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It’s raining now, and has been for hours. The torrents have long since plastered Apo’s hair to her forehead and cheeks and soaked her dress through. She’s wet and cold, not that the chill is anything new. Apo hasn’t felt warm since…since…
Since there were fangs in her neck and blood dripping down her side, since a honey-gilded voice had crooned in her ear “Are you done?” with a condescending smirk, since pain had ripped through her, since she had died and come back different, come back changed, come back less—
Apo swallows down the memories, flexing her claws. Her fangs poke at her lips, still a feeling she’s unused to, still something that hurts. They had ached as they grew in, reminding Apo of the toothache they’d gotten once. Cherri had taken care of them then, giving them clove oil and peppermint tea to numb the pain and helping them wash their mouth out with salt water to get rid of it.
Alone in the tower in Oakhurst, with no one who knew but themself, they hadn’t had anyone to comfort them or help them through it.
They had missed Cherri, in those moments, just like they do every time Apo is separated from her. They feel her absence like a physical thing, a weight on her shoulders and in her heart. It hurts, all the time, a constant presence that accompanied them the entire time they were in Oakhurst and their whole way home. Like a stake in their chest.
Apo hesitates just before the boundary that marks her town, lingering on that imaginary line. She can feel a compass needle in her soul, pointing the way to a small, squat cottage with a cherry tree in the garden and ivy crawling over the walls, cozy and warm and home. It points the way to Cherri, to her wife, and Apo’s longing for her threatens to overwhelm and consume her. It’s been seven months since she last saw her wife, the home they share.
Apo wants to hear her voice again, the tone they get when they say her name. She wants to see them, real and in person, the shine of their hair in the firelight and the glimmer in their eye when they look at her. She wants to feel their touch and kiss them again, to sit in comfortable silence with them. She just wants Cherri, really. After seven months, Apo is starved for it.
But something keeps them there, keeps them paused. Frozen as the rain continues to soak them to the bone, water running down their cheeks in a facsimile of the tears they can no longer cry. What will Cherri think of them?
Something that drinks blood to stay alive. Something that is technically dead, a corpse reanimated. Something that couldn’t protect the people in Oakhurst, that got turned for nothing, in the end. That got their friends killed.
Martyn’s face crinkled in pain as Legs drank from his arm, opening his mouth to speak and suddenly dropping to the floor, the slow creep of dread as Apo realized what must have happened, Ren’s defiant shout and his final stand, blade flashing in the sun before Scott’s claws slashed across his chest, the cold shock she felt when another vampire had died and not even realizing until later who it was, that Pyro had died…
Even Truffle, sweet and innocent Truffle who had never done anything wrong. The only crime she was guilty of was having the misfortune to live in the forests around Oakhurst, to be found and taken back to town by Apo and Pyro. She had looked up at Apo with big, dark eyes, a quiet snuffle that sounded almost like crying to Apo.
And they had…
They feel sick even thinking about it.
The blood, filling their mouth. The blood, filling a bottle. The blood, pooling at their feet in a crimson tide, a pool of scarlet, the thick iron scent, warm and heady and disgusting and so, so delicious, the blood the blood the blood the blood the blood—
Apo takes a shaky breath in and wraps her arms tight around herself. She tucks a soggy lock of white hair behind her ear with hands shivering from cold and fear. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she can feel a vice wrapping around her ribs, restricting her breath.
Will Cherri still love her? Will they still love the monster she’s become? She is no longer the same girl they once met in the summertime, the smile that Cherri drew out of her with enough jokes, her blush when they gently placed a flower crown on her dark auburn tresses. “Pretty flowers for a pretty girl,” they’d said, brushing strands away from Apo’s face. She’d flushed bright red and turned away to hide it from Cherri, but they’d tilted her head back up to look at them and then pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Thinking about it now is enough to make Apo want to cry. Of course, they can’t do that anymore. They can’t do anything anymore; they can’t go out in the sun and they can’t care for the chickens with Cherri anymore and they can’t eat any of her incredible cooking.
They are changed. They are different. They are a monster.
Cherri doesn’t deserve someone like them. Someone broken. Their hair is bleached, their eyes are red, their skin is icy to the touch and pale as bone, their mouth has fangs in it. Their hands are claws and they can turn into a bat and they want to drink blood, as much as the thought repels them. They drank blood before, and if they don’t want to starve, they’ll have to before.
They try not to think about drinking from Martyn, about turning Sausage, about how easily Truffle had died by their hand. About the animals they killed on the way here, lurking in the woods as they traveled the back roads, with one goal in mind. Getting home to their girl.
Apo got out of Oakhurst for one reason and one reason only, and that was Cherri. She refuses to give up now, because she did not fucking suffer through Cleo and Pyro and Scott just to have what they took from her be the thing that loses her the love of her life. She…she’ll try. She’ll see if Cherri could ever love a monster, and if she scorns her and slams the door in her face, Apo will figure it out from there.
Despite the terror hammering through her veins right now, the paralyzing dread of being rejected that is settling deep into her bones, Apo steels her nerves and takes a step forward, crossing the boundary into her town.
One step closer to Cherri.
She travels through the deserted streets, cobblestone hard and slick with rain under her shoes. Paths she knows so well, paths she once took with Cherri—there the way to the bakery, here the way to the meadow, down that lane the florist whom they visit once a week because Cherri loves flowers more than almost anything. More than anything, Apo wants Cherri here with her right now, to soothe her fears by smiling and slipping their hand into hers. She doesn’t think she could stand it at the same time.
Apo turns a corner and sees their cottage ahead, the cherry tree in the front garden stretching its branches over the walkway to the door. The windows spill warm golden light out into the stormy night. Apo can imagine the scene inside, Cherri sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in her hands like she does on sleepless nights, Apo’s letters spread over the table before her. Blossom and Apple will be curled up at her feet, keeping her company when Apo herself can’t.
Will the dogs be able to stand them anymore, or will they be as skittish and uneasy around them as all other animals are? Will they sense Apo isn’t a threat, or will they be unable to tell it’s them and only smell a vampire? A dangerous creature?
Apo closes their eyes for a moment and buries their claws in their skirt, bunching the fabric up. It feels almost like holding the hand of the maker herself, and it gives Apo enough confidence to step forward again.
Like a ghost, they drift up the front path and freeze again before the door. The final barrier between her and Cherri, the only thing that keeps them separated. After everything, all of the miles and blood and death and magic barriers and vampires and beacons, this door is the only thing to stand between Apo and her wife.
She raises a fist and knocks, three times.
No turning back now.
Inside, the dogs let out quiet whuffs, but don’t start barking quite yet. Apo hears the scrape of chair legs against the floor and the swish of skirts and Cherri moves to the door, her ears more sensitive than they used to be. Another reminder of how unnatural she is.
The door swings open, and Cherri is standing there, framed by the glow behind her. Her hair falls over her shoulders and her bangs cover one eye, illuminated by the light behind her. She stares at Apo, gaze wide and dark and gleaming, and Apo feels suddenly breathless.
After seven months without her, it almost feels like too much, an overdose of Cherri Cherri Cherri. Apo wants to sink into it. Apo wants to drink in her presence, heady and addictive. It’s overwhelming, it’s dizzying, it’s everything Apo’s been longing for and missing. She can hardly bear it. She never wants it to stop.
“Apo?” Cherri murmurs softly, like she hardly dares to believe it. She reaches forward, for Apo’s wrist, and they flinch backward, cringing under the weight of her gaze. She frowns, brows coming together in worry. “What’s wrong?”
“Cherri,” they say, voice breaking on a sob halfway through her name. They missed her so much. They can finally breathe again; they can hardly breathe through the panic constricting their lungs. “I—I—”
“What’s wrong, Apo?” she asks, so soft, so gentle, so much kinder than Apo deserves. She reaches out for her again, and Apo allows her to take her hand this time, touch burning hot and almost too much. Her pulse jumps. Cherri tugs her forward, out of the rain and into the warmth of their house. “Get inside, you idiot. You’ll catch a cold like that.”
Apo doesn’t tell her she can’t catch a cold anymore. She gathers every ounce of courage in her body and as quickly as she can get the words out, squeezing her eyes shut, asks, “Would you love me if I was a monster?”
Cherri looks at her, tilting their head in confusion. “What?”
“Would you love me,” Apo repeats, painfully slow, hesitance clear in every syllable, “if I was a monster?”
“What’s this about?” Cherri asks, taking her hands. “What—” they turn her hands over, noticing the claws that each finger ends in. “Apo, what do you mean? What happened?”
There’s no fear yet, but that could change at any moment. Still, Apo tries her best to explain. How can she put it simply and shortly, everything that happened in Oakhurst, how she was cornered by a powerful man with a silver tongue and two people she thought she could trust, how she was forced to make choices for her survival, how she failed every single person in that godforsaken town?
“I—there was something in Oakhurst. Something that had been there for longer than any of us were alive. None of us…knew until it was too late. And it—it—” she tries again, “I—it did—”
She can’t get the words out. It shouldn’t be this hard to say what happened: Scott cornered her with Pyro and Owen, fed from her, and gave her a choice to make. And in the end, she chose wrong. It’s as simple as that, but it feels so much bigger and so much worse. Apo made a lot of bad choices in Oakhurst, choices that led to peoples’ deaths.
The blood on her hands is a river that she can never be free from.
Luckily, Cherri doesn’t seem to care that she’s tripping over her words. They lead her over to the table and sit her down, hand her a blanket that she wraps around herself, sit across from her and lean forward. “Apo,” they say, gentle as anything. Their voice is full of love and warmth, and Apo wants to cry, wonders what she did to deserve this breathtakingly amazing woman. “What happened to you?”
“They turned me,” they whisper, looking down at the table. “I’m a vampire, Cherri. They—they made me a monster.”
They wait, anxiously, dread tearing up their stomach, for rebuttal and hatred and Cherri’s cold dismissal, to be shoved out into the rain while she stares at them with fear in her eyes. They wait for their love to rebuke them.
Instead, Cherri reaches across the table and squeezes their hand. When Apo doesn’t look up, she stands up and moves around to stand closer to them, tipping their chin up with her finger to look in their eyes. Apo feels laid bare under her gaze, piercing and beautiful as always. Like everything about Cherri.
“Apo Kuna,” Cherri starts, “I will love you no matter who or what you become. No matter what you did, no matter who you hurt, no matter what choices you made or what other people did to you, I will always love you.” She leans forward, resting her forehead against Apo’s. They soak up her presence and her warmth, breathing in everything Cherri. “In sickness and in health, remember?”
“Til death do us part,” Apo murmurs softly.
“I won’t ever leave you,” Cherri says, and then she pulls back and smiles. “You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, Apo Kuna.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of Apo’s lips. “Oh no…” she hums, reaching out for Cherri’s hands. “I guess I’m stuck with you, then. Such a shame.”
“It is,” Cherri agrees, swaying forward. She presses a kiss to Apo’s mouth, gentle and loving and…fuck, Apo’s missed her. She missed everything about Cherri while trapped in Oakhurst.
Cherri breaks the kiss and carefully slips a finger into Apo’s mouth, pulling up her top lip to reveal the fangs growing out of her gums. Apo makes a confused sound and then a whine once she realizes what Cherri is doing, trying to move back. Cherri stills her with a hand on her head.
“Do you have fangs?” she asks, face lit up in delight. “That…Apo, that’s so cool.”
Apo finally succeeds in shoving Cherri’s finger out of her mouth. “Well, they hurt growing in,” she mumbles, trying to be grumpy. Cherri giggles, ducking in to plant another kiss on her lips, and then one of her cheek, and her nose, and her forehead, and the top of her head, before swooping down to her lips again.
“I love you,” she murmurs against Apo’s mouth.
“I love you too.”