I backed out to the main page of Emily’s profile, scrolling down to see who she had listed under “family.”
What the–
Emily had them listed as her mother and father.
That’s not possible.
I clicked on the man’s profile, seeing he was a realtor from Dallas. He had pictures of Emily from her childhood, most of which contained his happy, smiling face.
I searched for her birth certificate next, wondering if these people showed up on that too. The first document I pulled up wasn’t a birth certificate, but…court papers. For an adoption.
The papers didn’t take long to read through, since most of the information was blocked out. But from what I could gather, it had been a closed adoption. I stared at the computer screen, the puzzle pieces slowly fitting into place. Those really were her parents. Her adoptive, human parents.
Holy shit… Emily didn’t know what she was.
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, August 26th
Beth didn’t come with me to our sociology class that morning. She’d gotten a nasty case of food poisoning last night and ended up becoming BFFs with the toilet. In fact, she was still hanging out with her new friend when I left for class. I’d offered to stay with her, but she insisted I go, since she’d need to copy my notes later.
My stomach knotted while I walked up the steps of building K, knowing I was about to see him, and I kind of wished I’d stayed with Beth anyway.
For the last day and a half, I’d obsessed over our encounter–replaying every look, every word–and I couldn’t figure out where I’d messed up. I finally concluded that I hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was just a douchebag. A beautiful, fucked-in-the-head douchebag.
I mean, he’d been such an ass, and for what? What was the point of his behavior? I failed to see how I could’ve mortally offended him, but he acted like I had. And the more I thought about it, the more it infuriated me until I was just downright pissed. I might not know what his deal was, but I’d be damned if I let him treat me that way again.
It didn’t matter what I said to Emily. Nothing I could possibly say would make me look good after our first interaction. She probably thought I was a monumental ass. And she should think that. If I’d behaved that way around a human, they would’ve considered me psychotic. And that’s how Emily thought of herself–as human.
But how did she end up with human parents?
Maybe Emily was the result of a broken mating contract. That was grounds for death, and a very good reason to dispose of the “evidence” by dumping her with humans. So far, this was the only theory that made sense. Not that it mattered, because as much as her situation intrigued me, it was ultimately none of my business. I’d done enough to the poor girl already. I should really just leave her alone…even if I kind of thought of her as my own little Rubik’s cube.
I tried not to let my eyes search for her as I walked into sociology. I tried to stop my feet from walking over to her once I saw her sitting on the opposite side of class, no doubt trying to distance herself from me as much as possible. I tried to leave her alone. Honestly, I did.
But I couldn’t stop myself. She deserved an explanation, even if I couldn’t really give her one, and she deserved an apology, which I certainly could give. And I would. I’d try my damndest to smooth things over. I doubted it would work, but I wanted to try. I owed it to the girl that was once my friend.
She sat alone with her head down, her dark hair cascading down her left side, shielding her face. Immersed in her phone, she read what appeared to be a message before typing a response. Her bag took up the seat next to her.
Is she saving that seat for a friend?
I looked around, but didn’t see the girl from the other day. Shrugging it off, I walked down the row towards her, stepping over feet and bags. I stopped at the seat next to her, my heartbeat spiking.
What if she tells me to fuck off?
Fear sank into the pit of my stomach, making my feet seem too heavy to move as doubt and worry swam in my head.
Jesus, man. Get a grip and grow a pair.
I shook my head and smirked. I couldn’t believe I was being such a pussy. I mean, hell, I’d killed men. And I’d been shot, stabbed, blown to bits, and lived for almost three centuries. But this scared the living hell out of me? Talking to a girl?
I inhaled deeply, and with calmness I didn’t know I had, asked, “Is this seat taken?”
She didn’t look up. She just said, “No, it’s open,” and continued reading a message on her phone.
Okay. This might be easier to fix than I thought.
I glanced at her bag. Was I supposed to move it, or…?