A Place to Belong: Chapter 15

Chapter XV

Is Love Possible?

When the sun set, I made my way up the ladder to the top of the belltower and sat on the edge. I was reading through some old journal that Natalia had given me to study the foundations of blood sorcery and rituals, but I found myself having difficulties focusing on the words. My eyes wandered up to watch the stars peeking out through the deepening Charlotte sky. Bugs hummed, cars whirred down on the roads below, and over my head the bell creaked back and forth, its clapper long gone. 

A moment later, the sound of wood creaking under someone’s weight came from my right. I looked over and saw Diego’s head appear as he climbed the ladder. Without a word, he walked over and sat down next to me, staring out at the night’s sky. We sat in silence for a while, then he finally broke it by clearing his throat and speaking without turning to face me. 

“Jeans and a hoodie, huh?” he asked, a note of the old familiar teasing in his voice. “I didn’t think you owned anything like that.” 

“It’s actually my preference,” I said, shrugging and closing the book in my lap. “Suits were something for work. Something for rich assholes to see and think I was one of them. Give me a broken in pair of jeans, steel toed boots, and a nerdy graphic tee any day.” 

He laughed at that. 

“What about the ring?” he nodded at the gold ring on my finger still. I’d actually forgotten to take it off like had become a habit back in my old life when I would come home and change out of my camouflage. 

“It’s my grandfather’s,” I told him. “Or, it was. When he passed away my grandmother gave me his jewelry box. Most of the stuff in there wasn’t my vibe, but this? This was a little piece of family, a memory of our name and of all the lessons he and everyone put in my head.” 

“Is that where the sense of justice thing came from?” Diego asked. 

“Not just him, but yeah,” I said, grinning. “I remember my mother telling me how violence was never the answer, and that everyone deserved to be heard… then my grandfather told me if I ever got in a fight, go for the nose. No one can fight if they can’t see through their own tears.” 

“Justice comes in a lot of forms,” Diego laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly. He looked away, and I felt his mood shift. “Do you ever talk to them?”

I shrugged. 

“Less than I should, more than I used to,” I told him. “I was really bad back then. Focused only on myself, mostly on trying to survive. I always felt like an outsider, even in my own family. I was never as successful, or as outgoing, or as accomplished as my sisters were. Never really built anything for myself like I wanted to. Found out later I was playing with a disadvantage, but even when I started to overcome that, I still wasn’t able to build anything for myself. Then… I died. Now, I have the power and the skill to build something for myself… and I can’t even share it with them. Grey is the accomplished one, Bryan is still just… there.” 

“Is that what they think of you?” he asked me, his eyes filled with a sad compassion. I shook my head. 

“No,” I told him, an old warmth seeping into my voice. “I’m sure they haven’t always had the most favorable thoughts about me, but I know they love me and want what is best for me. It’s what I think about myself.”

Diego was quiet for a while, looking out at the city below. I sat and waited, wondering if he wanted me to speak or if he was building up his own courage. Deciding to wait, I sat with him and looked out at the city in silence. It was nothing like Manhattan. Hell, back when I lived in New York, I probably would have laughed at Charlotte, saying how it barely counted as a city. A fistful of tall buildings and a ton of bad parking did not a city make. 

Now, having lived down here for a while, I found a serene peace that came with this smaller city. Always something going on, but not the same constant noise and bedlam of the city that never sleeps. There was a sense of calm that lived alongside the energy, even as early as it was. This city looked like my new life, or my afterlife, whichever it was. Always something happening, but nowhere near as chaotic and stressful as it had been when I was alive. More than anything, I think it came from having the sense that, if nothing else, I had the power to at least influence my world now. Something it never felt like I could do when I was alive. 

“Do you think we deserve it?” Diego asked, and I found myself being pulled back into the moment with him. 

“Deserve what?” I asked him, hoping I hadn’t missed him talking while lost in my own mind. 

“To be loved,” Diego asked, pulling his knees into his chest and resting his chin on them. “By our families, by any mortals…” 

There was something else, but he wasn’t ready to ask, so I just thought about the question. 

“I’ve only been dead for a few months, so it’s hard for me to tell. I barely saw my family before dying as it was, since we live a thousand miles away,” I told him. “I don’t know if I’ll continue to deserve their love, based on what I am, and not just the vampire thing. I want to believe that they can still love me, but one day, when they start to realize I’m not aging, it’ll probably be best for me to vanish. Hopefully, I think I may have a bit of time before that happens.”

“I envy that,” Diego said, bitterly, crossing himself for the sin. “I got turned when I was twenty-five. That was seven years ago. I don’t look like I’ve aged a day, and my whole family would notice immediately. I’m dead to them now. Literally, Diego Navarro is legally dead, thanks to that Cammie bitch that bit me. I can still use the name, though. I moved out here, with help from the Anarch movement out in LA, and I’ve been able to make something like a life for myself, despite not having one.”

I nodded slowly as he told me his tale. 

“That’s why you’re so loyal,” I said, understanding. “A Camarilla embraced you, and I assume she was the one to train you too. Then you were given a better option, and you took it.” 

Diego opened his mouth, as if to argue, but I held up my hand. 

“I’m not blaming you,” I added, my tone neutral and non-judgemental, as I learned from listening to Isadora. “You were unhappy, lost, and given an out. You did what you needed to do for yourself. You chose survival.” 

“At the cost of my family,” he said, the bitter note returning to his voice. “At the cost of everything I had… almost everything.” 

I noticed a clacking in his right hand, like a bead necklace was dangling from his grip. His body blocked it from my view, but based on what I knew about him, I had a guess of what it was. 

“Was the rosary a gift?” I asked him. He just nodded. 

“For my confirmation,” he said, the sound of clacking now more pronounced as he wasn’t hiding it from me anymore. We sat for a while longer as he built up his courage. He wasn’t afraid of my response, I knew there was nothing I could do to shake his faith. The question he had was more terrifying to him than anyone’s answer could be. 

“Do you think…” he started, clenched his jaw, then steeled himself. “Do you think God can still love me?”

Catholicism wasn’t my forte when it came to religion. I was raised Episcopalian, grew into an atheist, and adopted a lot of Buddhist ideals, even if I didn’t live by them all. Religion wasn’t a topic I felt confident speaking on supportively as most of my life was spent speaking adversarially about it. Diego knew that about me, he knew that I was probably the worst person in the world he could talk to about this. Which meant only one thing. 

I was the only person he could talk to about this. 

“What makes you think He doesn’t?” I asked, trying to understand his position before offering any advice. Either that, or I was procrastinating from giving advice. A man’s faith was being placed in my hand like a baby bird… and I felt like Lenny. 

“Really, pendejo?” Diego rolled his eyes at me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m a walking corpse that has to drink blood to stay alive… or undead… or whatever the fuck I am, and my very existance is an affront to God. Why wouldn’t I think that He doesn’t love me anymore?”

He sighed heavily, letting the words hang between us, the silence heavier than it had been before. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer, like the coo of a wounded dove. 

“I still pray,” he admitted. “I pray every night when I wake up, and every morning before I go to sleep. I say the words I was taught as a child… I talk to Him like he’s a friend just like how I prayed when I was a little kid and didn’t understand what prayer actually was. But I don’t feel Him anymore.” 

He tapped at his chest. A chest I knew no heart beat beneath. 

“I don’t feel Him in here anymore,” he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “That scares me more than any monster I’ve seen, heard of, or been threatened with.” 

For a moment I pondered his words, his fears, and his values. I was no priest, and an amateur theologian at best. There were a few arguments I knew against how religion treated people, but I needed now to find something, anything, that could support him. A spark of an idea ignited in my brain, and before I could overthink it, I spoke. 

“What is God?” I asked him, the force of the question as it left my lips made him snap his head up in shock. 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

“What is God?” I repeated. “What is God made of? Not flesh, not blood… is He made of star dust? Energy? Marshmallows?”

Diego started to get to his feet. 

“I should have known better than asking you,” he said, voice hot. “Everything’s a fucking joke…” 

“I’m serious,” I said, cutting him off as I got to my feet too. “Does the bible say anything about what God is made of? Because I think it does. I remember something. God is… God is…” 

“God is love?” Diego asked, rolling his eyes. “What? Are you quoting a fucking bumpersticker at me?”

He turned to walk away. 

“Is it wrong?” I asked, making him pause again. He heard me, now I just needed to make him listen. While he wavered in that moment between hope and defeat, I pressed him. “What crime in the bible, what sin can you commit, that makes God stop loving you? Name one where he stops loving you.” 

“Break the commandments,” Diego said, turning around with a sense of his old confidence shining through,  though I could tell from a waver in his voice that he wasn’t completely convinced. 

“You think God stops loving teenagers who mouth off to their parents?” I asked him. “What about murderers who repent? Does God not love them?”

“I mean, he still loves them, even if they do something worth going to hell over. Like me, for instance,” he said, shrugging, his eyes cast out over the city, unable to meet my gaze. “You know, hell? That place that we’re going?”

“Murder is a mortal sin, yes,” I said, nodding. “But that only separates someone from God’s grace doesn’t it? Not his love.” 

Diego pursed his lips, chewing on his bottom one slightly. 

“Okay, yeah,” Diego admitted. “And I guess I’m pretty far from his grace right now, but no, I guess that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still… love me.” 

“God loves his sinners as much as his faithful,” I confirm from what little knowledge I had. “And from what I can tell, there’s only one thing that a person can do for Him to ever stop loving them. Final Impenitence." 

Diego nodded, solemnly. 

“To die without seeking repentance,” he said, quietly. 

“Did you die still trying to do what was right in His eyes?” I asked. Diego just nodded. “And as we start our mission tonight, potentially facing the final death, will you still try to seek redemption in His name?”

Diego looked at me, seeing how serious his expression was, I felt I must be reaching him. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice carrying more conviction than mine ever had. 

For a moment, I felt the envy towards him that he’d felt towards me earlier in the conversation. It was something only the faithful were blessed with, true conviction. No scientist, no logical individual, ever felt this level of certainty. The laws of physics were one discovery away from being completely rewritten, but the confidence of even the most foolish of the faithful was an unshakeable thing.  

“Then take heart, Diego,” I said, smiling at him. “The fact that you still give a damn whether God loves you or not is probably the strongest piece of evidence that he does.” 

He laughed at that, shaking his head. 

“Faith doesn’t need evidence, Grey,” he said to me, a warm smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, somewhere between grateful and cocky. “But thank you. Thank you for using that logic of yours to help remind me of my faith.” 

“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but I did not like trying to walk that tightrope between your needs and my opinions,” I said with a slight sigh. “I think any topic would have been better other than religion.” 

“Is that so?” Diego asked, leaning against one of the stone columns that held up the top of the belltower. “Are you in love with Isadora?”

I glowered at him. 

“Almost any other topic would have been better than that one,” I said, my voice flat and cold. He just laughed at me. 

“Come on, you two are freakishly in sync with each other,” Diego pushed, and I began to feel regret for supporting him in his time of need. “Plus, she was hanging all over you at Optimist Hall.” 

“She needed grounding,” I said, and instantly regretted my phrasing as Diego stifled a snicker. “She doesn’t do crowds well, and she needed someone solid to hang on to. You’re a living shadow, so not all that solid, and Callie… well they hate each other.” 

“Fair,” he said, unable to wipe the immature grin from his face. “But she opened up to you, and more than that, you opened up to her. I’ve known you for months, man. Months. And I’ve never gotten you to open up about anything.” 

“I’ve told you about my plan,” I said, a bit defensively. 

“Oh boy, the master plan where you…” Diego paused, pretending to flip through a notepad. “Use your newfound vampire powers to gain power and status in order to punish those who you feel deserve it.” 

He looked up at me and rolled his eyes. 

“Same song, different chorus,” he said, tone flat and judgemental. 

“I will not have a child like you quoting Bowling for Soup at me,” I said, pointing my finger menacingly at him, barely fighting back a grin. 

“Dude, if I were alive I’d be like thirty-two,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning at me. “I was in middle school when that song came out.” 

“That’s… a good point,” I admitted, lowering my finger. Now it was my turn to cast my eyes out over the city contemplating the complications of my unlife. “She mentioned that too.” 

“The generic nature of your evil plan?” he asked, grinning. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be an evil plan,” I admitted, gripping the parapet and leaning forward, feeling nearly nothing as the cool wind whipped across my face. Temperature barely meant anything to a corpse, after all. “I wanted to do all the things I couldn’t do as a drone when I was alive. Working so hard just to make enough to get by, killing myself to be a peon that no one cared about, that couldn’t take care of himself. Who needed mommy and daddy to support him because he was too fucking stupid or powerless to take care of himself.” 

My fist hit the stone of the parapet and I realized how much frustration was pouring out of me. I took a deep breath, more out of habit than need, and steadied myself before continuing. 

“These people, these powerful people,” I continued, harsh sarcasm in my voice. “They stole from us. Stole our futures. Stole our money. Stole our security. And then made us feel like we were the problem. Not just feel it, believe it! For years I would think to myself I needed to work harder to be successful, then for years I thought I was such a fuck up that it didn’t matter how hard I worked, I’d always be a failure. Then finally, finally I realized the truth. I was on a hamster wheel, and these fat fucks, gorging themselves on my labor, my insecurities… They weren’t even watching my suffering. They weren’t causing it because my suffering amused them like the sociopaths they are. No! They cause my suffering as a byproduct of their greed. The harder I worked, the more they ate.” 

Diego looked at me, his lips a hard line, but I could see he agreed with me. The fires of righteous indignation burned behind his eyes too. He was young, but he may have had the same experience. Most definitely he watched others suffer that fate. He didn’t interrupt me, so I kept talking. 

“And the more I blamed myself for it, the less I cared to fix it. ‘Why bother?’ became my fucking mantra,” I said, shaking my head. “Just accepted where I was because there was no way for me to get anywhere else. Lost everything I loved because I didn’t care enough to work harder for it. Then, when I finally found the motivation to try, to make my mark, I got taken advantage of by another fat cat just trying to use idealistic, motivated people until there was nothing left to squeeze out of them.” 

Diego placed his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, saw him look down at my hands, and so I followed his gaze. My fingers had torn gouges into the stone, grinding up dust that was falling from the side of a building like a light snow. Slowly I eased my grip and Diego helped me pull my arms back, away from the edge before I could cause any more damage to the building. 

“Maybe I do want revenge,” I said, quietly. My voice shook, so I clenched my jaw to steady it. After a moment, I continued. “But if my vengeance protects others from suffering the way I suffered, am I really doing anything evil? And don’t use your God as a metric for me. I can go off on the hypocrisies of the church. ‘Though shalt not murder now let’s ethnically cleanse the holy land.’ Who is God to judge mortals at that point…” 

Diego gripped both my shoulders hard. I winced slightly, surprised by his strength as I felt the pain knock me out of the mental spiral I was falling into. 

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a nod. 

“You’re welcome,” he responded, grinning. “And nah, I don’t see you as evil. Not for wanting suffering to end. For wanting to transfer that suffering back on those who caused it… well, camels and needles, right? If God says those assholes go to hell, then who am I to judge you for wanting to expedite the process? But you didn’t answer my real question. About Isadora.”

Sighing deeply, I shook my head at him. 

“You are persistent,” I said to him. 

“Thank you,” he grinned. 

“That wasn’t a compliment,” I said, brushing his hands off my shoulders, thinking back on Isadora. The chemistry behind us was undeniable, but love? “No, I’m not. But, that’s not to say that one day I wouldn’t be. In fact, odds are really good that if she and I remain close, it will develop into something like that. I don’t know if it’s something either or both of us will pursue, but man… I’ve known her for like two days. Romeo and Juliet is a terrible example of falling in love, and they took longer.”

“But love can happen?” Diego pressed me. 

“Why is my love life so important to you?” I asked, rolling my head to one side and looking at him, feeling exasperation overwhelm me. But when I saw his expression, the nervous eyes behind the cocky grin, I realized. “You’re not worried about my love life.” 

His eyes flashed wide, exposing his panic for just a moment. 

“You want hope that one day yours could grow into something more than one night stands and flirtations at bars,” I continued extrapolating. “Of course, it makes sense. You lost your whole family when you were embraced. It makes sense that you wouldn’t want your future love stolen from you too.” 

“Man, I need you to stop,” Diego said, but I barely heard him as my brain worked. “Now.” 

“Now I see,” I continued, not noticing his growing agitation. Not seeing as he stalked closer to me, anger clear on his face. “You’re exactly the same. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on it sooner.” 

I turned to face him, grinning with my conclusion. 

“You’re just as angry at the Camarilla who embraced you as I am at those rich assholes who abused me,” I said, and the fist that was coming for my face paused a hair’s breath from my face half a second before I realized it was incoming. I blinked, processed, then leaned slightly to my left to see Diego’s angry, yet now confused, expression. 

“What?” he asked. 

“You’re like me,” I said to him, placing my hand on top of his fist and gently pushing it down. “A past you can’t return to, a future you felt was stolen from you, and a desire that somehow, in this new body and this new world, we’ll find some way to achieve what we wanted to in life, even if it’s not exactly what we imagined it would be.” 

Diego looked at me, his face a mask of confusion and awe. 

“How are you like this?” he asked me finally. 

“Like what?” I asked, now feeling the confusion too. 

“How are you so profoundly dense to how others are feeling, but able to read us like books?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “How are you such a raging asshole but able to care so deeply about the people around you? How the fuck can you make me want to punch you in the face over and over again, but still make me feel seen and understood?”

I sat with his words for a moment, reliving moments in my life when I’d heard the same sentiments thrown at me, but with different words. All the times that I was right, but wrong for how I presented it. All the people for whom love wasn’t the problem, but patience in dealing with my inability to get my shit together. And for all the times when they showed up anyway, regardless of my flaws. Only one answer was right, and so I smiled and shrugged at him. 

“George just lucky, I guess,” I said, mimicking Diego’s own cocky grin. He looked at me, even more confused for a moment, then realization hit. 

“Dude, I was like four when that came out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Really?”

“Hey, it's a classic, and Brendan Frasier is awesome,” I said, grinning like a madman. 

“In the words of the dude,” he shook his head as he walked towards the ladder. “You’re not wrong, you’re just an asshole.” 

Following him with a grin plastered to my face, I tried not to think of all the hell we’d put ourselves through for the love of others. More than that, I tried not to think about the hell we were about to face just because we needed to make others think that they held our love and devotion. We were off to face the council and get our next big mission together. This was the one that Natalia had been honing me for. This was the one she’d pretended to save me for. All of it came down to tonight. 

And for the love of god, I hoped we were ready.