“Bottom line, Eliza— you’re my home and my family, and I don’t want to lose you.I could lose everything else, and as long as I still had you and a guitar I know I’d be all right. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing. I’m a vampire.”“Duh.”“And you’re not.”“Again: duh.”“I could hurt you. I could lose control.”“If you were anyone else, I’d have kneecapped you by now.”

“All I know is I’m losing my mind,” Franny said. “I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting – it is, it is. I don’t care what anybody says.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” My heart plummets again. “Or I did. Maybe I still do. I don’t know. But I didn’t bring her to the dance. I brought you. It seems I spend all my time with you.”“Why is that?” I’m genuinely curious but aware that I could be opening a door I don’t want opened. I quickly rephrase. “I mean, why do you want to?”He looks thoughtful.“You’re funny,” he finally says. “I laugh a lot when I’m with you. I always have fun when I’m with you. And you try to hide it, but you’re actually pretty sweet.”“That’s a horrible thing to say,” I say petulantly, crossing my arms tightly again. He chuckles.“And you’re really smart.”“Now I know you’re lying.”“You are. But you try to hide that as well. And you’re pretty.”“Worse and worse,” I moan. He grins.“And when I’m with you, I don’t want to be anywhere else or with anyone else.”

“Dear Sixpence,I saved them all, you know. Every letter you ever sent, even those to which I never replied. I’m sorry for so many things, my love: that I leftyou; that I never came home; that it took me so long to realize that you were my home and that, with you by my side, none of the restmattered.But in the darkest hours, on the coldest nights, when I felt I’d lost everything, I still had your letters. And through them, in some small way,I still had you.I loved you then, my darling Penelope, more than I could imagine—just as I love you now, more than you can know.MichaelHell House, February 1831”

“That was for you! I was afraid I’d lose you if I didn’t pretend to be okay with being friends. I could have been with you this whole time? What the fuck, Pigeon?”“I….” I couldn’t argue; he was right. I had made us both suffer, and I had no excuse. “I’m sorry.”“You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you…and you’re sorry?”