Aidan

Aidan paced his home, unable to sit down. One thought after the other, he could not stop the whirlwind in his mind.

He looked at the painting he was currently working on, seized a paintbrush in his hand, and reached for the canvas. Here. No. Maybe there. No. He couldn't place a single spot of color. The image seemed blurry and too precise at the same time. Where to start? He didn't even recognize his own work in the painting.

Aidan's breathing tensed even more. He wanted to destroy the canvas. His hand was shaking. He put the paintbrush down and went back to pacing.

Who had he been kidding? He was not enough. He was not worthy. Of course James had been attracted to this human, this innocent man who had never hurt anyone. Not like him.

When James had introduced him to Tommaso the morning before, the hopeful smile on his best friend's face had warmed his heart and crushed it in a single expression.

Tommaso had accepted James, as nobody could ever accept Aidan. Except for James, whom he may lose now.

The thought of it filled him with dread, with terror.

His mind drowned into old memories of the euphoria of blood and the feeling of being owned by Stanislas, of belonging. But they were lies, though. He was even more lonely then than he was now, not accepted but used, not cared for but manipulated. No, no, he couldn't go there.

He did like Tommaso. He seemed bright, interesting, and kind. But he was alive and in love. He was everything Aidan had lost and everything he wanted to be.

"Thank you," James had said to him after the young man had left. "I know you were worried. Thank you for trusting me and supporting my choice."

And James had hugged Aidan. The older vampire had felt terrible, with all his doubts, his fears, this neediness. He disgusted himself. It had taken all his energy to repress the tears that threatened to spill out and to smile at James.

Aidan had clung to his best friend, like a drowning man. What James misinterpreted as pure affection was closer to despair.

James was there, though. He was not pushing him away. He had introduced Aidan to Tommaso. He showed him the same friendship as always. But fear was a poison. Every word, and every gesture was beginning to be too much or not enough. A perverted code to decipher with only one answer in the end.

Aidan had no one else to talk about what was going on in his mind. Thus, the thoughts wandered free, more and more crippling, shaking the foundations of his being. What being anyway? He had never been on stable ground one day of his life. And what would he do without the frail structures he had built not to sink into the darkness?

When he couldn't stand the oppression of his home anymore, Aidan went out for a walk. And in the animated streets of the city, the scent of blood called for him.