749 Love And Care
I think we might have worn down the blades of our ice skates by just how long we spent doing laps around the ice alone.
If that was the case, the rental-guy obviously hadn’t noticed a thing when it came time for us to return them. I also definitely wasn’t sticking around for him to finally snap out from his phone-scrolling trance.
Slow and merry, basking in the euphoric afterglow of a time-well enjoyed, we returned to the central nucleus of all the park’s dizzying liveliness.
More stalls have opened up in our time spent away, more flashy, riveting attractions for people to flock toward, and it seemed midday was around the time half the city’s population pretty much just drop whatever they were doing to celebrate this festive occasion as one wholesome communion.
Wholesome, indeed. But in our case, wholesome doesn’t really bode well when it comes with a hefty side of commotion.
Adalia began slowly tilting the side of her head on my arm again, and holding her hand, her claws were lightly writhing against my wrist, but her expression remained as vacant as ever.
Now, discomfort didn’t have a voice, but it sure did have a presence…
“Okay if I start coddling you now?” I asked her, leaning into a whisper. “Because I’ll really feel like an ass if I don’t.”
“I… am… fine…” She whispered dreamily, swaying a little. “Just… hungry…”
.....
“Ah, right…” I felt a tidal wave of compassion swept my heart away into a waterfall of guilt, once again, being reminded of the lengths she’s going through just to get this one day with me. “Hungry.”
Without another thought, I immediately pivoted us into a different direction, straying off the beaten path and into the trenches of the nearby forest.
“Over here,” I said, guiding her carefully along under looming branches, and over protruding roots. Once I was sure we were away and safe from any wandering gazes, I drew back my cloak, tugging the edge of my shirt collar, exposing the skin of my neck. “Small bite, alright?”
In silence and against the brittle bark of a tree, Adalia pushed me gently. I only saw her lips part, the faintest glint of her fangs before, with a fleeting prick of pain, they sank into me.
From touch alone, I could feel the stiffness ebbing away from her body, it was like she was melting, swooning, a sensation that only lasted no more than mere seconds before she withdrew herself back, heaving softly, her usual pale lips now damp with red.
“Feeling better now?” I asked.
Adalia nodded her head once, somehow looking both better and worse simultaneously.
“I… don’t like this…” She muttered. “I really… don’t like it…”
“What?”
“I am scared… that you will be taking care of me… more than… you will be spending time… with me…”
“Hey now, don’t say that.”
“Like… sister…” She blinked, a heavy flutter to her eyes. “....always…”
Decided there and then I wasn’t going to hear anymore of this. I reined her back in, pulling her in my arms and embracing her whole, the cold of her skin radiating through her clothes and pressing against mine.
“You are… hugging me…” She mumbled, muffled. “To make me… feel better…”
“I’m hugging you, so you would shut up,” I clarified, peering down at the murky gray in her gaze. “Sadly, it seems it ain’t working all too well.”
“I will need… to feed more soon… I will become… weaker… and weaker… sleepier…”
“That can be managed.”
“I don’t want… to have to… manage it…” Adalia rested her head against my chest, the vial around my neck bouncing at the impact. “Today… just today… I want to enjoy today with you… without… worrying…”
“You’ll last, Adalia,” I assured her. “I know you, you’re strong, stubborn. What’s a bit of head pain and exhaustion gonna do to ruin anything?”
“You will… worry… about me…”
“What, am I not allowed a heart now?” I asked rhetorically. “Of course, I’ll worry. I’m programmed to. Newsflash, Adalia: I love you. So just let me take care of you, won’t you? I want to take care of you.”
Adalia let out a vague, stifled sound at that, and her eyes fell in a rhythm of slow mulling blinks.
“But… Christmas…”
“Will still be Christmas,” I interjected. “Doesn’t matter if we spend it riding a merry-go-round, eating cotton candy, or if we just simply spend it standing out in the woods somewhere. Either way, I’m still with you, and you’re still with me. It can’t get any better than that.”
“It… can…” She blankly refuted. “If you’re with Ash… or Amanda… it would be… better for you…”
“I am going to pretend you never said that,” I told her simply. “I’ll repeat myself, and I will keep repeating myself until you believe me when I say I can’t ask for anything better.”
There was a moment of silence consisting of nothing but unblinking stares, the sound of our breaths in unison, before I broke it out of it.
“For your information, I wasn’t kidding just now, I’ll—” I sucked in a mouthful of air. “I can’t ask for anything better. I can’t ask for anything better. I can’t ask for anything better—”
“O…kay…”
“Than you,” I said, finishing with a smile. “I can’t ask for anything better than you.”
“You can be… very persistent…” She remarked.
“And you can be very perceptive.”
“In your beliefs… in your attitude… and in your kindness…” for the second time, I heard the creak of wood as I was pushed back against the surface of the tree, with Adalia leaning, pressing, this time the one hugging, her hands slowly coiling around me like the tender embrace of winter. “... especially… in your kindness…”
Silence again, with only the faint cheers and melodies churning out from places now far and distant. Right here, in this place, it was just us… and compared to anywhere else, there was just simply no place better.
“I don’t agree… with what you said… about me…” She said slowly, then before I could jump in, added. “But I will believe… that you do believe… in what you said…”
“It’s the truth,” I reaffirmed. “Would you like me to repeat it again, just in case?”
“No…” She shook her head. “I… believe you…”
I smiled again. “Good.”
“I also… would really like… to kiss you…”
And at that, I actually felt my lip muscles physically freeze in place.
“Well…” I swallowed. “Don’t let me stop you.”
But, alas, instead of inching any closer, Adalia broke away from the embrace, her attention and gaze both redirected through the gaps in the trees displaying still the many glamorous stalls, the countless streaming folks, and began holding her head high with resolve.
“Date… first…” She muttered, taking me by the hand and guiding us forward. “Prizes… later…”
And so we rejoined the festivities, only except this time I had formulated a compromise. Since it was overkill diving headfirst into commotion, I decided to instead skirt us around the edge, the places sparse and not so brimming with noise.
Granted there was not really much fun or venues to be had at the outer parts, there were at least still things to admire and indulge in.
Like, for a good couple of minutes we got engrossed in one of those hoop-tossing games to earn prizes, and while I depleted all my hoops with nothing to show for it, Adalia found herself spoiled for choice as a result for winning first place.
She wound up choosing a Santa hat as pick for the prize pool, and surprisingly, it helped somewhat to mitigate a bit of the bother from the sun, and arguably the best aspect to it was the fact she just looked flat-out absolute with a fluffy little ball swinging over her head.
Makes me wonder just how she’d look if she only just had the complete set…
I know, I know… I’m despicable, depraved, nothing but a vessel of hormones living for no other purpose. I should be ashamed of myself.
Except I’m not, really.
“Thirsty?” I asked, whirling around at her, spotting a stall selling refreshments just up ahead of us. “Want anything?”
“Chocolate…” Adalia whispered her favorite.
We stopped at the front of the stall, entering beneath its plastic striped awning, immediately welcomed by the ambiance sounds of blending, whirring, and grinding that were all more than familiar to me being a man-behind-the-counter person myself.
“Excuse me,” I said to the barista who had his back turned, busily tending to ingredients. “We’d like to order some drinks, please.”
I wonder… If I had just known who exactly it was I was talking to… would I have dreaded it any less?
It’s a pretty profound question, actually, one deeply riddled with so much nuance and complexities that not even the greatest philosophers could come up with a good answer.
Because, as it turns out, in the slowest swivel of feet, in a deep sonorous tap of a thick wooden cane, the barista was never a barista at all. No, what greeted us, what faced us… was instead a man.
A familiar man.
Indeed, a dreadful man.
Exuding calm, permeating menace, in a piercing gaze, and in a crooked smile in more ways than one, he began to speak.
“Of course, of course,” He said, his commanding, fearsome voice like an affront to all things Christmas-y. “What’s your poison? ”
Anyway, here’s another question for the self-made philosopher in all of us to ponder.
Who the hell leaves a leader mobster in charge of the goddamn smoothie stall?
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