AUTHOR'S NOTE
I use swear words throughout this entire fic, but I censor them like this: f**k, s**t, etc... If this bothers you, well, you don't have to read this, do you?
I've had enough of people complaining. This is my fic. I will write how I want. Thank you to all the lovelies that don't care:)
SCREAMING LUNGS AND RED-EYED STARES
CHAPTER 1 - The Crow
Air screams through my lungs.
Smack, smack, smack. Dingy white runners hit the pavement. It isn't very good for the knees to jog on paved roads, but I'm young, and the streets feel safer.
Cool wind prickles my arms. The atmosphere is thick and weighed down, curling around my tongue like a dumbell.
It's a typical fall day. I smile. Refuse to surrender to the bad attitude that comes with banged joints and painted red lungs.
"Morning Mrs. Jefferson!" I squeak.
She flips me off from her peeling white front porch. Mystic Falls just wouldn't be the same without her.
I try to re-immerse my mind in my blasting music. It's Linkin' Park, one of their angrier songs. My heart beats too fast, hands clamming.
The earphones fall from my sweaty ears. I leave them be.
A darkened house looms before me. No one is up yet. I jog up. Refuse to allow myself to wimp out and walk the last few steps.
A squawk awakens me from the zipping thoughts. It's a sleek black crow, his head cocked to the side as blue eyes closely scrutinize.
"Hello." When I was younger animals were my favorite things. I spent my toddler years clutching squirming worms and hunting spiders. But always attired in a ridiculous sun hat and smothered with sun screen, of course.
My feet whisper forward, and I avoid the squeaky floorboard near the railing. Somehow I'm don't fear my eyes being pecked out. Its life energy hums, barely contained within the tiny feathered body. "What are you, Mr. Crow?"
He continues to stare. I grin. Trail my eyes down the ruff on the top of his head. It indicates gender, and is a bit adorable. His power ripples, the taste of bittersweet tangling through my taste buds. "Alright Russell, just watch yourself—Jeremy is off limits."
Black wings beat fast through the air. The crow "smirks" at me from a high branch. His intentions seem passive as of yet, so I decide to leave it be.
It's a quick tiptoe up the stairs to my room. I divest myself of my sweater and jogging pants, take a quick shower, and redress myself in similar clothing. My clock blares a luminescent 7:13, plenty of time to go make breakfast.
I whip around the ghost-quiet kitchen and whisk together a pancake batter. Jenna is unable to follow a simple recipe, and Jeremy won't eat breakfast unless it's shoved into his face.
Jeremy's 6th grade lunch kit is still in good condition, albeit spray-painted a chalky black. It was mine before his. I guess he grew tired of the Hello Kitty theme.
"Hey." Grumbles my brother. Greasy strands of brown hair dance against his forehead, his waterline underlined with black kohl.
"Morning Jer." I used to kiss him on the cheek. He's been very distant lately, so I allow myself only a quick squeeze of the arm. "And here you go." I hand him the lunch kit and a thermos of coffee. On top is a "pancake sandwich" meaning strawberry (definitely not raspberry) jam bursting from two near-equal sized hotcakes.
Jeremy manages a half-smile, much better than his resting face of the sarcastic I-hate-my-life smirk. "Thanks." And he's out the door.
A pair of footsteps thunders down the stairway, preceded by a slower, lighter one. Elena is incapable of going anywhere without making sure people know about it.
"S**t! I have to get down and -" Jenna stops. Elena runs into her back. "Oh, you didn't need to do that, Deborah."
I smile small and fake. "I'm the only person in this house who can cook, of course I did."
Aunt Jenna tucks a lock of dirty blond behind her ear. She's in the middle of her twenties and drop-dead gorgeous. Her eyes perpetually twinkle with stress, and she's basically a token guardian.
"She's right." Elena says, her grin just as plastic as mine. The coffee maker clicks at the loss of its pot, and she fills a mug up to the brim. Elena is committing one of the cardinal sins - black coffee.
I wrinkle my nose. "See ya."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Aunt Jenna stretches her hands out to the sides, as if pleading the intervention of a deity. "Doesn't anyone need something? Should I be handing out number two pencils?"
"It's all about the coffee, Aunt Jenna." Elena attempts to soothe, though her voice breaks like an old radio show.
I sigh. Scoop my backpack off the ground. "We're old enough to problem solve, Aunt Jenna. If for whatever reason we need your help, we'll ask for it." My sentences are stiff and biting. Not my original intention, but it works.
Jenna curls a bit into herself. "Alright." She dumps a near gallon of cream into her coffee.
Elena frowns. Snakes her hand around my arm.
"What?" I bite, hoping she keeps it there longer. The buzz crackles through my veins. My breaths flutter easily through open lungs.
"What the f**k? Jenna is just trying to help!" She whispers, though seemingly unaware that voices do travel through an empty room.
"Elena, you're going to leave a bruise, and I'm a f**king albino. It'll show up."
She winces and lets me go. "Don't talk about yourself like that," comes out in a whine.
I roll my eyes. "Goodbye Elena."
Jeremy's scooter lies buried in the garage, covered in chalky black. I set to work covering the ground from house to school. Russell remains in watch. So he's here for Jenna or Elena, then.
o0o0o0o
I arrive shortly before the first bell. Duck through the mob of loud, unexcited teens. Elena's locker is located not far from mine. Bonnie Bennett drinks her in with those chocolate brown eyes. Obviously the gossip was concerned.
"Hey whitey." Tyler grins, perfect lines hugging the sides of his thin red mouth. He's had a crush on me for the longest time. Although slightly better at hiding it, age has only driven his behavior to cockier standards of attempted seduction.
"I'm not interested in sex or drugs." I say flatly.
Elena stalks past us, pulling at the sleeves of her long-sleeved sweater. "Jer!" She ducks into the boys bathroom.
"F**k." I bolt forward.
"Yeah and to you too!" Tyler's voice smirks.
The bathroom is still relatively clean. The stall doors don't hang, the tiles white from a recent scouring.
Jeremy rolls his eyes at the prying Elena. His shoulders shrug small under a thick black hoodie.
She taps her foot. "More weed, huh? 'Cause that's really the best way to f**k with your life. You're in high school, Jer. You know how Mom and Dad would feel about this."
"Mom and Dad are dead, Elena. And Jer's old enough to make his own choices. F**k off."
Elena whips her limp locks of fury through the air, nearly smacking Jeremy in the face. "I'm trying to help him! You're allowing him to ruin his life!"
Perhaps if I smashed my head into the concrete wall she'd go away. Jeremy takes this moment to sneak out the door.
I follow. Elena gives a light scream, maybe to do with me flipping her the bird on the way out. I'm horrible with conflict. All it takes is a few seconds for me to hate the way I handled that situation. I should be calm and collected, to be able to lay at my perspective in a clear, smart manner.
But no, my mouth goes sailor and middle finger flicks out, lacking any support from the other coward fingers.
A man nearly bumps into me stepping from the office. No, it's a student. His shoulders may be broad, but they're hunched, as if he's trying to make himself smaller.
"Sorry." The word comes out twisted and sour.
"No problem." He stays still. Deep brown eyes slide carefully over my features. Power makes half-hearted crackles over his body. It's a sickly, stinted colour, though of a similar initial taste to that of the crow. Another supernatural creature. Werewolf? Vampire?
"What, never seen an albino before?"
His smile is cut in half, and he tries to shrink further. It takes away any of the attractive olive visage. I want to smack him on the head and get him to stand up straight. "I'm Stefan Salvatore."
"Good for you." My eyes drag to Bonnie and Elena. They're whispering in the corner, though talking loud enough for me to catch the occasional word.
Stefan's eyes turn to slits. "Usually this is the time where'd you give me your name in return."
I shrug. "Sorry Mr. Vampface, no can do."
His face scrunches. Something threatening slams behind his eyes, like a feral lion caged at the zoo. He's confirmed my suspicions.
The bell screams. Stefan attempt to burn a hole through my all-too-white flesh. But it doesn't matter. I can fight whatever he's going to do - this vampire currently enrolled in high school.
I've been ostracized all my life, and this isn't much different.
o0o0o0o
Mrs. Bennett's house is quaint and deep green. Her protections line every wall, stiff and unyielding - just like her.
"What the f**k are you doing?" She calls. The tipsy woman creaks in an old rocking chair, a glass of brandy clasped in her hands. Rough ropes seem to be under her skin, little braids of blue and green unhidden by the thin flesh.
"Leaving."
"Yeah you'd better, leech." The wind drags down a cloud of cigarette smoke.
I internalize the wince. Push the scooter down the road. Curse my own weakness. Sheila Bennett is the only witch in town, and I continue to torture myself with disappointment. The Bennett women have never liked me.
Apparently my abilities negate the existence of soul.
My heart pounds, arms tingling. It's as if someone's running a knife over my skin, just not hard enough to spill blood. There's heavy magic in the air.
"Did you poison her cat or something?" A handsome, twenty-something man stands at the curb. His eyes sharpen and scrutinize, and it seems like I'm all he's ever seen.
"The old bint thinks I'm the spawn of Satan. It's probably how she'd think of you, too."
The vampire smirks, sauntering forward. "That's a big assumption from an itty bitty thing like you. What? Was it the grey at my temples?"
"Absolutely. The hobble in your step, and the creak in your voice. It's apparent to anyone willing to look."
He holds out a white, unblemished hand. There's still a distinct contrast between my skin and his. "Damon Salvatore."
I leech as much zing from beneath his skin as possible. My heart hums quick, banging in my ears like an excited drummer. "Hmph, Deborah." I slip my face into fake shock. "Are you sure your name's not Russell?"
Damon releases my hand. Purple bruises shout from under his eyes, his skin flushed, his posture sunken. Perhaps I took more than intended. "What the hell did you just do?"
A smile creaks across my face. "It's called witchcraft."
"Alright then, witch." He stumbles forward. "You're going to do exactly what I say, when I say it, or I'll rip out the throats of every person you've ever seen."
"You d**k!" I gather up the residue from Elena's morning arm squeeze, pouring it forward.
He falls to the ground. His hand tangles in raven-black hair, and a restrained groan brings a flat smile to my face.
"When you're willing to negotiate, as opposed to threaten, find me. I'd be amenable to at least the pretence of equality."
The leftover magic stings my hands. Tiny shocks like when I stuck a fork in a plug-in at age four. The difference is in the pain - this is a good kind.
If I'm right, this vampire will gather his forces before striking, hard. I need to be ready. No matter how straight I make my back, how passive my face is, I've never fought this kind of war before. Supernatural creatures are still a mystery, though I've read every book I could get my hands on.
The Gilbert house is near empty - safe. Colourful music blasts from Jeremy's room. Elena would throw a fit, but she's out. Probably trying to be a bubbly little s**t instead of a depressed one. It's interesting how differently death affects people. Ever since Miranda and Grayson died a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Jenna and Elena easily see what I want. They don't…
My hands clench tight. Methodically, I pop my two padlocks together, then click in my deadbolt. It's safe and clean here. What little magic I've been able to take from Elena has been used in wards for both my and Jeremy's rooms.
I slide a hand along a blank yellow wall. My possessions are few - the most prized in plain sight and covered with extensive wards - my bookshelf. It's the culmination of the majority of my birthday money and allowance. I set up a bank account on the sly - Grayson would never have approved of my purchases, but now that he's dead…
Most tomes are dusty and worn. I carefully slip one of the smallest from the bottom of my three-tiered shelf. It's basically bound paper, yellowed and reeking of mildew.
The Weaknesses of Supernatural Creatures.
It's time to study.
o0o0o0o
And I'm back! Hello y'all:) I took a month off to write a book. Lol, definitely not my style, writing 50,000 words in a month isn't easy. Honestly that was stressful, but it did make a good compiled vlog. If you want to see it - type TheMaskedUnicorn into the YouTube search bar and my account will pop up (plug plug).
Anyways, how does this story feel?