For someone who exists in a state of constant stasis I certainly experience a lot of change. Ngozi still cared for me but the romantic notion of what I am was gone. In a moment of terror and weakness she had seen a glimpse of the beast within the man and there could be no more illusions.
Needlessly things were even more complicated. Ngozi was carrying the child of her attacker, a child whose nature and mortality would be affected by my blood in ways that could not be predicted. My blood saved them. My blood had damned them both. But Ngozi was unique. After her assault I fed her enough of my blood to change her, still she was only near death and I could not force the transition and make her one of us. She recovered physically and was altered. She suffered the cravings, but the nightmare memory of me was the only impetus she needed to resist these urges.
We both knew she wouldn’t stay. How could I ask her to, even if I believed that I could take care of her…she earned her freedom, and a fresh start. I would take care of her home on the island and give her the space I knew she needed, but I would never be far from her. Before the end of her first trimester she left for the United States where she believed she could give her son a chance at a normal life. I was sickened at the thought, because I knew that things would never be normal for us…with me nothing ever was.
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