“What made you chose the name Guinevere,” I ask, smiling.
“She was the queen of Camelot.” She turns away from the mirror and crawls onto the bed, lying on her stomach and propping her chin in her hands. “Some stories say she was abducted. Thought it fitting.” She smirks. “And Stephens, because, well, Stephen King.”
“You and your books.”
“They were an escape. The way I pushed all the shit out of my mind. That is the beauty of stories, they allow you to be whoever you want. You can submerse yourself in worlds and people and stories of love, you can feel the emotions and forget who you are. These stories saved me from losing my mind.”
“Losing yourself in anything but reality, huh?”
“Yep.”
I close her passport and slip it into the front of my luggage. “Speaking of losing yourself…” I pause and she narrows her gaze on me.
“What, Max?”
Part of me doesn’t want to ask her, but I have to in order to clear my conscience. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home? I can.”
Her eyes drift down to the comforter. She pulls at a loose thread and sighs. “No, I want to stay with you.”
And I nod, my stomach twisting because I’m afraid she wouldn’t even realize it if she wanted to leave me.
“So,” she whispers. “Where are we gonna go?”
I shrug. “Anywhere you want to.”
“Italy. To the foothills of Vesuvius.”
I stare at her, smiling. “That’s specific.”
“Pompei.” She arches a brow.
“Ah, I see. You want to live at the foothills of tragedy.”
Grinning, she gives me a quick kiss. “Of course I do, it’s where I found you.”
And I want to take her. I want to fuck her, but I don’t. I’m not sure she’s ready having gone through what she did with Jeb, and this right here, it’s enough.
She grabs her journal from the nightstand and flips to a page before setting it in front of me. I lie down next to her, wrapping my arm around her tiny waist before I rest my chin on her shoulder as I read over the words:
Angel wings and serpent tongue
The allure of evil to the young
Pale shown skin and tranquil eyes
Conceal the creature he is inside
She sees a movement, swift and light
A flash of teeth and a crooked smile
Sulfurous laughter and he hisses her name
A rush of stale air and the brush of his fang
“Child, oh love, you shouldn’t fear my wanton hand
Just accept this darkness, don’t fight my wicked plans.
