I listen to the Smiths. The Cure. Depeche Mode. The crooning eighties New Wave singers seem to understand. They’re the only ones who do.
Jareth tried to warn me. He said he didn’t ever get close to people. He’s so similar to me in that respect. Afraid of opening up, of caring for another person. And maybe in a way he’s right. He allowed himself to care for his family and they were killed. Now, he allowed himself to care for me and I’m about to kick the bucket myself.
In the end, we all die alone. Maybe it’s better to have never loved at all.
Sorry, someone’s at the door. More chicken soup, I bet. I’ll write more later.
32
THURSDAY, JUNE 14 (CONTINUED)
Dad. Yes, Dad.
Jareth enters the room and comes to sit in the chair beside my bed. His hair is all tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and it looks like he hasn’t slept in days. In fact, if I’m not mistaken he’s still wearing the same outfit from the night we went to the Blood Bar.
“Where have you been?” I ask weakly. A few minutes ago I would have rather died than questioned him. Let him know I care. But I’m too sick to be strong, kick-ass Rayne at the moment.
“Vegas,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. “Uh, okay. Win anything?” I can’t believe he was off gambling as I lay dying. I mean, I know poker is hot and all, but couldn’t he have waited a couple days for that straight flush?
“I got what I went for, if that’s what you mean.”
“What, a lap dance?”
He chuckles. “Even sick, you’re still funny, Rayne.”
“Barrel of laughs, that’s me,” I say sarcastically, closing my eyes. I’ve become real sensitive to light these days and even more sensitive to seeing Jareth.
“Open your eyes, Rayne,” Jareth commands.
Reluctantly I obey. Then open them even wider when I see what—I mean who—is standing behind Jareth.
“Dad?” I croak hoarsely. Am I hallucinating now?
“Hi, kiddo. I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well.”
For a moment, I’m still not convinced he’s real as he walks over to my bed and sits down on the side. He’s older looking then I remember, a little gray at his temples and in his beard. But overall, he still looks the same. Still looks like my dad.
I turn to look back at Jareth. “How . . . ?” I ask.
Dad smiles down at me. “This man of yours is very convincing, Rayne. He showed up at my doorstep one evening and said I had to come with him. That you needed me.”
My heart pangs in my chest. Here I was blaming Jareth for disappearing and all along he’d been out hunting for the one thing he knew I needed more than anything.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” the vampire says, walking to the door.
“Jareth,” I call after him. He stops and turns back to look at me. “Thank you,” I say.
He smiles the sweetest smile and nods, before turning and walking out the door. I smile back, my heart overflowing. God, I love that vampire. At least when I die, I’ll die in love.
I turn back to my dad, noticing a few beads of sweat have formed on his forehead even though it’s definitely not too hot in my room. He’s nervous. Well, he damn well should be, after what he’s done. And just because he’s here now, doesn’t mean I will let him off the hook.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, forcing myself to be civil.
“Rayne, I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been sick. What do the doctors say? Is there anything they can do? A hospital we can send you to? Anything. I’ll pay whatever it costs. Just tell your mother to send me the bill. I want you to get better.”
He sounds so concerned. Is this what it had to take? I had to die to get his attention?
“The doctors don’t know what’s wrong,” I say wearily. It really is an effort to talk today. “There’s nothing they can do.”
“Oh, my darling,” he says, his voice breaking. “I hate to see you like this.”
“You hate to see me at all, apparently.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Uh, hello? Birthday party? Balloons and presents and cake? Last week? Any of that ring a bell to you?”
His face crumbles. “I’m a terrible father,” he says, staring down at his hands. I realize he’s developed liver spots. He can’t be old enough to have liver spots, can he?
“I’m not saying that,” I protest, though, of course, I have been saying that all week. But it’s unbearable for me to see him look so guilty. “It’s just . . . well, we haven’t seen you in years, Dad. And we were . . . looking forward to it.”
A war is raging inside of me at this point. The old Rayne wants to be bitter and hateful and sarcastic and mean. She wants to cut him down and make him feel the hurt that she’s felt because of him. To make him think she doesn’t give a crap that he didn’t show because he means absolutely nothing to her.
But the new Rayne, the one that is loved by Jareth, wonders if she has the strength to be honest with him. To admit that he hurt her and give him the chance to make things right. The new Rayne wonders if he has a reason for his actions. The new Rayne wonders if he, too, walks around with a hard shell of indifference to hide his inner turmoil.
The new Rayne knows that this man gave life to her. And that he may not have always been there, but he’s there now. The new Rayne wants to give him a chance.