Vampire Emeritus (Part #3) ✔

Chapter 20: Mr. Repressed Emotions

The bouncer paid no mind to me. He probably saw girls crying on the sidewalk in front of the club every night. People entering the club paid no attention, either, aside from a couple of casual glances and a few whispers between girls every now and then.

The crowd in front of the club quickly dispersed. It was almost 2AM, the time of the night when everyone already arrived and no one was ready to go home yet.

The emotional roller-coaster I went through over the last forty-eight hours was taking its toll. If I were human, I'd worry stress would kill me.

I could dance all night and pretend everything was fine, but my emotions were bound to catch up with me.

I couldn't fucking believe I was so smug to think Ian would still feel the same way. It's been two years. God only knew what he'd been doing during that time.

A scattered breath fell off my lips and I hugged my knees.

"There you are." Someone sighed at the front door.

I tilted my head towards Ian, "Here I am."

He stood in front of me and lit a cigarette, "Alright, do you want to talk?"

I buried my face between my bare knees, not in the mood to actually talk to him, which I assumed was a problem in and of itself. Ian and I have never talked about anything.

We've never got the chance.

And now it's been two years and I didn't know how to talk to him without sounding utterly pathetic. So, I sniffed dramatically and hid my face from him.

"You should go have fun." I murmured.

Ian sat on the sidewalk next to me, "I'm too old for clubs."

"How old would you be if you were still alive?" I glanced at him.

"Thirty-one." Ian laughed. "Ripe for an existential crisis."

"I feel like I have an ongoing crisis." I exhaled.

Ian didn't answer. He smoked his cigarette in silence and refused to look at me. Gosh, I was such a coward next to this man. Nervousness flooded me as I searched for the right words.

I had to ask him, right?

We've avoided talking to each other for so long, searching for the right moment, but that moment would never come. There would always be something else we could use an excuse.

I squeezed my fingers and breathed in, "You didn't want to dance with me."

Ian stared ahead, a puff of smoke leaving his lips, "No, I didn't."

"Why not?" I sounded like a whiny kid, but I couldn't force emotion out of my voice.

Ian threw the cigarette away and stood up. I followed, irrationally afraid he'd run away from me.

"Yesterday, you blamed me for everything bad that's ever happened to you." Ian said. "And today, you want to dance with me and pretend it's all fine."

My heartbeat picked up the pace, "That's not fair. Yesterday, my best friend was dead."

"True." Ian shrugged. "And yesterday, I let you punch me in the face because you were pissed off. But today, your best friend is alive and well, and yet you still haven't apologized to me."

"Is that what this is about?" I squinted. "You're mad at me because I punched you? I'm sorry, alright?"

"No, no." Ian chuckled. "I'm not mad at you because you punched me. I'm mad at you because you're treating me like I'm your castrated puppy."