February 14th, 1945
Yet another holiday has passed in which my traveling companion surprised me. I cannot recall much in the way of celebrations when it came to Saint Valentine’s Day of my youth. When I was at university a few young women would approach me with tokens, but I was of course not interested. The day has always come and gone without incident. Considering how many days I spend sloshed drunk or recovering from a hang-over, I was surprised I knew what day it was at all.
We had recently ventured from our snugly cabin in order to investigate a string of brutal murders. Though I am not certain why Cyrus relies so much on my medical expertise, I suppose I am grateful for the opportunity to do something other than stew on my past.
Examining the lacerations, I was able to conclude the cause of death for a few of the bodies and Cyrus explained how he suspected a werewolf. I almost feel as if he is grooming me to continue on with him and investigate crimes of this nature. A part of me wanted to fight against him, but there was another part of me that was pleased. I am learning about supernatural creatures in a much more effective and useful way than before.
When we caught up with the culprit, Cyrus took care of the nasty business. It seemed that an individual had gone mad after the ‘change.’ He explained that if someone is bitten, they need to be taken in by a werewolf clan or they might lose themselves to the wolf inside. I found it tragic. Almost like a second puberty, only much more dangerous for other people.
The way that Cyrus explains the supernatural world is succinct and comprehensive. He seldom holds back information to me and I find myself listening with no small amount of interest. I do not know what our ‘partnership’ is or where it is going, but I suppose this is the arrangement that shall be for a while. He does not seem to have any plans to be rid of me. I still push him. I still do terrible things sometimes, but we are together and it is now eight months and counting.
So then we get to Saint Valentine’s Day and we have returned to our cozy cottage. I was tired from our traveling and ended up sleeping in. When I awoke I found a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on my bed side. I ate my food in bed and then eventually bathed and came out to the living area. There was soft music playing and little gifts sitting upon my favorite chair.
I did not know what to say. Cyrus had placed a single white rose and a little box of chocolates out for me. He explained that our case together had gone well and he hoped the breakfast in bed, flower and chocolates would show his appreciation. He poured me a glass of the sweetest most fragrant wine that I have ever tasted and the two of us sat and talked for nearly half the day.
I wish the rose had been red. At least then maybe I would have had some idea that he feels the way that I do, but white? What is that to mean? Surely he does not see anything pure about me. I was most appreciative of the gifts, however. I know I have mentioned my mother’s garden in the past and especially the roses. I cannot stop pressing the petals to my nose so that I might drink in the fragrance. In the middle of the winter, though; where did he find such a treasure?
I continue to live in both Heaven and Hell. My heart aches on a daily basis. How I wish I did not care for him as I do. How I wish he was not as wonderful as he is. How can it be that there is a man that exists that embodies absolute perfection?
If I continue it shall just be more gushing about him. Another time, perhaps, Journal.