each item on it is
for, and what it represents, you'll be more understanding. I listened as he
explained, and there's nothing wrong there. If nothing else, perhaps he's
providing more protection for our home and family, did you ever consider
that?" Diandra looked at her blankly, stunned at the vehemence in Lizzie's
tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get my dinner and go to bed.
I'm exhausted. You need to work this out with him, Dia, because you're in the
wrong."
Lizzie walked over and kissed her stunned lover and then
turned to Adrian. "Ooh, do I get a kiss too?" he asked, batting his
eyes. She punched him in the shoulder and headed for the kitchen. "You can
kiss my ass," she called over her shoulder.
"Bring it back here then," he hollered back to
her, laughing as she put one hand behind her back, raising her middle finger at
him in answer. He and Diandra could hear the microwave door open, heard the
clatter of stoneware, and then the slamming of the door as she found her food
still warm. Then she was back, thanking him for dinner as she headed upstairs
with it. She was determined to eat while she took a bath. Perhaps it wasn't the
best idea, but she didn't want to prolong the time until she could collapse
onto her side of the bed and sleep until morning.
Adrian and Diandra were quiet- him because he was amused by
Lizbeth's behavior, and her because she was stunned by Lizzie's support of
Adrian. It was the last thing she'd ever expected from her, and she couldn't
help feeling a little betrayed.
*****
Diandra had gone to the deck to settle herself. She came
back in, flushed from the heat, her face raw from the wind blowing sand into
her face, rubbing it, chafing it, like elemental sandpaper. She felt calmer,
more reasonable, and felt even more so when standing on the coffee table was a
tall goblet of blood. Guilt slapped her in the face, much more painful than the
sand had been. This man had been nothing but kind to her, good to her little
family, and she kept condemning him at every turn. Lizzie was right to question
her. What the Hell was her problem? She picked up the goblet and drank it down
like medicine. Although it normally tasted of strawberries and honey to her,
today it was bitter. She knew it was an illusion cast both by her feelings of
regret, and his frustration at the time that he bled for her. She would swear
she tasted tears as well. She knew blood tasted of the emotion of the donor,
but the most she'd ever tasted was the fear of people who were scared of
needles, and occasionally pain if the needle was inserted improperly. Adrian
was the first one to donate to her directly, and the emotional pain she tasted
in his blood made her feel worse than she had before.
Slowly she set down the empty goblet and went looking for
Adrian. She found him in the kitchen, working methodically to bake a batch of
cookies. A lump filled her throat to see that he took no joy in his work as he
usually did. Knowing that was her fault, she gently touched his shoulder. He
flinched, but did not turn to look at her. She sighed, but took a deep breath
and began speaking.
"I was wrong, once again," she said quietly. He
tensed slightly but said nothing. "I keep judging you on your religion,
and that's not fair of me. I'd like to make up for that. I would like to see
your altar and have it explained to me, if you don't mind." She dropped
her hand back to her side.
Adrian turned, fixing her with a solemn look. She again felt
that searching sensation, as though he was reading her mind, and then he
smiled. "You truly mean it. You feel guilt, and curiosity, and you mean
what you said."
Diandra grimaced. "Yes, I mean it. I also mean it when
I tell you that the whole 'reading' thing skeeves me out, FYI."
Adrian laughed, his head thrown back with genuine delight.
"Oh, you're so much fun. How is it any worse than what you can do?"
he asked. When she merely cocked her head to the side waiting for him to say
more he continued. "You
for, and what it represents, you'll be more understanding. I listened as he
explained, and there's nothing wrong there. If nothing else, perhaps he's
providing more protection for our home and family, did you ever consider
that?" Diandra looked at her blankly, stunned at the vehemence in Lizzie's
tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get my dinner and go to bed.
I'm exhausted. You need to work this out with him, Dia, because you're in the
wrong."
Lizzie walked over and kissed her stunned lover and then
turned to Adrian. "Ooh, do I get a kiss too?" he asked, batting his
eyes. She punched him in the shoulder and headed for the kitchen. "You can
kiss my ass," she called over her shoulder.
"Bring it back here then," he hollered back to
her, laughing as she put one hand behind her back, raising her middle finger at
him in answer. He and Diandra could hear the microwave door open, heard the
clatter of stoneware, and then the slamming of the door as she found her food
still warm. Then she was back, thanking him for dinner as she headed upstairs
with it. She was determined to eat while she took a bath. Perhaps it wasn't the
best idea, but she didn't want to prolong the time until she could collapse
onto her side of the bed and sleep until morning.
Adrian and Diandra were quiet- him because he was amused by
Lizbeth's behavior, and her because she was stunned by Lizzie's support of
Adrian. It was the last thing she'd ever expected from her, and she couldn't
help feeling a little betrayed.
*****
Diandra had gone to the deck to settle herself. She came
back in, flushed from the heat, her face raw from the wind blowing sand into
her face, rubbing it, chafing it, like elemental sandpaper. She felt calmer,
more reasonable, and felt even more so when standing on the coffee table was a
tall goblet of blood. Guilt slapped her in the face, much more painful than the
sand had been. This man had been nothing but kind to her, good to her little
family, and she kept condemning him at every turn. Lizzie was right to question
her. What the Hell was her problem? She picked up the goblet and drank it down
like medicine. Although it normally tasted of strawberries and honey to her,
today it was bitter. She knew it was an illusion cast both by her feelings of
regret, and his frustration at the time that he bled for her. She would swear
she tasted tears as well. She knew blood tasted of the emotion of the donor,
but the most she'd ever tasted was the fear of people who were scared of
needles, and occasionally pain if the needle was inserted improperly. Adrian
was the first one to donate to her directly, and the emotional pain she tasted
in his blood made her feel worse than she had before.
Slowly she set down the empty goblet and went looking for
Adrian. She found him in the kitchen, working methodically to bake a batch of
cookies. A lump filled her throat to see that he took no joy in his work as he
usually did. Knowing that was her fault, she gently touched his shoulder. He
flinched, but did not turn to look at her. She sighed, but took a deep breath
and began speaking.
"I was wrong, once again," she said quietly. He
tensed slightly but said nothing. "I keep judging you on your religion,
and that's not fair of me. I'd like to make up for that. I would like to see
your altar and have it explained to me, if you don't mind." She dropped
her hand back to her side.
Adrian turned, fixing her with a solemn look. She again felt
that searching sensation, as though he was reading her mind, and then he
smiled. "You truly mean it. You feel guilt, and curiosity, and you mean
what you said."
Diandra grimaced. "Yes, I mean it. I also mean it when
I tell you that the whole 'reading' thing skeeves me out, FYI."
Adrian laughed, his head thrown back with genuine delight.
"Oh, you're so much fun. How is it any worse than what you can do?"
he asked. When she merely cocked her head to the side waiting for him to say
more he continued. "You
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