In preparation for the journey ahead, I reached into my carry-on to grab my headphones. There was a piece of white lint near the zipper, and I flicked it away neatly with one finger. It floated to the ground, and I watched it. I don't know why I love watching floaty specks but it's just calming? Reminded me of freshly fallen snow. 

Last winter was the most powdery snowfall to date. Running through it had been such a joy, and I could remember dodging and weaving past Uncle Teddy’s snowballs as we all laughed and sprinted through the underbrush. 

I put the headphones over my ears and frowned. As fun as that had been, it didn’t negate the fact that most of my classmates back in Seattle could subconsciously tell how different I was. Not entirely human, human-shaped, I guess, but ultimately still a dark and threatening presence. 

Apparently my looks were appealing enough, though: once I got the crude remark that “redheads do it best!” from a classmate in Biology. That got a disapproving look from our teacher, Mr. Brodie, and the united chorus of their laughs made me consider skipping the rest of the day.

Being the only one with such crisp ginger locks, it was obvious who they were referring to.  I cursed my father’s genes. 

Unfortunately, I ended up skipping the rest of semester. 

In any case, I finally was going to be free of my simpering classmates. Honestly, all of them were so infuriating and hard to understand, I truly wished they would simply just state what they meant. 

Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my multiple Playlists and ruminated. Cassandra Miller? David Lang? My obsession for modern classical aged me more than any affect or airs I could put on. 

“A mini millennial,” my dad often teased. Hearing that always made me want to gag. I strode towards the check-in counter slowly, still trying to decide what I wanted. My dark blue carry-on rolled lazily behind me, the dull rhythmic droning of its wheels fading into background noise once I turned on bluetooth.  A gust of wind from the automatic doors opening blew at my back. 

As the first few notes of “Passion” by Pascal Dusapin started to play, a familiar scent wafted my way. 

In the backest part of my palate, I could taste briefest hint of Bergamot and cherries…  

I froze in place. 

My nose wrinkled on instinct, and the hairs on the back of my hand stood on end. Curious, I turned around and scanned the crowd. It just seemed...impossible.  It couldn’t be? No? 

I glanced into the sea of faces streaming in from the crisp autumn air. Unfortunately, I couldn’t pick out any recognizable features. How frustrating.

Were my senses betraying me? Or was I just imagining this smell? Sometimes family members smelled similar, so it could possibly be that. But even so, it still smelled exactly like the person, and not a variation on the scent.

In any case, I shook my head and continued to walk, a mystery for another day, I reasoned.  

Forty minutes later, I already regretted thinking that. 

Maybe I really should have checked that scent out more fully. It had not resurfaced during the TSA security check. Nor did it reappear when I was waiting to board. However, it was only when they sealed the door onto the plane and the cabin’s air started circulating...I smelled it again. 

The acrid smell of Bergamot mixed with nauseatingly sweet, almost fermented, cherry, topped off with eau du wet dog. 

I took a deep breath to calm myself, but all I got was another lungful of the scent. It’s always worse when it’s the scent of someone you knew, because it was oh so easy to detect once you got a good whiff. Every bit of me wanted to lunge at the offending presence and rip out his throat. 

Yes….him. 

I dared not search for his face again, or else I risked angering myself again. I would be on this flight for upwards of 7 hours, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it now, could I?  

If I was like my parents, I probably could have held my breath for the remainder of the flight. But, seeing as I’m half human, I need to breathe, so… that was a definite no. Vampires are…undead so breathing isn’t really a “need” but I stil hadn’t settled on a paranormal term to refer to my half vampirism? Was I half undead or just half dead? 

Well, it was an eight hour flight, so I figured I should sleep instead of ruminating on the unfortunate naming conventions for my….existence. But that also proved more difficult than I thought. When I woke up, I was still irritable, and definitely not looking forward to the upcoming phone call.

As soon as I walked though the gate from the plane, I took my phone out, flicked airplane mode off, and pressed my mother’s face from my “favorites”.  

Not surprising that she picked up my call immediately. I tried to keep my tone level, but that was going to be a bit of a feat.

"Mom,” I said, not necessarily an accusation, “you did NOT tell Russell to follow me. Please tell me you didn't."

My voice rose to a whisper-yell, almost a hiss, on the phone at the end of my last sentence, but I’d been holding in my frustrations for literally hours. I know I was a bit rude detailing the events leading up to this conversation, and I know I probably should have held it together better. However, there was a nearly-35-year old Werewolf following on my tail. It isn’t as if there were any authorities I could turn to for this. 

I groaned, and thought of the ridiculous call that would be. 

“Hello, yes, 911? My ex “boyfriend” is stalking me. Oh? You’re going to send the NYPD? Yeah, great, he’s a werewolf and he’ll fucking kill you.”

There was an eerie silence for about two seconds. 

Even over the phone, I could almost hear her look away into the distance, her golden eyes taking on an innocent, cherubic look. 

"Liss, I considered it briefly, but in all honesty… Russell shouldn't be anywhere near you.” A twinge of exasperation filtered into her voice. “Your father even threatened him to stay away only hours before you left."

“Well,”  I huffed, visually gnawing into the eyes of the aforementioned scoundrel, “tell dad that he can drag the dog back home.” 

At the word ‘dog’ Russel’s face crumpled slightly, like a piece of tin-foil. His normally perky blonde hair seemed limper and more pathetic.  And, what, a trembling lower lip? 

The sad puppy routine. Typical. Whenever he didn’t get his way, he would be oh-so-upset until you gave in to his whims. It wouldn’t be as bad if he actually was as old as he looked: a teenager somewhere around 17/18. But this was actually a man 30+, and that’s what made it all the worse. He should have been better than this by now. 

Toxic. That's how I'd describe Russell Tiberius Jackson. 

I sighed and turned my attention  back to Mom. “I will call you back when I’ve settled in. For now—,” my eyes snapped to Russell, “I will deal with this.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Mom, snickering like she was a preteen. 

I hung up and stashed my phone away.  

The three seconds of silence Russell and I exchanged was more akin to three minutes. However, if he thought staring at me was going to change how I felt about this gross violation of what I had explicitly told him… well, he must have been more delusional than I imagined. 

“I figured,” he began slowly, his voice trembling, “that we could start over once you started college.” 

For a moment my brain refused to believe he would do this. But the moment passed and suddenly I could feel the anger rising up from my core. It took most of my self control not to throw him across the airport concorse. 

“Russ, don’t give me that.”  I crossed my arms. “You could literally be doing anything else with your life right now. I left Washington because I needed to be away from everyone.”

“Yeah, your family,” he offered.

I shook my head, cradling my forehead tenderly. A dull throbbing in my temples was rising. “No, that includes you.” 

Russell pointed towards himself, aghast, eyes wide. “Me?” 

“Yes, YOU,” I confirmed, now folding my arms to prevent myself from taking more violent actions. “You are included in ‘everyone’, that was implied by my use of the word  ‘everyone’, Russell.” 

There was a silence that weighed upon the chest like an oversized boulder. 

Again, his lower lip stuck out. “I don’t understand.” He tilted his head to the side quizzically. 

Frustrated, I began to stride towards the baggage claim. As expected, he began to trail behind at a light jog. He tried reaching for my luggage and I moved it out of his grasp. 

“So, where are we going?” said Russell casually, laughing off my cold behavior in the same annoying way he wheedled into my life the first time.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” I responded just as casually, trying to ignore the still building pressure in my brain. 

Even his footsteps were beginning to grate on me. 

“Aw, Lissy, come on,” his voice scratched from beside me. 

I stopped walking. “Call me that again, and you’ll regret it. ”

He chuckled. I tried desperately not to grind the handle of my suitcase into a fine powder. 

“I’m serious, Russell, this is the last straw, for real.”

Maybe I sounded different this time, because Russell stopped laughing. A small look of confusion melted across his face.  "I thought we were starting over?" 

I pointed, alternating between him and me. "WE Aren't starting anywhere.” Then I pointed to myself. “I am starting over."  

He reached out to me, to bring me into a hug, one of his old tricks again. He got to touch my shoulder before I slapped his hand away. 

“Touch me again, and I’ll break your wrist,” I hissed. My hand was curved into a claw ready to scratch him across the face if need be. There were so many other things I wish I could yell in the middle of the airport, but I was very certain I would be arrested for disturbing the peace. 

“But I—“ he started to make an excuse, but I wasn’t hearing it. I cut him off before he could try any more nonsense.

“Do what you want, but my lease doesn’t include pets,” I warned, then strode to the terminal’s exit. 

Russel did not follow me. Which was the biggest relief I had had all day.