Amy didn’t argue. It was as good as worthless. This wasn’t just some vampire taunting her. Peter remembered everything he’d seen as a human, everything he’d heard Amy talking about. He knew how much she feared and hated vampires. She couldn’t very well say that she’d made a complete 180 and gotten over all of it and expect him to believe it. All she could do was avoid giving him more fuel. She clenched her jaw tight, grinding her teeth as she tried to figure out the best exit route.
“I would.” She admitted in a low voice. It would take a lot. No one wanted Peter death. Amy could just imagine the aftermath. Missing Peter and knowing he wasn’t coming back, feeling the blame from his friends and herself... It was a last effort and she would use it as such. If she could help it, she’d just get out of there alive and carefully plan Jerry’s demise. “You don’t want that, do you?”
Then, an unforeseen blow. Peter brought up her time spent with Jerry. It felt as if someone punched her in the gut. She couldn’t breathe. It was as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Nobody had asked her what had happened in that time between the nightclub and Jerry’s basement. Amy wasn’t stupid. In the nightclub she’d had her jeans under the white dress. When Charley saw her next it had just been the dress she was wearing. Nobody had prodded or inquired how that happened and she certainly hadn’t gone out of her way to explain things, but sometimes she thought that it was simply understood. One of those things that people knew but didn’t talk about. She thought of it as having been out of her mind, hungering for blood along with certain other things and feeling that strange loyalty to her maker. She’d tried so hard to forget every second, but all that hard work had gone to waste.
Amy closed her eyelids for a second, stopping tears from welling up in her eyes. As it wasn’t smart to stand around a vampire with one’s eyes closed, she opened them as quickly as she could manage. She’d felt her grip on her stake loosen slightly in that moment of emotional vulnerability and she remedied that by holding on even tighter, knuckles white.
“That’s in the past.” Her voice wavered so slightly that most wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Now I guess that’s your job. Being Jerry’s bitch.” She spat out the words at him. If he was trying to make her want to stake him, it was working. Anger was creeping up on her, replacing the sadness that she’d felt looking on at what her friend had become.