Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Without

"They are not what they seem to be."

He wouldn't so much as glance at me.

Despite Alec's attempt to put some distance between us, the hallway inside the train's exit was limited. He stood facing the door, an arm propping him up against the wall. Alec tended to toe the line between an innocence of Eros and the charm of a strapping young man.

He had rolled up the sleeves on the crisp white button up that had been hidden under his sweater. The sweater that I now wore. It hung loosely off my shoulders and made for a short dress, pairing rather well with the tight jeans I'd been directed to wear.

With the meticulousness of a doll maker, I followed the dips and curves of his face. The lines on his skin were tight, the tension cascading down into his shoulders and released at his wrist. A small thump caused by his fingers tapping against the wall was as consuming as a clock's constant ticking. Which I quickly lost track of.

I was close enough to make out a small imperfection in his skin. The finest sliver of a scar was my first indication that something was off. It was faded and I might've been convinced it was a trick of my eyes. I had never noticed it before, but then, it couldn't be new. Perhaps I'd missed it in my previous...observations of him. Of which, I am rightfully embarrassed to admit, there were several instances of. Every time I glanced up at him or caught myself staring, there he stood, almost dutifully, by my side. However, it wasn't until this moment that I realised I had never really taken in this side — the physical right side of his face.

In fact, it was almost as if a great deal of import was placed on keeping me at his lefthand side. Perhaps I was imagining it or divining an exaggerated explanation for why I had missed a random scratch on Alec's jaw. Except, Jane also stood on his left. And with this, I found my mind falling down the rabbit hole of incoherent ramblings.

The habit, if it was that, reminded me of my father. Despite our ploys that put me in direct danger, he always made a point to stand between me and traffic. So simple. A silly memory that might have meant nothing. Yet, I could remember it so clearly. If we stepped onto a sidewalk and I found myself on the side closest to the street, my father would lightly take hold of my shoulder and change places with me. The behaviour offered what little protection he could from the monstrous vehicles racing down the road.

Because Alec hadn't grown up with cars or sidewalks, the exact example of this gendered courtesy hadn't been instilled in him as it had been for modern men. I might've made an argument to refer to it as the single modern act remnant of chivalry.

Finding myself consistently on Alec's left side must be a simple coincidence. Perhaps Alec was primarily accustomed to keeping the masters on his own right. After all, Jane was always on his left, so it made sense that he would naturally take up the position he found familiar.

I inhaled deeply, trying to shake the self-induced embarrassment of my eagerness to find a connection between two unconnected behaviours. It was a silly notion, especially seeing as when you turned in the opposite direction on a sidewalk, right became left. My theory was pointless. Except that for a brief moment, the rambling thought process had opened up a topic that hadn't yet crossed my mind.

What would my father would think of Alec? Vampire nature aside, he could simply dislike him for the reasons most dads disliked their daughter's...whatever Alec and I were. Or would he welcome the fact that I had someone in my life who treated me better than he had been capable of doing? For me, or for my mother.

I could ponder over the different opinions my father would have on Alec's attitudes, reactions, and general being. I could do so, that is, until I realized that I had absolutely no idea. The last time I saw my father, I was too young to know how he would react to such a topic. Or any topic. I hardly knew him. Which also meant that he hardly knew me. His only daughter, his little con artist...the little girl he'd left behind. His Sweet Saffiya. If only he could see me now.