Michael Griffo - Unnatural

Ronan desperately wanted to explain his actions to Michael, but words were useless now. He knew that Michael didn’t want to hear that they were bound by love, bound by destiny and the wisdom of The Well. He didn’t want to hear Ronan admit that he was scared to tell Michael the truth, the real truth about his being a vampire, because he was too afraid of losing him, too afraid of Michael turning away from him forever. And Michael definitely didn’t want to hear Ronan confess that Michael made him forget he had ever been hurt and betrayed and that he reminded him eternal love was possible. No, nothing Ronan could say would change what he had done. He was completely aware that very soon they would both have to find a way to live with the consequences of his actions, but for now he, like Michael, chose to live in silence.

Surrounded by quiet, the two boys sat on the bed, a small, but impenetrable space between them. It was as if the fog had returned and created a physical barrier. But even though they didn’t touch, even though soft never made contact with rough, their eyes never left each other. His eyes are still so beautiful, Michael thought, looking at them, into them, fully aware that Ronan was doing the same to him. Their gazes unencumbered by words, Michael embraced the tranquility. How wonderful to be silent after all the chaos, the upheaval, the unsettling events at Weeping Water. It was nice to have a moment not filled. But even though the room was silent, it was full.

Beauty, ugliness, love, outrage all were embodied in the silence, each finding a home there. For now they shared the space equally, but Michael and Ronan both knew that soon the balance would be broken and one would become the stronger. Which one would prevail, neither boy could guess.

Outside, the wind stirred, rattling the window, a reminder that movement was inevitable. Ronan realized he could say nothing to explain away his actions or beg for forgiveness. He was certain that Michael had agreed to give his heart and soul to him when he thought they were both human; he only prayed he would give them to him now when they were not. But the decision had to be Michael’s alone.

Quietly, he got off the bed and, with one more look at the boy he loved but without a word, left the room. Left before Michael could see the sadness engulf his body, left Michael behind to decide if love would consume the space that existed between them or if outrage would win out. After the door closed, Michael waited. He waited for the silence to be replaced with a moment of clarity, a moment that would give him direction. But none came. The quiet was replaced, however, by music.

Getting off the bed, Michael held on to the end table and then the dresser to steady himself before picking up his cell phone. “Hello?”

“Michael, it’s your father. How was the funeral?”

Blunt as ever. “Depressing, final, like most funerals.”

Still rebellious, Vaughan noticed. I guess this insolent, teenaged thing is going to last a while longer. “Well, I’m glad that you were able to say good-bye. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be there with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Aimlessly, Michael started to walk around the room. “You never liked Grandma and you never liked spending time with me.”

Taken aback by his son’s bitterness, Vaughan stopped pacing the floor of his own bedroom. “That isn’t true.”

“Oh, come off it! I’ve seen you twice since you made me move here.”

Why, the ungrateful punk! “Made you? May I remind you that you wanted to come to England? You jumped at the chance.”

“To be with you! To find out what it’s like to have a father!” Michael shouted. Standing in the center of the room, Michael was so furious he didn’t realize his legs had stopped shaking, his stance was firm, stronger than ever. “But you’ve done nothing but treat me like somebody on your payroll!”

Vaughan ran his fingers through his hair, stopping only to hit himself in the forehead several times for being unable to control his son. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Michael. I’m doing the best I can.”

Howling with laughter, Michael reached for the bathroom doorjamb with his free hand. “Seriously?! Well, I got a newsflash for ya, Dad. Your best really sucks.”

“What did you say to me?”

Still laughing, Michael replied, “You might be a brilliant businessman, but as a father you totally suck.” Michael turned off his cell phone and paced the room again, mentally adding his father to the list of people who were gone from his life, not that he was ever really in his life to begin with. When Michael thought about it, examined their relationship, he found it hard to keep laughing. Vaughan never wanted to be a father. Getting Michael out of Nebraska, away from his mother’s family, was merely a business coup, something that made him feel like he won a deal. No, for better or worse, Michael had no family. For the rest of his life, he could very well be alone. For the rest of his life—or in other words—for infinity.

“Damn it!!!” Michael roared, flinging his cell phone across the room in frustration. He grabbed the bedspread and yanked it off the bed. It floated to the floor slowly and by the time it fell in a clump next to Michael’s feet, he was already finished kicking the end table. He didn’t stop because he was tired or because his aggravation was quelled; he stopped because he saw something familiar.

Bending down, Michael picked up the drawings, variations of the ones Ronan had made of Michael months earlier. They had fallen out of a book that had been hidden underneath some other papers in a drawer of the end table. Pushing the drawer to the side, Michael realized the papers had fallen out of the oversize red book that contained page after page of Ronan’s unmistakable handwriting. It was Ronan’s journal.

Sitting on the floor amid the debris, his back against the bed, Michael began to read, and slowly his anger and frustration were replaced with a kind of peace.

No such luck for Vaughan. He tried but was unable to find peace with his son, himself, or his current situation. Failure was becoming an all-too-common occurrence in his life. He had failed at his marriage, he had failed at being a parent, he had even failed in his attempt to secure his own future by uniting Michael with Brania, the daughter of the most powerful man he knew. “My son, it seems, is quite cross with me.”

“Sons usually are,” Brania said, zipping up her skirt. “The relationship between a father and daughter is much more satisfying.”

Vaughan grabbed the zipper and started to unzip it. “So too is the relationship between a father and the daughter of his business associate.”

Slapping his hand away, Brania slipped her feet into her black patent leather pumps. “I have a headache.”

“Oh, come on!” Vaughan protested. “You can come up with a much better excuse than that.”

No, he definitely wasn’t as handsome as his son. Or as interesting. “Of course I could, but I don’t feel like making the effort.”

Vaughan slammed the door shut before Brania could leave. “Don’t be such a cheek. You know how much fun we have together.”

Suddenly, Brania found this man standing in front of her, blocking her exit, revolting, and most important, no longer useful. “Michael is now a water vamp, Vaughan, and probably at this very moment locked in a sweaty, passionate embrace with Ronan, his boyfriend and creator,” Brania goaded. “You have alienated your son and as a result he wants nothing to do with you. So therefore, neither do I.”

“Brania, wait!”

On the other side of the doorway, she paused and turned back to face this arrogant lackey. “You really should have chosen Edwige. She’s far more desperate to have a man in her life than I am.”