Vampire Academy: Dimitri's Point of View

Of Hearts & Hands

Hearts.

The next week or so was torture...for us both. Rose silently suffered the aftermath of the rumors. She put on a brave face most of the time, but I was able to see through the thin veil. She was hesitant to meet anyone's eyes, pulling away from any unnecessary social interaction. If she didn't need to be somewhere in particular on campus, she would retreat to her room. Within days, I started to notice less energy about her. The dark circles under her eyes grew to the point where she couldn't hide it with make-up. She wasn't sleeping well. She also seemed to grow thinner and when I saw her in the cafeteria, she would hardly eat anything at all. For someone who typically had no shame in out-eating her male peers, this was quite unusual...almost frighting. While she attempted to smile for her friends, it was a weak show. Nothing could hide the tears that seemed to be on the verge of falling at any moment. She held them back though...at least in public. Unintentionally, I made a habit of passing by her dorm room to check on her before my late evening shifts and more often than not I could hear her quietly crying behind the privacy of her door.
I kept hoping that one of her friends would speak to her, comfort her. Surely Vasilisa noticed her unraveling before our eyes. But no, if anything she seemed to be pulling away from Rose. I saw her in the company of other Moroi royals too often to count, laughing and seemingly unaware of the pain that caused her friend's misery. Suddenly, Lissa was becoming the center of the young royal society on campus. While Rose did her best to hide from the world, Vasilisa was moving through it with ease... as if she was now unburdened by the tarnished reputation of her best friend. I couldn't understand how or why she was acting this way, but it was hard for me to dwell on it without feeling my own frustration and tension build.
Even Mason gave her space. The boy wore his heart on his sleeves and I was able to see a montage of emotion play every time he looked at her. Hurt, jealousy, betrayal, pity, longing, anger, sadness, and more. Occasionally he seemed like he wanted to reach out to her, and once he did, but all he received for his efforts was a sharp word of anger. After that, he simply watched her...just like I did.
I still didn't know what to say to her. I didn't want to make it worse, but I didn't know how to make it better either. I just tried for the middle ground...normalcy. We kept to our usual training schedule, never discussing the circulating rumors. While it wasn't much, it did seem to bring a little more life to Rose, something that she seemed to miss the rest of the day. I continued to run with her, to condition and spar with her. Occasionally, I earned a knowing glare when my sympathy got the best of me and I went easier than normal on her, but overall we did out best to pretend that nothing had happened.
One particular morning, I decided to try something new with her. It was one of my favorite offensive exercises from my academy days. I would allow her to use any makeshift weapon she could find to defend and attack with. It was late fall now, nearly winter; frost made a showing every day but the occasional snow dusting that we did have never stuck around very long. Today, the ground was clear and we were working outside.
While she rotated through a few different improvised weapons, she seemed to favor a pair of two foot long branches. I didn't blame her preference, since they seemed to resemble the yantok weapons of the Filipino martial arts called Kali or Eskrima. She had practiced with those before so these would be somewhat familiar. She fought passionately, occasionally slipping from the grounded determination that I encouraged towards a more blind rage caused by her current stress. I worked hard to snap her back towards her proper training, but as the session wore on she became more and more unfocused. I finally called a break and we gathered what little equipment we had used so we could return it to storage near the gym.
"Your hands!" We were almost done putting the supplies away when I finally saw them, and the sight was enough to shock a response from me. They were red, raw, chapped, and even bleeding in certain areas. We had been practicing outside for weeks, but I had never noticed them steadily incurring more and more damage from the cold. I quietly cursed, thankful again that she didn't understand my native tongue, since I could honestly rival her language if I didn't check myself. "Where are your gloves?"
She looked at her own hands with a strange confused expression...as if this was the first time she had ever seen them. She turned them back and forth in front of her before answering me, "Don't have any. Never needed them in Portland."
I shook my head, swearing again under my breath before sitting her in a near by chair and retrieving the well stocked first aid kit. With so many injuries in the gym, there were several near by and all of them were refilled monthly, if not weekly. I also grabbed one of the spare gym towels, wetting it with some warm water before I returned to her side. I tried to gently wipe away the blood, silently berating myself for never seeing the physical damage that she had sustained while I was so focus on her mental suffering. "We'll get you some." It wasn't much of a repentance for my failure, but I could at least make sure this didn't happen again.
She only nodded in reply, seemingly lost in thought as she watched my ministrations. "This is only the start, isn't it?"
She sounded quiet and far away, I wasn't sure I had even heard her correctly. "Of what?"
"Me. Turning into Alberta. Her...and all the other female guardians. They're all leathery and stuff." She let out a small half-hearted laugh. "Fighting and training and always being outdoors – they aren't pretty any more." I stopped and looked up at her as she continued, "This...this life. It destroys them. Their looks, I mean."
She looked away from me, shaking her head as if she was trying to rid herself of something so silly as youthful vanity, even though I could tell that she really did find the idea upsetting.
As for me, all I could do was stare in wonder. How could she think that anything would disfigure her beauty? She was stunning, and I couldn't imagine anything changing that. Even tired, sore, and bleeding, she held the power to captivate me and any other male on this campus. If she really put effort into it, we were at her mercy. Her hair flowed like silk, nearly black but holding a rainbow of color when reflected in the light. Her eye were as dark as chocolate yet still seemed to shine, especially when she smiled. That smile...that alone was enough to bring men to their knees. All of this and I hadn't even started to mention her body; gentle yet powerful, toned from years of training yet soft from her natural femininity. I had only a glimpse and it was enough to haunt my dreams.
"It wont happen to you. You're too..." I had started speaking without thinking. I had only begun to admit to myself that I found her attractive...no, beautiful. I couldn't admit it to her. I couldn't admit it to anyone else. She was my student. I was her mentor. I was seven years older than her and she wasn't even considered an adult yet. My fascination with her was wrong on so many levels. I looked down to finish tending to her wounds, ashamed of how quickly my mind focused on her physical attributes.
"It won't happen to you." I longed to tell her so much more, but I hoped that this would be sufficient to calm her needless worry.
An awkward silence settles over my unspoken words before she nervously breaks it again. "It happened to my mom. She used to be beautiful. I guess she still is, sort of. But not the way she used to be."
My mind flashes back to the one time I had met Guardian Janine Hathaway, only a year or two after my own graduation. Her Scottish roots showed in her cropped, red, curly hair. She is one of the shortest Guardian's I've met, only standing about 5'3. Still, her presence makes her seem much larger. She is strict and commanding, and after 30 seconds you will never make the mistake of underestimating her again. Her reputation proceeds her. Her dedication to her charge is well known and she is well admired. Rose may not resemble her mother in appearance, but I'm sure the two have much more in common than they know as far as their personalities are concerned.
So the bitterness in her next words stunned me for a moment. "I haven't seen her in a while. She could look completely different for all I know."
"You don't like your mother," I meant it as a question, but it came out like a statement. It was hard to find any other option after seeing the resentment in Rose's countenance.
She rolls her eyes and gives a sarcastic laugh. "You noticed that, huh?"
"You barely know her."
"That's the point. She abandoned me. She left me to be raised by the Academy."
I had finished cleaning her hands of the blood and dirt from practice, and moved on to rubbing some salve into the rougher parts of her hand that had been worn by the wind and cold. I was lost it the feeling of her skin as much as my own thoughts.
It wasn't unheard of for students to become wards of the Academy, at least for novices. Typically, this only happened if a novice student lost their dhampir parent in battle with no other family to claim them and the Moroi parent was either unknown or unwilling to recognize the child as their own. Vasilisa was technically a ward of the Academy since she had been orphaned by the car accident, but her situation was different than most because of a significant trust fund and old family friends who advocated for her care. Most Academy wards had nothing. Rose was another exception. Her file stated that her mother had renounced legal custody of Rose when she was just four years old, placing her in the Academy's care. Janine was welcomed to visit, and I'm sure that they would even allow her to take Rose for the breaks if she requested it, but that doesn't seem to be the case. It seems like it had been a while since the two had last seen each other. Certainly not during the girl's absence, and I knew she hadn't made an appearance at the Academy since their return. There was a very good chance that I had seen Guardian Hathaway more recently than Rose had. As much as I felt my own resentment at the thought of a parent willingly ignoring a child, I knew I should advocate for some sort of relationship between them.
"You say that...but what else should she have done?" this argument was so weak that even I couldn't believe my own words. "I know you want to be a guardian. I know how much it means to you. Do you think she feels any differently? Do you think she should have quit to raise you when you'd spend most of your life here anyway?" But I knew that wasn't the only other option. There were more than a few successful guardians that were able to keep a strong professional reputation and family ties.
"Are you saying I'm a hypocrite?" Her eyes shown with disbelieving shock that I was standing up for her mother. I didn't blame her one bit.
"I'm just saying maybe you shouldn't be so hard on her. She's a very respected dhampir woman. She set you on the path to be the same."
"It wouldn't kill her to visit more." I couldn't agree with her more. "but I guess you're right. A little. It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have been raised with blood whores."
I smirked at her comment. "I was raised in a dhampir commune. They aren't as bad as you think."
I knew she hadn't been intentionally trying to insult my home and family, she was simply trying to console herself. I couldn't blame her for that. I had been the at the sharp end of ridicule due to my childhood for so long, comment like these simply rolled off my shoulders now.
"Oh," I might have been able to brush her comment off, but she looked practically horrified now. "I didn't mean -"
"It's alright." I focused back on her hands to give a moment to compose herself again.
"So, did you, like, have family there? Grow up with them?" Her awe and wonder as something so basic and simple as having as growing up loved with a family was enough to tug at my heart. For a moment, all I could do was nod in reply.
"My mother, grandmother, and three sisters. I didn't see them much after I graduated, but we still keep in touch." I really need to call them again, it's been weeks. "Mostly the communities are about family. There's a lot of love there, no matter what stories you've heard."
She hid her face from me again as a hint of bitterness returned to her features. It didn't take much to guess what she was brooding on. The only consolation for her sad lot in life had just gone up in smoke. My childhood was filled with more love and happy moments in a disgraces and often mocked family situation than hers had been with an honored and respected mother. She wasn't mad at me, she was mad at what fate had dealt her.
"Yeah, but...isn't it weird? Aren't there a lot of Moroi men visiting to, you know?..." She trailed off, not knowing how to finish her question. If there was ever a skill called hesitant bluntness, Rose just mastered it.
My amusement with her fumbling was just enough to head of the rising tide of anger at some old memories. "Sometimes," I scoffed.
"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something bad..."
"Actually...you probably wouldn't think it's bad." While society wanted to tell me that I shouldn't feel pride for my youthful vigilantism for what I saw as a great injustice, something assured me that Rose would be more than understanding. "You don't know your father, do you?"
She shook her head, slightly confused as to where I was going with this, "No." With a glint her her eye, she continued, "All I know is that he must have wicked cool hair." Just to make her point across, she flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Momentarily entranced, my mouth moved faster than my mind, "Yes. He must have." I came to my senses and quickly looked away. I tried to regain some dignity after my lapse and back tracked. "I knew mine."
"Really? Most Moroi guys don't stay – I mean, some do, but you know, usually they just..."
"Well, he liked my mother." Honestly 'liked' was far from the right word. "And he visited her a lot. He's the father of my sisters as well. But when he came...well, he didn't treat my mother very well. He did some horrible things."
"Like..." she bit her lip in hesitation. I could see she was balancing her desire for clarification with the fact that she was broaching a tender subject. The former won out in the end. "Blood-whore things?"
"Like beating-her-up kind of things." Though, I mentally finished, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried that also.
I had finished administering to her hands a few minutes ago, but I was still cradling them in my own. Talking about something so personal and upsetting, it felt right to allow myself this small pleasure. Even through the cloth bandages, I could feel the warmth and electricity flowing between us. I wondered if she felt it also.
"Oh God, that's horrible." Her hands gently wound around mine, not just providing comfort but making my heart skip a beat. I couldn't help but tighten my own grip in response. "And she...she just let it happen?"
"She did..." flashes of every bruise, every broken bone, every time she tried to hide the scars (both mental and physical) from us. The last incident, the one that sparked my retribution, was particularly vivid. I had watched from the stairs, mostly hidden by the partition wall. She was crying as quietly as she could so she wouldn't wake us upstairs, huddled in the corner as she cowered, bloody and beaten, before the man that called himself my father. He was drunk again, standing before her with his looped belt pulled back in his clenched fist. How anyone could mistake such a scene for love was beyond me. Yet it happened almost ever time he visited and she still welcomed him with open arms each time he knocked on our door. Yes, she let it happen, "...but I didn't."
She gripped my hands firmly between her own, leaning towards me with excitement. "Tell me, tell me you beat the crap out of him."
There was no holding back my smile, fueled by both my own pride and her enthusiasm. "I did."
"Wow." She looked floored by my admission and I knew that I had just earned a significant amount of respect in her eyes. It was almost as rewarding as saving my family from that horrid tyrant so long ago. "You beat up your dad. I mean, that's really horrible...what happened. But, wow. You really are a god."
I was so lost is the feeling of her approval that I was certain that I had misheard her last words. "What?"
"Uh, nothing. How old were you?"
I could tell she was trying to change the subject, but I allowed it since she couldn't have truly called me a god...right? "Thirteen"
Her jaw actually dropped. "You beat up your dad when you were thirteen?"
"It wasn't that hard," I replied as if I was vainly brushing off the obvious admiration. Why the hell am I acting like a love sick boy showing off to his crush? I tried to appear like the respected guardian that I actually was. "I was was stronger than he was, almost as tall too. I couldn't let him keep doing that. He had to learn that being royal and Moroi doesn't mean you can do anything you want to other people – even blood whores."
She paused, letting my words sink in. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," and truly it was. My home life became much better after we stopped living in constant fear of my father.
"That's why you got so upset about Jesse, isn't it? He was another royal, trying to take advantage of a dhampir girl."
My breath felt heavy in my chest. Yes, that was part of the reason why I was so upset. I didn't want to see her end up like my mother, like so many other dhampir girls I've known. She was too good for such a fate. But somehow, it was more personal than that. I felt responsible for her, not just as a mentor, not even just as a friend, but as something more...something that I was scared to really identify. My own thoughts were jumbled as I tried to explain my actions that night. "I got upset over that for a lot of reasons. After all, you were breaking the rules, and..." I stopped. The excuses seemed pitiful, even to myself. While they may have been somehow true, they didn't come close to the real reason... the one that even I couldn't figure out myself.
So instead we simply stared at each other, fingers laced together between us as we silently spoke unknown words. Time seemed frozen until the small frown appeared on her face and she looked down at her feet.
Her words were barely a whisper. "I know you heard what people are saying, that I -"
"I know that's not true." I cut her off, grateful to finally offer some small assurance in the midst of the questioning stares she's been living with for days.
She questioned my certainty though, "Yeah, but how you -"
"Because I know you," I replied firmly, pulling her hands a little closer to me. "I know your character. I know you're going to be a great guardian."
For once, the tears that lined her eyes weren't of shame or pain, but of relief. I once again fought the overwhelming urge to kiss her, but luckily she spoke before I lost the battle. "I'm glad someone does. Everyone else things I'm totally irresponsible."
Unfortunately, she wasn't completely wrong. There were plenty of people on campus who were counting her out or even betting against her. But those of us who had the pleasure of actually knowing Rose knew that they couldn't be more wrong. I was sure that one day she would be respected as much, if not more so, than her own mother.
"With the way you worry more about Lissa than yourself...No. You understand your responsibilities better than guardians twice your age. You'll do what you have to do to succeed."
Her smile told me that she had appreciated my words, but the smirk said that she couldn't help a flippant reply. "Well, I don't know if I can do everything I have to do."
I had no idea what she was talking about so I just cocked an eyebrow in question.
"I don't want to cut my hair."
It was such an odd comment that I would have laughed if I couldn't tell that she was serious, at least on some level. "You don't have to cut your hair. It's not required." If that was the case, I would have been reprimanded long ago.
"All the other guardian women do. They show off their tattoos."
She was right of course. Most women did wear their hair shorter so that their marks would be visible at all times. Even some of the older novices were adopting the same sort of styles. But I couldn't imagine my Roza's locks being sacrificed for something as inconsequential as the opportunity to parade her kills in public. I reached out to touch a precious strand that had fallen during practice and now rested on her cheek, smiling as I twisted it and felt the silk threads between my thumb and forefinger. Moments later, I noticed her blush under my hand and realized just what I had done. I pulled away and stood, surprised at my brazenness but somewhat thrilled that I could elicit such a reaction out of her.
"Don't cut it."
She stuttered for a moment before remembering how to speak. "But no one will see my tattoos if I don't."
Once again, I couldn't help the grin on my lips. I walked towards the gym door, picking my bag up to leave before turning back towards her. "Wear it up."