eating my sandwich, and head inside, relieved when I step into the warmth of my room. Of course, Everly is there, lying on her bed, her head resting on the pillows, a book in hand. I'm tempted to read the title on the spine, but remind myself that I don't care.
I walk past her to my bed and sit on the edge of it, bouncing up and down a little. I can sense Everly's presence, the feeling that I'm being judged. The room is silent, and I wish that Everly would leave. From the looks of it, though, I don't think she plans on leaving. She doesn't even look up from her book, just continues reading like I'm not even there.
I pick up the book I'm reading and flip to the page I left off on. I can't focus on the words for some reason. The thought of reading in the same room as Everly at the same time unsettles me. We're not fighting, just sitting in silence, and somehow, that's ten times worse.
She could be thinking of ways to kill me. I know that she wants to, even if she claims that she has no plans to kill me. I know that if she were given the chance, she would. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to get rid of me by now. Why hasn't she?

                            Everly
    Brielle is not-so-discreetly watching me read. I've given up on trying to understand the words in front of me; I can't focus on anything but Brielle staring at me. I just pretend to be reading so that maybe she'll leave me alone, but that probably won't happen. She'll never leave me alone, not when she thinks I'm going to kill her.
    I've already told her a million times that I have no interest in killing her. Of course, she doesn't believe me. So I guess I'm stuck with her watching my every move for the next year. Great.
    Finally, Brielle's staring becomes too much for me. "What do you want, Taylor?" I ask, still not looking up from my book (she doesn't deserve the satisfaction).
    "What makes you think I want something?" she asks, clearly annoyed with me. I would be, too, if I had been treated the way I treated her last night.
    I look up from my book, and place it on the nightstand sitting beside me. She's glaring at me now, her eyes showing every bit of hatred she feels towards me. I guess I've chased off any chance of seeing the sensitive, caring Brielle again. Good.
    "You've been staring at me for the past twenty minutes."
    "No I haven't," she says, scowling.
    I raise an eyebrow. "So you haven't been watching me since you first entered this room?" She doesn't answer. "Let's just get this over with," I say. "Tell me what you want."
    "I don't want anything," she says. "I'm just making sure you're not going to kill me."
    I roll my eyes. "Anathema."
    "The Anathema doesn't stop you from killing me outside of this room."    How can she be so stupid? Does she really think I want to kill her? She thinks I'm a killer. She thinks that I'm capable of killing someone, thinks I'm capable of killing her. I suppose I am; I drink blood to survive. I guess that makes me a killer, and capable of killing. Of course it does. Just because I'm not killing humans, doesn't mean that I'm not a killer. Animal lives are important, too.
    "I already told you," I say slowly, "I have no interest in killing you." The look of disbelief on her face is quite amusing. But I can't let her start thinking that I'm good, that I care about her. I don't. And I'm certainly not good. "I wouldn't mind seeing you dead, though," I add quickly.
    Her look of surprise vanishes, replaced by one of anger. I almost wish that I could take back what I just said, make her anger go away. Her glare is icy, and I shiver, feeling suddenly cold. I pull my blankets up higher, trying to trap whatever warmth is left.
    "Then why didn't you let those vampires Turn me?" she asks quietly, unsure. Her icy anger is still there, displayed on every feature of her face, but the way she speaks is soft.
    Flashes of what happened that night and when I was Turned flash before my eyes, and I think I feel my fangs pop at the mention of vampires. I immediately turn to face the other direction so she can't see my pointed incisors. I remember how furious I was that Brielle had almost been Turned, the relief I felt once I knew that she wasn't hurt. I remember the fear I felt when I was chained to the wall, slowly approaching my death. Everything got worse from there. I had saved Brielle from vampires, but couldn't save myself. They Turned me, and now—I don't even know what happens now.
    "Instinct," I say quickly, and I mentally slap myself for letting my voice tremble.
    "Your instinct should've been to run," she says. "I thought you had left me to die."
    I can't stop myself from asking my next question. "Do you think that vampires are—dead?"
    She thinks for a moment before shaking her head, and for some reason, I feel a flood of relief rush through me. "Vampires still feel, don't they? I'm pretty sure that makes them still alive."
    I turn to face her, looking into her eyes. She stares back at me, and I find myself wondering how she could possibly be so perfect. She's a mess—strands of hair are always falling out of her braid, she doesn't put any real effort into her appearance—but she couldn't be more perfect. The look in her eyes tells me that she means what she said; she really thinks that I'm alive, even if she doesn't know that I'm asking about myself.
    "I suppose," I say, hoping to pass as nonchalant. "Did you really think I left?"
    She shrugs like none of this matters, but I think it does; it matters to both of us. "I had no reason to think you'd save me," she says.
    "Well, I did."
    She rolls her eyes. "Obviously. But why?"
    "I told you. Instinct."
    "Instinct told you to save me from a bunch of vampires when you could've been saving yourself?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.
    I wince, but I don't think she notices (thank Merlin). "Yes," I say. "If I had left, it would've weighed on my conscience."
    Brielle smirks. "So you do feel! I thought you didn't have emotions."
I wish. I wish I could just let go of my feelings, and not have to deal with the feeling of loss I feel every day. If I could, I think I would choose to let all of my emotions go. But then, the only bit left of me that's human would be gone. I would truly be a monster then, even more than I am now. I can't allow that.
"I don't," I say, sitting up in my bed.
Brielle shakes her head. "Everyone feels emotions," she says. "Even if they don't want to feel what they're feeling," she adds, more quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"And how do you know that?" I ask.
She shrugs, showing that she doesn't really care, but the light in her eyes tells me otherwise. "I just know." She smiles weakly. "And I have a bit of personal experience."
I raise an eyebrow, but decide not to question her more; I know she won't answer. She laughs a bit, and a feeling of dread enters the pit of my stomach. We shouldn't be talking like this. We shouldn't be helping each other. We're supposed to always be at each other's throats, fighting until our very last moment together. That's how this is supposed to work, not what's happening now. What's happening now is wrong. If it's wrong, then why don't I mind it? Why does it feel right?
No. I can't let this happen. "You don't know anything," I say, and her smile vanishes, replaced by a confused and sad expression. Whatever light was in her eyes goes out, and I find myself unable to look her in the eye anymore, so I look down at the covers on the bed.
"I know more about this than you do," she says, her voice tinged with anger (oh, how quickly things can change).
I roll my eyes. "Oh really?"
"You don't know how hard it is to control emotions," she says.
"So you are like Simon Snow," I say, going for the low blow. I look up at her for a moment, and immediately wish I hadn't. The icy anger in her eyes has returned, and I shiver. Her braid rests on one shoulder, and I can't help but think that she looks like a warrior. A strong warrior that could easily kill me with one look.
"I have perfect control over my magic."
"I've seen you lose control," I say. "We ended up in a crater because of it. You certainly can't control your emotions."
"I can!" she almost shouts. "Just somehow, you always find a way to get under my skin!" Her eyes widen in shock, like she can't believe what she just said. I don't think I believe it either; the only thing that confirms what just happened is the shocked look on her face.
I force myself to laugh so that she can't see how surprised I am. "Oh really? That's great!"
She glares at me, and I'm almost certain that she could kill me just by glaring at me if she wanted to. "I hate you," she says.
"I didn't notice."
She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Of course, her efforts are unsuccessful. "I can't stand being around you." She stands and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.