Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Castle

Our first stop was not the throne room.

"I hate when you do that," I told him, grabbing the bedpost to steady myself, even if his speed was a thrill, like closing your eyes on a rollercoaster and waiting, just waiting, as it jerked away from its station and chugged slowly up the tracks. With your eyes closed, there was always a spike or two of fear that out of all the rides, this would be the one to fall backward. But it never did. And you'd know as soon as it froze—everyone waiting with bated breath at the top. Then, a clear click...and down you fall.

Alec deadpanned, "whoops."

Even if I would currently rather eat dirt than be in that room, the familiarity of the walls around us settled my nerves. I still imagined Hamlet skulls adorning the fireplace, even if I'd never seen them before. Perhaps it was only the multiple copies of Shakespeare's plays claiming one of his bookshelves. All but a few, with numerous copies collected over the last few centuries. I'd never asked him about them, but more often than not, these would be the books he finished reading when he saw I was awake some mornings. I would hear the soft clump and, occasionally, just barely open my eyes to see him sliding it back in place on the shelf before returning to me. Like the neat freak that he was.

My hair was stuck to my skin, the top half of it anyways. If Alec had left the hood up rather than needlessly pushing it off, it might have saved my head from some of the downpour. He was more soaked than I was, making me realize that his cloak had provided me with greater protection than I would have imagined.

He was deliberately ignoring me, speeding around and across the room and in the span of me leaning against the edge of the bed, Alec reappeared at his bedside table. His fingers were frozen on one of the buttons of a crisp, new maroon button-up, staring down at something. I couldn't see what it was until he picked up the object that had captured his attention, twisting it between his fingers before turning around. My mother's ring hung from the chain in his hands.

Leaving the necklace for him had been a last-minute decision. I never stopped to process the fact that he would have to see it. Run his fingers over the grooves and paths carved into it over time. He would have to imagine why on earth I would do such a thing. My rosary was replaceable, still around my neck. My mother's ring that hung on the chain dangling in Alec's possession was anything but. I had meant it to promise I was coming back to him, but now the only message it seemed to hold was one of an attempted goodbye. He set it down with his crest but didn't acknowledge me.

I hadn't thought this part through either. I knew I would have to face him, but not once did I stop to consider what it might be like, feel like, to verbally rationalize why I'd attempted to run away from him. Particularly now that we were no longer strangers. More than strangers. I could see this and thousands of other ruinous suggestions running through his head, thoughts he would never voice. Not after this.

Regret and guilt stormed my stomach, one battling the other before they teamed up and flooded my body.

I walked away.

He didn't follow me, only called with a reluctant tone, "where do you think you're going?"

The bitterness in his voice made me shiver, but I still managed to whip a snippy comment at him, "to my room. You know, the one that isn't your room."

"I was unaware there was much of a difference these days." Cheeky bastard. Even in anger, his personality shined through. He leaned against the mattress.

It seemed that Volterra was the key to our imbalance. Within less than a day we were back to fighting. Any progress we made was sent back to one, the transition was instantaneous, smooth. So much so that our friends hadn't even picked up on a change in our dynamic. It was as if everything that had happened when we were gone had been erased, but for a few shared glances under suspicious eyes.