Until I Die

fingers. “It’s not a question of trust. And it’s not a question of not thinking you can handle it. I am in awe of your strength. It’s just that”—he hesitated—“I know you won’t like it. It’s an experiment. And since it might not even work, I was hoping to avoid having to tell you about it.”
“I can take it, Vincent. I can take anything.”
“I know you can, Kate.” His expression was imploring now. “Believe me. But I already hate anything about myself that freaks you out, and this—trust me—is freaky. I’m afraid I would lose your respect if you knew the details. Which is why I just wanted to try it, and check it off the list of possible solutions, and move on. If it actually worked, and that’s a really big ‘if,’ I wanted to present it to you in a way where you could actually see the benefits, weigh them against the distasteful side of it, and help me decide whether I should continue with it.”
He watched my face carefully.
“How long does the experiment take?” I heard myself ask, while kicking myself for not digging further.
“Gaspard says we should know after two cycles of dormancy. So just over a month … six weeks more.”
I looked into his eyes and saw his sincerity. His utter honesty. And his determination to do whatever he could to make us work.
I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed deeply. “Okay. I trust you. But please be safe.”
“Thank you, Kate,” he said, leaning back against the wall, but keeping hold of my hand. He focused on the ceiling for a few moments, before turning to me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about too. Totally different subject.”
I smiled wickedly. “ I’m up for talking about anything.”
“Why have you cut all ties with your friends in New York?”
My smile disappeared. “Except that.”
“Kate, I totally get the fact that my friends are your friends here. I don’t blame you for not wanting to hang out with the kids from school. You say there’s no one interesting there, and I understand that you don’t want to get attached to people who will leave for their home countries after graduation.
“But your childhood friends—the people you grew up with. The way you’ve talked to me about them … it sounds like you were really close.”
“We were,” I said, my voice flat. “They even contacted Mamie after I stopped writing, but I had her tell them I wasn’t in the mood to talk. They probably all hate me now.”
“I think they’d all understand why you fell out of touch last year. It was an awful time for you. You’ll never get over your parents’ death, I’m not even suggesting that. But you’re doing better now. You’re coping with life.”
“Questionable, since I hang out with a bunch of dead people.” My eyes flicked quickly to his. I hadn’t meant it as a slam. And from his wry smile, I was relieved to see he hadn’t taken offense.
“Okay, you’re between worlds. But you’ve told me you never felt like you completely fit in anywhere. How did you say it? ‘Not completely American and not completely French.’
“But that doesn’t mean that you should just trash those relationships you had back home. They’re part of your past, Kate. We all need a past to root our present in. You can’t just live in the here and now.”
“Why not?” I snapped, surprising myself by the vehemence in my voice. “Do you know what the past holds for me, Vincent?”
“Death, Kate.” His voice softened. “So does mine.”
“Vincent, all my memories are built around my family. My parents. After leaving Brooklyn, every time I talked to my friends it dragged me right back into that old life. Everything they said reminded me of home. And it hurt so badly, you can’t even imagine.” My eyes flitted to his face as I remembered that his parents and fiancée had been murdered before his eyes. But he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked more caring and supportive than ever.
“Okay, you can imagine,” I conceded. “But Vincent, I’m not a sadist. Inflicting unnecessary pain on myself on a consistent basis is not my idea of staying healthy and sane. I can’t be in touch with them. It hurts too much.”
Vincent looked down at his hands, weighing his words carefully before he looked back up at me. Without speaking, he traced my jawline with his finger, as if sketching my face’s topography. I reached up and grasped his hand, pulling it into my lap and holding it with both hands for comfort.
“I get