Violet

13. The Last Century.

Toby's home, despite him being a mythical creature, was entirely real. It wasn't a hut on chicken legs or Dracula's castle (though that would have suited him better, by the way).

Mythical characters from those books didn't exist in real life, and neither did their imagined homes. But Toby was real—he lived, he breathed. He fooled everyone by pretending to be an ordinary person, though he didn't eat anything at all.

When he opened the paper bag with the cold McDonald's delivery that had been specially ordered for me, he didn't touch it, even though he had warmed it up. He might have added this as a way to make sure I didn't offer him any of my breakfast-lunch, which might "turn his stomach inside out." That's exactly what he said:

"Food isn't dangerous for me, but I don't have an appetite..." he paused, watching as I sat on a high stool at a table that resembled a bar counter because it was long and narrow. My legs barely touched the floor, dangling in the air, but it didn't bother me. I was eager to eat, so I hurried through my actions. "What can be described as appetite, I experience a bit differently," he added. "And... I like it more than hunger. At least in this, I'm lucky."

I didn't really want to delve into his «true preferences», so I took a bite of the bun to keep my mouth busy and avoid the conversation. I knew well enough what vampires "hunt" for to avoid hunger. At least I was primitively informed, like everyone else, from movies and legends.

Toby stood on the opposite side of the long table from me, resting his chin on his fist and leaning on the surface of the counter with his elbow.

"And what about drinking?" I asked him, more out of politeness and to continue the conversation as if he were an ordinary person. Although I was curious about his ability to move that fast. I kept wondering if he could, like yesterday, suddenly embrace me and transport us to Paris, for example? Or was that too far? And in the high sky, where clouds are above airplanes and vampires are allowed to fly freely, does he need a visa? What about me? Since I'm human, maybe I still need permission for such things? "Do you ever want to drink?"

I set aside the hamburger and started eating the fries, dipping them in ketchup.

"Are you talking about thirst?" he responded, his tone again somewhat bloodthirsty. No matter how much I tried to keep the conversation ordinary, it never worked out. "For me, thirst and hunger are the same thing. But if you're talking about endurance, I have more of it than you and any other being. Unlike a human, I control my desires. They don't control me."

As I listened, I tried not to look at Toby too often. Every time I met his gaze, I still didn't believe he was capable of everything he claimed. I naively thought I wouldn't be with him in this house forever and that he wouldn't harm me or expect me to cry again—perhaps continuously next time.

Already thinking of the right words, I waited for the moment to ask Toby to take me back home, believing that soon he would agree.

Remembering Toby's assumptions about how I would "behave further"—I didn't act as he predicted. I had no intention of frantically searching for a door to the outside, running around the floors in a panic. I suspected we were far from the city, and I wasn't going to wander through the forest in my pajamas and barefoot.

"When can we visit your store? I'd really like to see it," I changed the topic.

I had finished eating and, without finishing the Happy Meal, pushed the box away from me.

I was almost sure that Toby's place was somewhere within the city limits. Otherwise, who would go there to buy a guitar? In such circumstances, Toby and I would be closer to the metro, where he would let me go down without any trouble, and he would buy me a pair of shoes. Once I was home, I would immediately repay him. But not too much, or I'd have nothing left. And I didn't really need a new pair of sneakers. It would all happen out of sheer desperation that Toby had put me in.