Violet

22. A different girl.

If I had a choice... I probably wouldn't have kissed him. At least not today. And probably not tomorrow either. After all, Toby himself didn't seem too thrilled by the end of it. By his own wish, which he accidentally brought to life. So much so, that the vampire became visibly displeased and, after pulling away from me completely, now urged me verbally to disappear from his sight as quickly as possible. But I couldn't move. I stood there, feeling like I had just smeared all the expired lipstick samples in a makeup store on my lips all at once — they were tingling unpleasantly. And had this discomfort not been so irritating, I would've had a better chance to understand what exactly I was thinking and truly feeling about all of this.

If I were to pick the most obvious from my list of emotions, it would be: bitter disappointment and sticky shame. The kind that doesn't go away easily, not right away. Even if I scrubbed my mouth with soap and washed it down with bubble bath foam—it wouldn't help.

Glancing at Toby, while for some reason blinking furiously, for the first time I thought maybe he wasn't the right one for me after all. The truth was, I had no real reason to think that, as I had already started liking him. But I was reasoning with myself, trying to free myself from the responsibility that Toby, now that everything had happened the way it did, should've taken on. Namely, the blame for this failed kiss.

And no, I didn't even think of it as a failure. The kiss. Though I had nothing to compare it to, I hadn't experienced the kind of visible frustration or unsatisfied anger that Toby was now expressing with his distant posture.

Had I fallen out of favor with him?

It seemed he was as dark as a storm cloud, gloomier than the night, because he knew more than I did. I guessed that knowledge comes with experience, which he surely had, and I just didn't fit. I didn't meet his real expectations, whatever he had imagined before. And I didn't blame him much for it, because I, too, had secretly imagined a lot about us. Not that long ago, I had closed my eyes, held hands with him, gone to the movies... but it was all in my head. And because my fantasies were more innocent than his, I couldn't quite grasp the disappointment he was feeling. He was faster than me, not only in space but also in his decisions about how soon everything between us should happen. And now, the kiss had ended in disaster. We should've slowed down.

"How am I supposed to leave..." I mumbled with just my lips, without asking anything more. My tone wasn't even questioning, just lost and bewildered. I could sense it well — this new indifference from Toby. He had always been cold, by his very nature, both outwardly and within himself, but never to me. And that made everything clearer. I understood, finally, that I should stop asking him silly questions.

Moreover, I didn't want to prove my thoughts. I was afraid to hear that proof. Afraid to hear how I had become undesirable. I already knew I was useless and unwanted when it came to love. Love of this kind, practical love, with all its obligations. Let it all end just as abruptly as it had started — if that's what Toby wanted. He was the one who had originally been drawn to a sensuality forbidden to me, passing that desire on to me as well. All the things he had never fully explained to me, honestly. He only told me about the end and promised that we would reach it together. He lied.

Toby stood there, detached, and I understood without him needing to explain further: he wouldn't "take" me home. Not in the way he could, using his abilities. He tensely waited for me to turn and walk in the opposite direction, making sure I didn't step toward him at all.

"I'll call you a cab," he said, matching my expectations.

And because he wouldn't let me get any closer, as if I had become the most unwelcome sight on his path, just another annoying yet easily frightened creature, while he played the role of the angry dog, from Toby that I thought I knew — nothing remained. Not even a shadow. With a deep frown, he seemed to avoid even reading my thoughts anymore. And, immediately following his words, he pulled out his phone, started dialing a number. From his head. He had only one number and one goal — to get me out of his sight.