It's Never That Easy

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Maybe it's a flaw in my genetic makeup, but I feel like I've spent most of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't think I was born such a skeptic, though, so I guess I can't blame genetics. They aren't the same ones I was born with, anyhow. Whatever the reason, something in me always thinks, "Well great, everything is rosy... what's going to go wrong next?" Sometimes nothing, and I can laugh at my own foolishness and shake my head.

And then, there are times when I'm right; the other shoe drops, and I am left standing beneath it when it hits.

I should have known this would happen when Aishe and I reached Giza. She was preoccupied, naturally. No one wants to hear their father has been suffering heart attacks for the past year and hasn't bothered to tell his only offspring. I don't even think it was the medical condition that bothered Aishe as much as the fact that her parents hid it from her, as if she were still a child to be sheltered and protected from the evils of the world. If only they could understand; their daughter knows so much more of evil than they think. But then, if they understood that, they would hardly approve of her choice of suitor. So perhaps I should be glad.

She was touched, I think, by the arrangements I had made. An apartment for us; transportation through the kindness of our Egyptian cousins. I hadn't done it to make her grateful though. I had done it because this was my job. She's to be preoccupied and that's expected. I assumed it was my job to think of teh practical things that she would be overlooking. It was a role-reversal of sorts. I'm well accustomed to being the emotional one while she keeps her feet on the ground. A little one-eighty would do us both good. I'm sure Pak would have said so, at any rate.

We visited her father that evening, as the sun was setting. The carport over the hospital entrance kept us safe from the dying sun, and we simply avoided any open windows. We must have looked halfway normal. Aishe did, anyhow. I've given up trying to look normal.

I greeted her parents warmly; they're good people. They've always liked me although I don't know why. I'm sorry to see them go through this pain. I kept my distance, though, every time we visited, limiting myself to small talk and willingly taking on the role of errand-runner so Aishe and her parents could spend time together. How would she feel if she knew what my thoughts were?

For the duration of our stay in Giza, I was glad her abilities are limited to sensing emotions and not outright thoughts. I'm ashamed to admit it but I was conflicted while we were there. Her parents are human, and humans reach only one inevitable closure. Whether it comes early or late it comes to them all, and eventually they close their eyes and they don't open them again to this world. Trying to fight it is futile. And that was the immortal in me, the undead speaking, the part of me hat had existed for far longer than any other part.

And yet, the human was still there, and it clamored in fear at the idea of having to witness a death, particularly one close to me. Every time I saw her father's face I saw Sennwy, closing her eyes, turning pale, and dying there in my arms. The youth inside me rose to fight, to insist that life is too precious to simply give up on. And it was the Ancient within that quashed it once more.

I suppose I should have seen it coming, but two days before we were to leave Aishe dropped the other shoe. As we lay there in our apartment, watching the news for lack of anything better to do, she simply said it without preamble. And it dropped me over an edge I didn't know I'd been standing on.

((ooc: To be read concurrently with Not Easy At All))

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It took me a moment to process what she'd said, and even as it dawned on me she was staring at me, her mouth partly open, before one hand reached up to cover it. I could feel her chagrin as a tangible thing. She hadn't meant to express those thoughts out loud. But even as her words settled upon my ears I was growing cold, and hot, and then cold again.

I moved away, for the first time in months. It was against my instinct to do so; now that I had found her again I had grown accustomed to moving toward her in all things; with joy, for comfort, sharing laughter. Now I found I needed distance between us, and I regarded her warily from the opposite end of the couch. She immediately retracted her statement, claiming she hadn't meant what it had sounded like, but that was a lie and we both knew it, even without the added benefit of a bond.

I kept my mouth shut. My instant reaction was indignation. This was a curse and a gift, and it wasn't to be offered lightly, not to anyone, not as a cure for what was inevitable and natural. And yet, that youth within saw it as justice. As preserving life. Even as I knew her father would be ill-suited to our ways, the idealist in me wanted to see her happy and fulfilled.

Memory reared its ugly head again, though. Aishe had had a completely different experience than I had. She'd been brought gently into our world, by a man willing to teach, willing to show her our ways. With some reluctance I, too, had become something of a teacher, I supposed, although I never doubted for an instant that Christian was far more suited to the task. For me, however, the memory was a stain on my existence. I hadn't been offered anything. I hadn't been asked, and if anyone had done so at the time I am certain I'd have chosen death. The idea of becoming a creator myself was repugnant. I guess because I didn't consider myself a creation to be proud of. Aishe was just that; created out of someone's caring and consideration. I was created of hatred and pain, and it marked me still. More than that, vampires had bloodlines of their own. What had been given to me, I would in turn pass on to anyone I created. How could I grant that legacy to another? To this day I don't know the name or face of my own creator, and that's probably for the best. Whoever it was, they enjoyed my fear and suffering. I wouldn't pass that on for anything.

Almost anything. Right? I mean, there was that youthful idealist again. Besides, hadn't it been my own stubbornness that had led Aishe to do what she did? If I hadn't been so blind, so self-centered, I would have stayed with her regardless; she would have remained human and mortal, and I would have been a strong enough person to let her go when it was her time. I hadn't wanted to do that; I'd wanted to ignore her and pretend she didn't exist, or have her as I was and be with her forever. That was my burden, my extra serving of guilt. I raised her up, placed that expectation upon her, and yet I had failed the very test she faced now.

What a hypocrite you are, Kiamhaat. There she sits, apology plain on her face, bravely ready to accept her father's inevitable death. You could do something about that. You could avoid her ever having to face what you faced. We all know we will lose our loved ones, unless fate intervenes on their behalf. Fate, for us, had come in the form of Chris Bern. Perhaps it was my turn to play that role. How could I deny Aishe what I had, in my subconscious, sought for myself?

Unbidden, words of self-criticism echoed in my head. Failure. Hypocrite. Self-serving. Coward.

I would never be rid of them. Unable to look her in the eyes, I left the room. We remained that way, awkward and silent, even through the terrifying flight back home to Nachton two days later.

---

I'm okay with admitting I've been a terrible boyfriend and an even worse friend the past few days. Yes, I'm hiding in the archives. I'd been emailing Pak pretty regularly from Giza, but she knows me too well and she figured something was wrong. So I stopped. And I haven't been too communicative since coming home. How can I explain I just need to fester for a little while?

What's worse, I can't find Aishe's gift. I had it just before we left for Giza, and when I went to grab it, it was gone. I assumed it had fallen between the couch cushions or something but it isn't there now. I know Pak wouldn't have taken it, and it's not behind any furniture where Zoe might have knocked it even if she'd managed to get it out of the box to play with it. I'm not sure where it's gone. I can't exactly find her another one like it, either. It's one of a kind and it has a history.

Have I ruined the point in giving it to her, though? I don't think she's angry with me. I'm certainly not angry with her. It's not her fault. What she said was natural for anyone, and I took it entirely to heart when I knew she hadn't truly meant it. Why, then, am I avoiding her? Because deep down, I still feel that I am not enough. I can't possibly make up for what she gave up. A husband, children, and family all around her. Even her career. She could have been brilliant... she is brilliant. But now she's limited, in the way of all our kind. All done for love of a man who can't face his own past, much less hers.

Oh, Aishe. I don't really deserve you after all. That's what this is really about. But, curse me a thousand times over, I can't give up loving you. So be it. I'll be glad for the time we have together. Eventually you will go your own way and when that time comes I won't stop you.