Never Getting Enough Of Her Novels & Stories

"They’ve found a specialist who can help, but the cost is astronomical. We need a huge sum to even get started. The kind of money we don’t have. I’ve been trying everything I can, but we’re still so far off." The frustration in her voice was palpable. I could picture her pacing in her apartment, probably clutching the phone in one hand, the other pulling at her hair. Lena wasn’t someone who panicked easily, but I could tell the weight of it all was wearing her down. "Shit," I muttered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "We’ve been trying so hard, haven’t we? Both of us, just trying to get enough to save him. But it’s never enough. It’s never enough."

She was incomplete. She had little appetite, only drinking enough blood each night to soothe the worst of the thirst, but other than that, she couldn’t bring herself to finish more than half a bag. On the sixth night, she was so weak that she couldn’t move. Declan showed up two hours after sundown and forced her to empty the bag, sitting with her until she was done, but when she reached out to him, she walked into the same, dark void. He disappeared again soon after.

I can give her everything she needs, my way. If before I thought about giving up, I see that it was completely impossible. I can't imagine her with another guy. The idea makes me freak out, like the night at the club, but the hardest part is being near her without being able to touch her, the days become boring. The nights have been endless, with a lot of insomnia and dreams that leave me even more frustrated. Life has become a challenge without her. Diana Adams smiles at me from the other side of the room. Dazzling as always. She's already given me some great nights. I pick up two glasses of champagne when I see her approaching.

The way winning a deal and coming home to quiet had been sufficient for so long that he'd stopped noticing the ceiling until he hit his head on it in November. She listens the way she watched the panel — fully, tracking the specific moments where the real thing is happening underneath the stated thing. "You haven't been unhappy," she says. "That's not what this is." "No," he agrees. "You've been — complete within the limits of what you'd decided to want," she says. "And the limits were sufficient but not—" "Enough," he says. Her word. "Yes," she says. He looks at her. "You've been precise about this for a long time," he says. "The wanting things clearly. Knowing what enough means."

She is quiet for a moment. "He started pulling away about eight months in," she says. "No dramatic reason. No single event. Just. Less available. More distracted. More of himself going somewhere I could not see." She looks at her hands briefly. "I kept thinking it was something I had done. Something I could fix. I tried for four months to fix something that was not mine to fix." The studio is very quiet. Outside the building the evening has settled into itself. No sound from the hallway. Just us.

She simply stared at the disturbed earth covering Hazel's grave. "I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to fit into a life that was never built for me." The words came slowly, as though each one had to force its way out. "I'm tired of trying to be enough." I felt something tighten inside my chest, "You are enough." She laughed, "I don't want this anymore. I don't want to spend every day wondering whether I'm smart enough. Strong enough. Good enough. I don't want to stand beside someone who's always ten steps ahead of me."

That should have been enough, the ultimate measure of success. But for his grandmother, it was never enough, she craved something more, something that transcended mere material wealth. So here they were: him, staring down a woman who had no idea what she'd signed up for, what her future held, and her, about to prove just how stubborn she could be, how fiercely she clung to her independence.

She couldn't muster any positive energy and she didn't want to feel happy or anything. She just wanted to feel nothing. Her stomach grumbled painfully, sending her rolling from up the bed to the floor. "Am hungry. Am so hungry." I need food. Skylar growled with gritted teeth. Positive or negative energy. Nothing could ever affect her appetite. That's it. She crawled to her reading table then grabbed her already dying phone. 8 percent. I should charge you. Maybe later. She felt already tired from breathing, anything else becomes. Obviously not a necessity.

I deduce that her iron must be low, so I've tried to hold off and feed her even more food. As I figured, I broke over and have drank from her again. It's dangerous, yet convenient having her close. It's hard to restrain when I have an endless supply right there, but it's only endless if I ration it right. This is where the problem comes in. It's a slippery slope for me. The more I get the more I want. I've never been much on self control.

"Thank you so much, but you didn't have to—I'm not a baby. I'll be all right." "But you're having a baby—our baby," She takes my hand and releases me. "Are you already feeling hungry? Do you need anything?” "Yes, to a degree. The problem is that having a baby is draining me of strength. I massage my flat belly.” "Reason why you need to eat" “True, but without the mixture the chef always adds.” "Ouch! That's a problem now. I never gave it much thought. Been so accustomed to receiving poor care that it seems normal.” After we enter the room, she makes me sit down on her beautifully laid-out bed. "Are your feet in need of a massage?”