Firstly, I own nothing to do with True Blood. I am still very much continuing on with my other story, I just had an itching to try something a bit different, and dark. Not sure what you'll think about this one, or whether anyone would ever be interested. This Eric is very much obsessed with Sookie since high school, he kidnaps her as a way to capture her affections. Not sure if you'll be interested in more, but feel free to let me know. :-) It would definitely encourage me. This Eric and Sookie, everyone, is human. It is something a bit different that my weird mind was interested in writing for a while now, as I said, it probably won't be of interest. Thank you for your time in reading regardless, if you do. I truly do love the rapport of the True Blood fanbase, you're all probably the most kindest people I've ever known on regarding commenting on fanfiction. So, anyway, hope you'll find some enjoyment, even if it isn't your cup of tea.

I'm On My Knees

Eric P.O.V:

We had the same English class together. I sat behind her in class a few times. She didn't look at me once, or acknowledged me, when I answered questions during lectures. I would watch the back of her head and her blonde hair in a long ponytail. It was very pale, very silky, like a satin curtain you just wanted to reach out and touch. Sometimes she wore it out, hanging across her back and her shoulders. Those very few days I did get the privilege to see her with her hair out, it never ceased to take my breath away. It was so beautiful, she was like a luminous goddess.

Another one time, when I was in the middle of doing weights at the gym, she showed up. She had gotten herself a membership at the same gym as me, all the more reason we were destined to be together. She would always select the treadmill several machines away from where I was working out, so I could watch her going at it sideways for over forty-five glorious minutes. Seeing her jogging always felt to me like I was witnessing a rare and spectacular show. She had the most amazing pair of glutes and the way her tanned tendons stretched while she ran in her cut-off gym shorts, and the light sheen of sweat bathing her skin while she ran in her white sneakers always was the most heart-in-mouth display I'd ever witnessed in front of my very own eyes.

The year I was still attending high school before I graduated I still didn't know who she was, only how her parent's had died in a car crash earlier that year and some talk I overheard once in the school cafeteria about how she was going steady with a boy in her grade called Bill. Really, I didn't care to know what her name was. Looking was just more than enough for me in that point of time.

Well, that was before there was an article in the local newspaper about her, about her promoting the restaurant where she worked at after school hours, Merlotte's, and her name was just as radiant as herself, Sookie Stackhouse. I cut that article out and kept it framed, and whenever I was feeling down, I would reread it and get this extraordinary feeling that if I read it hard enough, long enough, and memorized it, we would somehow cross paths and become more intimate with each other, in the ordinary way day-to-day citizens become with one another. Of course, we didn't actually know each other, we hadn't so much as even talked, nor did she ever acknowledge me, but I felt there was something special there between us regardless.

I can't exactly quite pinpoint or say, what it was about her, that drew her to me. She felt like the one to me, the only one out of a million others. I used to have daydreams about her during class while I stared at the back of her head, nothing all that malicious or crazy, just dreams of me getting enough balls to finally introduce myself to her formally, and then things would progress wonderfully. She would come to admire me, and soon, we would get married and she would be my wife. I would worship her, from her hair all the way down to her toes, and she would feel much the same for me in harmony.

The only times I didn't feel all that happy to see her, was when after school she would climb into a boy's car and they would ride off together. I think his name was Bill, he was the boy I had overheard her talking about, they were going steady and were boyfriend and girlfriend. I stood behind Bill once during gym and we were playing football, and he was bragging to another boy about how he was hoping to get to third base with her by the end of the semester. The other boy laughed and egged him on, saying he couldn't blame him because Sookie had such a purty ass and that he'd totally hit that. Half of the boys behaved like that, though. I couldn't say I agreed with him talking about her in such a light, however. So, being unable to restrain myself the way I was, I butted in by shoving this Bill hard in the chest and he took a stumble in the field. I might have also punched him straight in the nose, and the red shiny blood that dribbled from his nostrils might have also gratified me in some way. Anyway, after that random little incident, I would watch her climb into his car after class sometimes with a new sense of despair and for a few days after the gym hit, he had gauze wrapped around his nose and I think I might have even landed a decent enough hit to have broken it.

I saw the way he would glare at me from inside his car before speeding off out of the school lot, but she still never so much as gave me the time of day.

Those were the nights I had myself some bad dreams of them making out in his shitty car and advancing into third base territory. Sometimes I envisioned her coming straight to me afterwards, crying or usually falling to her knees, swearing to me that she had now seen the light and it was actually me that she wanted and not him. Sometimes I even let myself dream about her professing her love to me, that it was me all along, and then we would kiss and she would thank me for hitting her asshole boyfriend the way I did, and then we would laugh about it.

One night at a school party- after having seen her sitting on her boyfriend's lap around a burning bonfire- I was feeling in a pretty depressed mood. I told one of my buddies I felt like going for a long walk to clear my head, which I did at that moment in time. I walked, mulling everything over, and suddenly decided I felt like finally having a woman, because I couldn't have the one I wanted, so I could at the very least try to act like a normal, horny teenager in getting a random, easy girl.

On my walk I ran into a girl from the party, her name was Pamela, and she was a stumbling drunk. Since she was clearly inebriated and we flirted for a good bit, I decided to try her for a bit of you-know-what. Girls were always saying I was handsome and that I had a fit body, and she was no different. I thought she was beautiful, but she was no pale-haired, tanned Sookie goddess. I was a bit nervous when we snuck around a tree together, but I succeeded in not letting my nerves show. It was a bit horrible because she had far more than her bodies limit of alcohol tolerance to drink, and her hands kept fumbling, touching me here and there. Her mouth was all over the place. It was enjoyable, and it felt extremely good to me, but as I said, she was no Sookie. No other girl could really compare.

Anyway, we were halfway finished with doing it, and I completely ruined the entire experience by blubbering out Sookie's name, which was horrible. I tried explaining to her and apologizing, only it was no good. And then, to throw a fly in the ointment, Sookie and her stupid boyfriend came walking past, holding hands. They stopped dead in their tracks, took one brief look at us while I tried to make myself decent in pulling up my jeans, and it was then the first time she'd ever so much as acknowledged the ground I walked on.

Her eyes were straight on my uncovered ass. It was embarrassing because I didn't want her seeing me like that, see me as if I was just another one of the cocky high school boys who hit on anybody. She copped a pretty good eye-full of my ass, though, and after that night at the party, she never looked at me again ever since then. Something had certainly changed though, I knew I wasn't just being paranoid.

Whenever I got late into English class, she would freeze up and stare straight ahead at the teacher while he resumed grudgingly with his lecture after letting me in. Sometimes her lips would pucker, and she would appear all flustered. I guessed then, that my ass had been singed into her brain, and that made me feel tremendously cocky. If yet, in a sense, that just maybe there was hope in getting what I wanted after all. Her, it was always her I ultimately wanted.

I knew it was stupid, though, and that I was most likely dreaming and getting my hopes up. After I graduated, she still was very much involved with her boyfriend. That riled me up a bit, because I never believed high-school relationships were anything serious. Or at least, that nothing serious would ever evolve for them two.

"Man is nothing without a purpose in life." That, was very much true, in my humble opinion. And when Sookie Stackhouse became the purpose of my life, I was as valuable as the next man worthy of living, it should seem.

After graduating, I had plans to run the small humble bar my Uncle owned. I was very lucky, to say the least, in already having a job worked out the instance I graduated from school. At the end of September, my Uncle decided to fully retire and let me run the full works. It kept me busy for a good month or two, and Sookie Stackhouse never entered my mind since.

One humid evening at eight o'clock, she burst into my world yet again, crushing all my affections straight to the ground. She had entered, holding hands with her boy Bill, and though I wasn't a very superstitious person at heart, I believed it was God's way in saying we were meant to be, that this was it. She was meant to return back into my life, into my heart. She just didn't know it herself.

I had worked my ass off to give the bar a more homely and modern atmosphere. Since I wasn't too bad at it, I took it upon myself to redecorate the bar myself, which was a fine job, though I was the only one who said so myself. It definitely had worked out cheaper that way. I had pulled off the old wallpaper, brought in some new bright colors that seemed to cheer the place up.

I had a jukebox installed, too. A jukebox that she made good use of the one and first time she had entered my bar for the night with her boy.

She had slotted a coin into the machine, selected 'Hurt So Good' by John Mellencamp, and tore up the entire dance floor with some saucy moves. She was wearing a pretty yellow floral dress that day, with flat shoes. The dress was short and fell down just below her mid-thighs, and the way she shimmied to the music energetically and smiled her gap-toothed, radiant smile, it had me falling head-first for her all over again. She certainly had moves, and she put that gorgeous tanned body to decent use.

The bar had become known as a regular hot-spot for people to come to during the night to bust out some moves, but she put all the regular dancers to royal shame.

Her asshole boyfriend had slipped into a stool across from me while I worked at the bar to watch her carefully while she moved, and when she spun and looked in my direction- I couldn't tell whether she was actually looking at me, or her boyfriend, or not- her smile had widened and she had put her hands to good use, in fingering around the demure bones lining her collarbone area in her dress. Her eyes were shining, excited come-hither slits.

She definitely did make it hurt so good. The fact that she had chosen to come to my bar, of all places, with her boyfriend rubbed it all in for good measure. I couldn't understand what she saw in him. It really upset me if I'm to be completely honest. He looked like your average artistic type, with dark hair and a straight fringe. His body was the typical slim build, not much muscle, but a decent amount. He wasn't much of a smiling type, either; He simply sat there, glowering at her from across the room while she did her wild dance.

There were so many people around chattering, and all the noise coming from the jukebox and I felt so nervous when she approached the bar and stood beside her boyfriend, feeling suddenly parched from her carefree bout of vigorous exercise. I heard them talking through the music, and this boyfriend of hers, Bill, did not sound all that pleased in her behaviour. His words were short and cutting like a pair of scissors through the music blaring out of the flashing jukebox.

I felt so nervous when she stood right in front of me. I was pretending to be preoccupied with wiping down the bar with a wet rag, but my face felt red, and when I dared the smallest look- she was there looking right at me.

She looked somehow even more beautiful up-close in her dress, and when she asked for a gin and tonic I could read the words forming on her lips, but I couldn't understand them. My ears buzzed and her voice had a dream-like quality to it, until I snapped out of it and brought myself back down into the present, into reality.

I made her drink as quickly as possible and when she handed over a ten-dollar bill and told me to keep the change, my mind ceased functioning yet again. And then, her boyfriend blew it all to hell, in leaning over and saying, "I know you."

I was pretending to read the alcohol contents at the back of a bottle while I heard her sip at her drink appreciatively, twirling the rocks of ice around loudly in her glass with her hand like a maraca.

It worked far better for the nerves that way. "Oh, really?" I asked Bill dubiously. "You know me? I can't say I know you. Pity, really."

He didn't seem convinced. He gave me a twisted, strange smile. "You honestly don't remember me? You hit me in high school, right out on the field during gym."

"Oh my God, Bill." Sookie sounded as if she wanted to laugh. "It was him who hit you? I was wonderin' how your nose got broken!" In a way to appease him, she reached out and stroked his shoulder with her hand. My stomach dropped.

"In that case, I do recall hitting you," I said, pretending to be apologetic. "I accept full responsibility, and I'm sorry for that."

"Nonsense," she spoke for Bill brightly. "It's all water underneath the bridge now. Boy, that was over, what? Two or three years ago. Right, Bill?"

"Indeed, it was," he answered stiffly.

"Bill, I-"

"Forget it, Sookie." She whimpered when, with such unrestrained anger, he pushed her hand away and he rose to his feet. The legs of the stool underneath him gave an ear-splitting screech, and then he stormed away out of the bar. Seemed the conversation had touched a raw nerve, surprisingly.

There was a long pause when Sookie drained the rest of her glass. "Sorry about Bill," she had whispered sadly. "He's been unlike himself lately."

"I understand."

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "Well, thank you for the drink anyway. And your bar's real nice."

Because it was her saying it, it meant the world to me.

"Thank you," I smiled, hopelessly touched beyond words. "You should come back soon and tear up the dance floor some more."

She waved a hand in the air dismissively, fighting a proud smile. "Oh, please. I ain't that good a dancer."

"Sure, you are. The best I've ever seen here in years, in fact." And I wasn't lying about that part, because in my eyes, no other woman could compare to Sookie Stackhouse, dancing and all.

After an agonizing moment of indecision, she turned and left after her shitty boyfriend. I felt well and truly upset then. I didn't know why, but I just did. Clearly, she found something special in her boyfriend, Bill. I wondered if it was something I was lacking, whatever it might be. But I owned a bar, I was in control of alcohol allotments, and if she had stayed, there would have been more than a few free alcoholic drinks laid down at her feet on the house. I found then that the desire was strongest of all; It was something potent, something that coursed through my veins like the most deadliest poison. I would do anything for her, anything to please her, to see her smile. I would do anything to be her boyfriend, her faithful lover, or even so much as a loyal friend she could come to crying on my shoulder over something inconsiderate her boyfriend had done to her.

After that brief run-in, the first time we had openly spoken to one another, the dreams began again. The thoughts. At first, they were of her somehow getting caught in a sticky predicament where she was being robbed or attacked in the middle of a street, and I would come to her rescue, sweeping her off her feet. Then somehow, it turned into an idea where I was the man who was attacking her. I didn't hurt her, though; I simply stole her away from Bill, captured her like a rare species of exotic bird, and kept her hidden inside a cage. In a particularly nice way, though; Her cage wasn't anything made of steel bar, or cold. But it was full of colour, and light, of her relying on me to tend to her needs, where gradually during that time I had captured her, she would come to get to know me more appropriately without her boyfriend in the way, and she would come to like me, even love me eventually. And then the thoughts grew indulgently to, where afterwards, I would let her out of that cage and she would willingly comply and become my wife, my most dearest and cherished lover.

We would live in a nice, big modern home together, with a porch out front. A few trees in the yard here and there, with a tire swing, where our children could play. It seemed a realistic idea enough, nothing foolish about the notion one bit.

Those thoughts gradually came into ideals I expected would somehow happen in the not-too-distant future for me. Only, like most things in life, they never turn out that way. She never returned again to the bar, for weeks. Weeks turned into slow months, and on the third, I was growing impatient and left sourly disappointed. An idea began to grow inside my head, that if only I could have her with me, beyond her control, for several hours, days, nights, weeks. And there, in that time, she would come to understand that I've liked her ever since I first spotted her in high school, strutting into English class, and that I hadn't ever stopped since. There, she would come to see all the good in me, there she would start to appreciate me, and love me. Because, if I had her against her will and kept her away with only me, there would be no one else to interfere on me and her.

One morning, I made myself a cup of coffee - white, no sugars- sat down at the kitchen table in my substantially sized apartment with the day's addition of the newspaper, and for some reason I was drawn to the housing advertisements like metal being pulled to a magnet. I surveyed all the houses for sale, found one that was decent looking enough but still needed work, was a two bedroom house with a downstairs attic underneath the house. This one just seemed to catch my eye, and the fact it had an attic seemed like a done-deal.

Old and charming weatherboard house, built-in the 1930's, large garden, in secluded section of Bon Temp's, in-built outside porch...

It was calling to me. So, I made a call to arrange a suitable time to look inside it with a woman named Portia who worked in real estate, and bright and early next morning I drove over seven miles from Shreveport to evaluate it.

I initially expected considering how old it was, that the place would be run-down and would be needing a lot of repairs. The real estate lady said it was in excellent condition for its age, and that the plumbing just needed to be modernized a bit. The woman, Portia, I had expected her to be a lot older than she was. But she was only surprisingly ten years older than me at the most. Clearly, something about my tone on the phone had given her the expression I was far older than I was also, because she looked stunned when I showed up. She cracked a few jokes, and smiled at me in a way I felt too personal and uncomfortable by. She also asked if I had a girlfriend or a wife, and that it would be a real pity to buy such a house without someone to share it with. I knew she was being inquisitive and just the slightest bit flirtatious, but I didn't appreciate her candor one bit. I clarified that I did in fact have intentions of having someone else living here with me, but the fact that person would most likely be an unwilling house guest was something I didn't feel necessary to enlighten her with.

Since I bothered to drive all the way to see the house, I thought I better had looked around the inside of the house, having come all the way. The Portia woman kept following me around, like a shadow stuck to my side, prying me for details. When I was preoccupied with inspecting the kitchen cupboards, opening and closing them curiously, she had remarked that it was such a pity I was a "taken" man, and reached over to stroke my cheek with the back of her hand. I found it not only inappropriate, but annoying to deal with her pestering. I removed her hand from my face and went into another room and, much to my delight, she never did follow me in.

The living room and the kitchen weren't much, but they were adequate enough as far as living space was concerned. What I was itching to see the most, was this attic I had read about, and when I requested eagerly to see it, she unlocked the door that led down a creaky staircase into the underground area. It was a bit dank underneath, and smelt a bit like rotting mothballs, but I knew with some tender love and care, it would be perfect and fit for a dearly beloved human companion in no time.

I sensed Portia was a bit freaked out, because she stood at the top of the stairs, watching me curiously while I inspected every nook and cranny for any potential places that would be fit for a doll-like human to make an easy escape.

She asked me what it was about the attic that had me so interested the way I was. I said I needed a place to put a few of my extra things that I didn't need, like an old television and some bullshit like that. I fed it to her seamlessly, and had her convinced within seconds. Turned out, I was a particularly good actor.

Well, I went back upstairs and she locked the attic back up. She gave me a good look over in admiration, before she glanced down at her watch.

"I'm interested," I told her within a heartbeat. "It's exactly what I need."

"You haven't even looked upstairs yet," she huffed out in laughter.

"Don't need to. I've seen enough. It's perfect. A perfect home fit for a family."

Perfect for a doting man to keep his wife-to-be contained inside, like a precious flower he collected, and looked after so it flourished.

"You're looking at fifteen grand," she said quietly, as if in a way to deter me.

"I have the money," I told her readily. "I'll have it ready by this afternoon. I want to get started on repairing the house as soon as possible."

She left soon after, I told her I'd be out in the garden to think things over before I made any final decisions. Of course, I had already made my decision by then. I wanted the house, I just didn't want to come across as too eager.

The garden stretched out a decent length, and I thought it was fit for children to play in. For Sookie and my children. I was left feeling ecstatic then, and eager for things to come.

Because this was only the beginning. And I just had to catch beautiful Sookie first for the ball to be set into motion. I just didn't know how, or where to even simply start. I had a few hunches, though.