Vacant Heart

Chapter Eighteen

"I bet you're about done with these tasteless meals," Aidan jokes from his place by the hearth. He's referring to the dull array of colors in front of me, a plate of breakfast foods that he could conjure up without electricity. Brightened by the weightless ambiance in the room and his presence, still wrapped in a robe out of bed, the taste of his food is a secondary thought. I hardly taste the imperfections.

I've happily lost count to how many days I've been trapped in this glowering mansion. There's no desire for me to look. I hold a steaming cup of tea between my hands, wrapped in a blanket from the bed, and stare at him from my bench. He smirks at my lack of answer, and deposits the mittens onto the table.

"What would you like to do today?" he asks, curiously, brightly. "This is the first time you've felt able to be up and about."

He sits before his food and his smile grows to an insurmountable size at my continued, telling silence. "More of the same, then?"

I pull on my lip, teeth dragging along the skin to hide my bliss, failing miserably. I saw myself in the mirror this morning. Despite my run in with death a few days ago, my skin is glowing. His is too.

There's suddenly a disruption to the calm. The sound of the door opening with a loud, bellowing groan of resistance. We've barely stood out of our chairs before Bud enters with Victoria close behind, both bundled to keep the chill out.

They stop in their tracks at the disheveled sight of us—me in the bedding, Aidan's knotted, sex-crazed mane—taking in the sight with wonder. I pull the sheet in closer to conceal any skin, and try to fix my hair absentmindedly, giving Aidan a look of mortification.

"Bud," Aidan says, winded. "Victoria. Good morning."

"Morning," Bud says, averting his gaze to the flames within the fireplace. Victoria isn't so modest, and looks between us as if we were caught performing a séance to the dead rather than dining in the bliss of the morning after. In this case, multiple morning afters.

"I'm sorry, Aidan. We're intruding."

It gives me comfort that she's used to entering his home to find him without another partner, reminding me that this is rare—our days here have been rare. It's after I've excused myself, and escaped out the door that I hear him answer.

"No, we were having breakfast. There's more. Serve yourselves."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Victoria," Aidan says. "I'll get dressed."

I scurry to the staircase, flying up to the guest room for the first time in days. The moment the door is closed behind me, it dawns that every article I have in my possession is downstairs in his bedroom, and I chuckle darkly, feeling our first intrusion with the real world like a blow to the ribs. I chuckle and open the door, coming face to face with Aidan, who is holding my things.

I smile, tittering at the threshold as he approaches, looking equally amused.

"I'm sorry. They don't usually knock when they come here. I wasn't thinking."

"Well, they know."

He nods, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "Yes, they do."

We both search for more to that statement, but I've past the point of denial.

Let Victoria know.

"Okay," I say, with acceptance. He smiles softly.

"Okay."

He turns, and I watch him disappear down the stairs mindlessly, light on my feet. I rush through dressing, making myself presentable, shoving up pants onto my legs, tucking in one of Aidan's shirts into them. I skip down the steps hurriedly, my breath minty cool in the hollow hallways, needing the hairbrush from Aidan's room.