Saturday, 14 November 2009
04:18:26 AM (GMT)
Damon stares at her. She looks out of place. All the girls here have blonde hair if
they're white, big boobs, and bikinis with flawless, air-brushed, tan skin. And if
they're black, they have flawless skin and brown weave, also wearing white bikinis.
She's different. Her face is smooth and brown, high-cheekbones, a serious, bad,
don't-mess-with-me look, wide, brown, doe eyes. Her body is shaped like
theirs--skinny and curved. But they lack what she has--tattoos up and down her back.
He can see one trailing down into the bottom of her bikini. On her ass? He'd like to
see that one. Her bikini isn't a plain color--it's black with bright yellow and hot
pink and orange peace signs. She wears it with a sort of grim pride. She looks
Only the music is audible. The clinking glasses, girls shrieking, guys laughing and
whistling and hollering, all of has stopped. An eery silence starts as she walks
through the gate. And she knows it's because of her, Damon can tell. She walks with a
sort of exaggerated hip-swaying walk. But it looks natural. Her hair swings over her
shoulder, seemingly falling into the act.
She takes a seat at the back in a lawn chair, surveying. Her brown eyes have a sort
of edge to them--like she's angry, determined, or trying to look tough. Whatever it
is, it's working.
The whispers and talks start. Everybody, whispering about her. This girl. Who is
she? Who does she belong to? Who invited her? And why?
"Hey, chick, what the hell are you doing here?" asks the girl closest to Damon. A
white girl named Cherry with a rocking, bangable body. Damon doesn't normally notice,
but he's a little tipsy and not his usual, gentlemanly self.
The girl rolls her eyes. "Does it matter? I'm here. Plus, I wasn't aware it was a
private, rich-bitch party. I wouldn't have came," she answers. Her voice is light,
but with underlying tension. Her shoulders stiffen.
"Well, why are you here?" Cherry asks.
"Bitch, I'm here 'cuz I was invited here. Plus, just like you, I want to party,
flirt, get drunk off my ass, sleep with some hot guy who'll dump me later and tell
all his friends how good I was in bed, and then get passed to all fo them while still
'dating' the boy and become a cheap slut. And then, I'll probably become pregnant or
contract some diasese like AIDs or HIV. Then, I'll get angry and sleep with all the
guys I can to spread my diasese around in revenge," she says. "Ooo, is that a
margarita? Thank you." She pulls the pink straw to her mouth and takes a sip of the
bright red liquid.
Damon chuckles. He, for some reason, can't picture her flirting. Or getting drunk
off her ass. But he does like her attitude.
The back door to the mansion opens. Kenny, the host of the party, comes out. The
girl gets up and runs, flinging herself into his arms with a smile. "Dallas!" he says
with a big grin, hugging her back. "I didn't think you'd make it! How was California?
And how was--"
"Later, Ken!" Dallas chirps, giving him another hug. "Yeah, after you invited me, I
decided to come. I didn't know you'd have slutty hoes here. I seriously thought you
has more class than that, br--" she stops abruptly, looking at him with a soft,
He smiles at her. "Glad your back, sis. So glad." He pats her back and sticks his
hand out. "You're sixteen. No drinking."
She sighs heavily and hands him the drink. "Awww, grow up. Might not make you
happy, but I'm here to stay."
"Cool." His eyes tighten, though. He looks concerned, but determined not to show
it. "Are you sure?"
"Very," she says. She turns to Cherry suddenly. "So, bitch, this is my brother. My
paren't house. If anybody shouldn;t be here, it should be--"
"You," Kenny says, voice hard.
She looks at him, hurt in her eyes and face. Then, that face of hard determination
settles over her. "Fine," she says with a very sarcastic smile. "I'll go. Whatever."
Her voice has lost its politeness, formalness. It's a bit....southern. She throws her
bag over her shoulder. "See ya later, Kenny. Oh, wait, I won't. I forgot, I don't
Her voice is joking, but Damon can sense the hurt. He gets out of the pool,
ditching Cherry and the other girls. He grabs his cowboy hat from a near-by table and
puts it on. It'll help for some reason. He's not sure why he's going help her. It
just feels right. So right. He sighs and steps into her path of walking. "Hello. I'm
"Dallas," she snarls. "Move. I hafta goo," she says. She pauses to look at his hat,
"Why don't you --"
"Stay? Haha, Damon, very funny. I don't go where I'm nto wanted. Nobody here wants
me, I'm not wanted in California, and I'm definitely not wanted anywhere else. The
only place they want is where I don't want to go--Louisiana."
"What's there?" he inquires, grabbing her wrist unintentionally.
"What I want. Now move," she growls, trying to push him.
"No. Stay. I want you to stay. I want you here."
"Sure ya do. Iz cuz I'm half-way necked and I have big boobs. What boy doesn't me
here for that reason?" She throws her bag down and pushes him against the wall. "I
never leave without leaving my mark. You're just the poor, helpless mouse that's
gonna get caught in it this time."
She grins wildly, eyes unhuman and savage. She presses closely to him. She seems to
fix exactly into the curve of his body--his hard, musucular, football-player type
body. She stops with her lips just seconds away from a kiss from his. Damon stays
still, his eyes hard and blank. His face impassive. It's no fun for her if he's not
scared. Or horny.
She brushes her lips lightly across his.
Sensuous feelings arouse within him. He grabs her waist, pulling her closer,
kissing her harder. He crushes her lips to him. He pulls away first. She steps back,
dizzy. He grins. "And who's the cat and mouse now?" he asks, teasingly.
She shakes her head. "I'm still the alley cat. But you're the tom cat, Daddy Cat
warned me not to mess with me, Cowboy." She winks, takes his cowboy hat, and places
it on her head. "Me-ow."
He trails his fingers on one of her tattoos. A cat-like mark. Underneath it, it
says, Alley Cat. He runs his fingers to the start of the tattoo that goes down to her
ass. He stops at the hem of the bikini bottom. She sighs, shaking. "Stop. Please,"
she whispers, sounding younger and softer. "Please."
He keeps it up, using his other hand to pull her closer. What's with him? He wants
to stop, but he can't. She fights against him, struggling. She looks ready to cry,
but Damon can't see her face. He can't really see anything but her back. Anything but
her tattoos. The one leading down to her ass. And he wants to rip off the bottoms and
kiss her till they're both naked, rolling on the ground, screwing each other.
"STOP! Please!" she shrieks, moving away from him. "Stop, Damon." She's actually
crying. He can hear it in her voice.
Oh, God. What's wrong with me? Damon thinks.
He feels sick to his stomach. He removes his hand from her back. She turns around,
expression hot and angry, but eyes still wet. "What the fuck's wrong wit you?" she
demands. She raises her hand back and slaps him. "You fuckin' perv! Don't touch me
She starts sobbing, shuddering. Damon barely feels the hit. He is a vampire after
Dallas fights through the crowd, tears welling up in her eyes. How could he do that?
Why would he do that? Does he know? Did Kenny tell everybody? Please. What he hell is
she going to do? Her plan was to stay here for the night until she found some other
arrangement. But now, she can't stay anywhere. She's not welcomed.
She slams the gate into place. Her mind races, filled with thoughts of Damon. How
she actually enjoyed his touch for that minute or so, but then it reminded her of a
few years ago.....She's aware of what Kenny would've told everyone. "My sister's a
slut, a hoe. That's why she went away. They had to control her. Had to. She was wild.
A regular alley cat."
But it's not true! Not at all! I know the truth.
She takes off for the street. The talking--gossping really--starts again. She can
hear it in her ears. As sure as she can here her own thoughts. As sure as she can
feel her pounding heart. A sickness starts inside of her, so deep, so painful. So
sad. So many remembers. Released. What is she going to do?
A car pulls over. A black Mercedes. Daddy's car.
Her eyes widen. "Oh shit," she whispers. "Not after four years of ignoring you."
A man gets out. He's tall, blond, with blue eyes. Her father. She gulps, thinking
about running. She doesn't like to run. She perfers to take her problems and kill
them head-on. But she doesn't know if she's still on restraint from him.
So she runs.
Runs like someone has a white-hot torch to her butt. She drops her bag. She runs so
fast, her feet barely touch the ground. She can hear the car behind her. Hear it like
it's right there. Hear it like her heart. She kicks up speed. She has to be going
fast. She's so tired. Her side is cramping, sharp, angry pains to her side. Her heart
is burning, her throat is on fire. Her mouth is dry. She screams. "Kenny!" Her voice
is loud and piercing. Please, hear.
She's not very hopeful.
The Mercedes pulls over and the door opens.
Tears flood down her cheeks, salty and wet. They keep a steady stream, hitting the
pavement. She starts to slow. But she can feel the people behind her. Can feel them
like someone feels the sharp slap in the face.
Something grabs her waist. She shrieks as she's pulled behind her. She struggles,
thrashing and kicking. She prays like she has never prayed for. Praying for an
"Dallas, it's me. Damon. Shhh, be still. He'll go away soon," Damon whispers by her
She sobs quietly, burying her face into his bare chest. His muscles are hard, but
his shoulder blade provides a good place to rest her head. He's so warm. And, despite
the summer heat and her sweating, she's freezing. Shivering. Her heart rate doubles,
a long pounding.
"You're so w-w-warm," she stutters, staring at him. He looks blurry. Oh, wait,
that's the tears. She wipes them from her eyes and gets a closer look at him. He's
about her brother's age, which is also her age. Sixteen, seventeen. His hair is
black, tints of brown in it. His eyes are wider than hers and especially dark brown.
His face is square, but sweet. His hair is long. His body lanky and compact, tall.
He nods. "Shh, I hear them."
"You're a vampire, too," she whispers, looking vulnerable and sweet.
He pulls her behind him. "Be quiet. Don't move that much. Try not to breath too
loud until I tell you," he commands.
She huddles in the corner, not breathing. She closes her eyes, trying to relax
herself. She doesn't dare move, though. Danger isn't out the way and she can't forget
it. If she does, the consequenses are painful. Not to mention humiliating. Who knows
what her dad wants? Damon presses himself against her tightly. She stays still, not
moving an inch except for a slight trembling of fear.
A blone head peeks in. "All I want is to talk to the girl, son. You can go back to
His voice scares her. She scrambles up, bumping her head in the tight space. She
turns around into the wood, trying to knock it down, screaming at the top of her
lungs. His voice, to her, is fire. Hot, destructive, licking up to hurt, burning. She
just wants to escape. Damon grabs her around the waist, wanting her to stop before
she hurts herself. She then notices the blood on her hands and feet, but she doesn't
feel pain yet.
"I'm not your son. And if you want to talk to her, you can do it with me
listening," Damon says, voice controlled and tight. "Or you can leave her alone."
"You don't tell a big man like me what to do with a little girl like her, little
boy. Especially when that's my daughter. I suggest you release her or things are
going to get ugly."
Dallas feels herself being passed to the cold, hard, calloused hands of her
father. She stares at Damon in hurt shock. He shrugs, mutters sorry, and walks out.
She bursts into sobs.