HALFBLOOD DANCER

19. DECEPTIONS

I wake up longing for Sandro's arms, my burning eyes searching eagerly around the room for him, though I know he's not here. I sit up straight, wiping my tears with the sheets. It's dark, and even after rubbing my eyes dry, I still can't see anything. I pucker my lips with a hint of sadness, realizing the side effects of Sandro's blood are wearing off.

It feels strange. I've never felt anything like this before. There's a nagging emptiness inside me, a vast hole that needs to be filled. I miss the feeling of Sandro's blood flowing in my veins. I miss the connection I had with him while it was in me. It was like part of him was inside me, and I miss that. I miss him.

Feeling blue with melancholy, I get out of bed and go straight into the shower. I know Sandro wanted me to sleep all through the night, but I can't.

When we came back to the room after our lunch, he wanted me to have a siesta. But we ended up talking for hours before he read to me. He read, not a book, but an amazing binder that he created with love letters by famous authors and legendary people. It holds letters from Liszt, Beethoven, Fitzgerald, Mozart, Van Gogh, De Musset, Neruda, Allen Poe, Ruskin, and many more. The majority are certified copies, but some are the original letters with stamps and seals.

I was profoundly moved and impressed. It's a magnificent collection that brought me to tears with every page he turned and every word he read.

He read to me, letter after letter, until I fell asleep in his arms. It was the most romantic thing I could ever imagine. He must've left after that. I wish he would've stayed. It would've been nice to wake up in his arms, especially after the dream I had. It wasn't a nightmare, for a change. I dreamed about all the incredible stories he told me about him and his family, and all those supernatural creatures. The best thing was that I was part of those stories in my dream. I was one of them, and I was happy. It was a good dream.

The nightmare was waking up alone in the darkness.

Stepping out of the shower, I decide to send Lori and my dad a nice e-mail. I feel guilty because the last couple of days I have barely sent them a quick sentence or two just to let them know I was okay. And I only did it to keep my promise to write every day.

As I walk out of the bathroom, I leave the door open so I can have some light without having to flick on the chandelier or any of the lamps in the bedroom. After slipping into my set of grey pajamas, I grab my laptop and sit on the bed. The screen comes to life, and I stare at it for a while, lost in my thoughts.

I've never been a good liar. I've never enjoyed it either, but I know I have no choice. To my dismay, I must admit I've had a lot of practice lately. I have successfully kept many things from Nina these past few weeks, the one person I thought I could never keep anything from.

The thought alone makes me sick.

Bitterly, I start typing what feels to be only the first of many deceitful emails to my father and Lori. I have no idea what I'm going to tell them. All I know is that I can't tell them the truth, none of it. If my father knew what I've been through, he would come to take me away. I can't let that happen. I don't even want to think about what he would do if he knew about Sandro. He would never allow me to be with him, and I'm not ready to give this up yet.

I don't know if I will ever be ready.

The thought unleashes the gloomy ogre that has obscurely been tormenting me from its cage in the back of my head, a reality I've tried so hard to ignore. Soon, I will have to go back to New York, while Sandro will stay here, on the other side of the world. End of our story.

Heat begins to rise in the back of my eyes, and I blink repeatedly to kick my tears away, determined to lock that monster back in its cage, this time for good. I'm not going to waste my time thinking about it. I can't. I've always heard that all good things come to an end. So, I will enjoy whatever I have with Sandro for as long as I can, even if it must end one day.