I'm a satellite heart

Lost in the dark

I'm spun out so far

You stopped by a star

But I'll be true to you

"Satellite Heart" by Anya Marina

November 23, 2007

Dark, lust filled eyes stare at me through a light rain. His smirk sends my heart into a flurry. With a gasp of breath, I lift my hand and shield my gaze from the sight of him. As if this will help the heat now choking my body, coaxing it to the brink of ecstasy when he hasn't even touched me yet.

But I know that he will. His eyes hold a passionate promise that makes my knees weak. My pulse increases even more, to the point that I truly believe my heart will jump from the confines of my chest. My blood rushes to the surface, stroking at the flames already covering me.

That's when I notice movement between the cracks in my lifted hand. He is slowly moving forward. I hear the sound of his footsteps as he comes closer. It pounds in my ears, vibrations moving through my body until I feel the urge to rush forward to meet him. I stay where I am, why I do not know. I don't think I ever will know. I feel his heat now. I drop my hand, hoping to see that same lustful l look in his expression. I do and I can't help but smile up at him as his fingertips breach the distance and brush softly against my skin. His touch is tender, but at the same time demanding. He looks at me intensely and I realize suddenly that its more than just sex he wants from me tonight. He wants a lifetime and I am more than willing to give it to him.

"Rebecca," he mutters my name, but it is not his voice. Slowly, he begins to fade. It is only then that I find the strength to unfreeze to lunge toward him, my hands stretching for him even as his body morphs into that of my father.

"Rebecca, get up. It's seven o'clock already," my father says above me. His deep, comforting voice fills the room and does a better job at waking me up than any alarm clock. It's been this way for nineteen long years. He was always there, every morning. I couldn't remember the last time my mother had woken me up for school.

When my father's large hand landed hard on my arm, I jumped slightly.

"Becca, get up," he repeated, then his hand left me. I shot up in bed before he could do what I knew he would do next. He stopped on his way to the door and gave me his sly grin.

"You were going to get the water weren't you?" I asked him, unable to keep the smile from my face. He shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Of course not, sweetheart. Now, get ready. You've got an hour before your first class." I smacked my forehead, jumping out of bed and heading straight to my closet.

"Shit!" I yelled, forgetting for a moment that my father was just on the other side of the door. Instead of the reprimand I was expecting, my father let out one of his long, rolling laughs.

"Shit is right, Becca. Now get ready. I'll get the coffee and eggs ready," he said around his chuckles. I listened for a long moment while he walked down the spiral staircase to the kitchen downstairs. I smiled lightly to myself.

How many mornings had gone by like this? Too many to count, but something about this one felt special. Maybe it was just the dream that had me hyper-aware of everything. I could feel every sensation, could hear every sound, could smell every scent. And suddenly I wondered if maybe something bad was going to happen. Inwardly I scoffed. On a day that had started like this, how could anything go wrong?

Five minutes later, I was padding softly on the emerald green carpet that my mother had just had put down. I looked down at it, loving the way it felt beneath my bare feet but hating it because she probably loved it more than me. I wondered if I really cared that she hadn't given me a second thought since I'd been born. When I walked into the kitchen and saw my father's smiling face, I realized suddenly that I didn't. My father had loved me enough over the years for the both of them.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, grinning at me over the rim of his coffee cup. He pointed toward the island, where my own coffee cup and plate full of scrambled eggs sat. I grabbed them up, walking carefully over to the bar. I climbed up on the stool next to him and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thanks, Daddy," I said, sending him a smile. He went back to reading the morning paper without saying anything, but I could see the gentle tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Eat your eggs, Becca." I giggled softly, shoveling eggs into my mouth as quickly as I dared. I was already running late and I knew that we would have to race through traffic to get me to school on time for my first class.

It didn't take long to finish getting ready. With twenty minutes left to spare, we got into the car. Dad was in the driver's seat while I slid into the passenger seat.

"So, what classes do you have today, Rebecca?" dad asked me when we were stopped at a red light. I sighed lightly. It was one of busier days and I told him so.

"I've got Biology, Asian Humanities, English, Public Speaking, and Chemistry." My father's eyebrows shot up as he let out an exasperated chuckle.

"Honey, you don't think you're taking too much do you? I mean, I know you took almost all AP classes your last two years of high school, but aren't you overdoing it a little?"

"What are you talking about, dad?"

"Well, how many credit hours are you going for this semester?"

"Sixteen, and believe me, that's a lot less than some of the other students in my classes," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. Truth be told, I was trying to take on a lot, but that was so that I didn't have to work as hard in my last two years. My father looked unconvinced however as we pulled onto the street where my first class was. He pulled up next to the curb and turned to me in his seat.

"Baby, if you ever need help, you know you can come to me right? It hasn't been that long since I was in college myself," he said with a faintly reminiscent smile. I patted his hand, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I leaned between the seats and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Of course I know that, daddy. I love you. I'll see you at 4?" I looked at him as if I'd never really seen him before. I realized now that even after all the time we'd spent together, I still didn't know certain things about him. I didn't know what bothered me more: that he was keeping secrets or that I had only just realized it. I soaked up his hair that was now more gray than brown, his tan skin, the crinkles around his dark blue eyes as he tried his best to smile at me like there was nothing wrong.

"Yeah, I'll see you at 4, baby. I love you too," he said, his deep voice gentle now. Almost disconcertingly tender. I got out of the car, turning around only to wave at him as he pulled away from the curb. I started walking forward, my face still pointed toward our black Suburban.

A second later, my legs were knocked out from under me as I ran into something very warm and very solid. I stumbled as papers flew through the air with the force of my body running into someone else. I lifted my chin, taking in the angry, accusing glare of one of the professors who worked in the history department. I buckled under the cold gaze of Dr. Jacobson. I shuddered slightly, the look he was giving me reminding me briefly of the man from my dream. However, where his eyes had been intense in a very passionate, fiery way, Dr. Jacobson's eyes were filled with disdain and he'd never even met me.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Jacobson. Let me help you pick these up," I muttered, suddenly humbled in his terrifying presence. His fingers closed around my wrist, heat flaring with every point of contact. I raised my eyes to his, taking him in and seeing that just beneath the surface was something dark. Something dangerous that I knew he had only enough control over. He tossed my arm away from him, sneering as he did so. I stared at him, my eyes widening in response to his hostility.

"I've got it, thank you," he spat out, his voice full of so much venom that I shrank away from him in fear. I couldn't explain it, but something about this man sent cold, sickening shivers up and down the length of my entire body.

"Be careful around this one," a voice whispered softly in my ear. I jumped and I could see by the wicked grin gracing Dr. Jacobson's face that he believed I was much more scared of him than I really was. I refrained from rolling my eyes even as my pulse spiked when I realized that the voice matched those dark eyes and the sexy smirk of the man from my dream. Surprise and panic tore at my throat and eyes until I was sure that I would start crying at any moment.

Why was this shaking me up so bad? Maybe it was because part of me liked the voice that had ghosted through my mind. The voice was sexy, almost erotic in the way it twisted things low in my body. I'd never felt like this about anyone. And suddenly a voice appeared out of thin air and I'd melted into a pool of heated liquid. The other part of me, the rational part, wouldn't take that as a reasonable answer. Hearing unexplainable voices resounding in my ears was not a good sign.

I stood up quickly, not saying anything to Dr. Jacobson as I strode away toward my Asian Humanities class. Things were getting a little too weird for me, so I did the only thing I could do. I ran away from the situation. It seemed like I hadn't just inherited my mother's ebony hair or her bright blue eyes: I'd inherited her habit of running from whatever made her feel like she'd lost control.

As I entered the room and took my seat in the second row, my eyes roamed the room, searching desperately for anything out of the ordinary. This day, that had seemed perfect at first, was really beginning to rile me up. I suppressed a shudder as something cold and foreign passed through me. Almost like being doused with water, but it was my insides that were soaked. My blood seemed to curdle in my veins and for a moment, I thought I might be dying. A moment later, the feeling passed and I took a deep breath to calm myself. If I couldn't keep it together by the end of the day, my father would start to wonder if I really was taking too many classes. I shook my head, determined not to let that happen.


By the time Biology rolled around, I was fine. Or as fine as I ever would be with what felt like a phantom following me and watching me from a distance as I moved to each class. It was the scariest feeling I had ever experienced. Yet, the rational part of me still wanted to believe that it was just my over-reactive imagination getting the better of me.

Professor Klein began his lecture on the cell structure of plants, my mind traveling to places where I didn't want it to go. I thought about the dream, Dr. Jacobson, and the strange voice that had whispered in my ear...I couldn't deny that the shivers that ran up my spine even now at just the memory were more pleasure than fear. I knew it like I'd never known anything else-that the voice belonged to the man from my dream. I shook my head, wondering what was wrong with me. I wasn't normally like this. I lived on logic and knowledge. I depended on my intelligence, my books, to establish myself in the world. The only real friend I had was my father. I smiled, a slight curl of my lips. That was all. But something about it called Professor Klein's attention.

"Miss Harris, would you like to share what's so amusing to you about my lecture?" he said, his nasally voice ringing through the room. I started, my hand jumped to my throat to keep the scream trapped there forever.

"No, Professor Klein, I'm sorry,"I said, my pulse jumping against my palm. I felt it. Warm, alive, pounding just under the surface of my skin and I managed a deep breath to calm myself down. I turned my eyes to the empty paper in front of me. Just as I put pen to paper, focused for the first time on actually learning, the door to the room slammed open. The cold vibrations echoed through the room, filled my very soul with a sickening sense of desperate sorrow. My skin tingled with the sensation, my hands shook, my mouth went completely dry. A man that I have never seen before approached Professor Klein, a tightness to his carefully trained composure that had my stomach tightening in anticipation. The man leaned forward, his lips almost caressed the outside of Professor Klein's ear. And within a moment, the atmosphere of the room shifted. Twisted into something that filled me with dread as my teacher's horror-stricken eyes found my own. A heartbeat passed, and my entire body tightened and twisted until all I could feel was Professor Klein's gaze traveling over me.

"Miss Harris, you're wanted in the Dean's Office," he said, his nasally tone the last thing I heard before my world transformed into something that would eat away at my soul little by little.

I stood up, my fingers curled around the strap of my backpack. I hoisted it over my shoulder, making sure that my face revealed nothing of the feelings that were now coursing through my body. I could feel the eyes of my peers on my body as they evaluated every move that I made. But I ignored them, just as they have all ignored me for the past nineteen years. Slowly, I made my way towards the Dean's Office, a half-block away from Professor Klein's room. My feet moved slower with every succeeding step, somehow I knew that what awaited me at the end of my trail was something so horrible, so awful, that I felt it penetrating every nerve of my body. I wanted to run, but I knew somehow that running would only delay the inevitable. My tongue darted out to slide along my cracked lips. I fidgeted restlessly with the buttons on my jacket, the feel of the wind slid along the bare skin of my hands.

Finally, I found the building where Martin Wilkes' office was. I walked in, let out my breath in a long, drawn out sigh, and then continued down the hallway until I stopped at his door. My heart pounded harder and faster against my chest. My throat constricted. I lifted my hand and knocked softly on the thick slab of wood. A moment later, I heard him tell me to come in. With a nervous gulp, I entered the room that would seal my fate forever.

I noticed at once the sadness and regret in Dean Wilkes' aged green eyes. I stood in the doorway, feeling more lonely and afraid than I ever had in my life.

"Miss Harris, would you mind shutting the door and sitting down?" His voice was soft, almost as if he was talking to a petrified animal that would run away at any moment if you made the wrong movement. There were only a few circumstances that seemed to call for that kind of behavior. I did as I was told, my horror being renewed as reality steadily set in. Something was about to happen. Something terrible.

"Miss Harris, there's no easy way to tell you this. So, I guess I'll just have to say it..." he began, his hands spread palms-up on his desk. I looked between the white palms and his face, trying desperately to make some sort of connection to the news he had to tell me and his behavior. I did it so that I could steel myself to the impact his words would have on me. But for once in my life, I couldn't read the situation.

"Miss Harris," Dean Wilkes said, drawing my attention back to his face, "Your father was killed today in an automobile accident." The world seemed to still, my entire life came to a stop. Poised in that one moment of infinite darkness as pain swelled within me and filled me with a sense of utter hopelessness.

"No," I whispered, needles prickling at the backs of my eyes as thick tears welled up in my eyes. My entire body grew numb with the realization that what he was telling me might actually be true. Then, my resolve kicked in, my mind fighting the urge to believe him. I stood up, my stance defensive almost aggressive.

"No," I repeated, my jaw tensing and my fingers curling in on themselves to press against my palms. Anger filled me in wave after wave, tightening my body until I was sure that at any moment I would explode in a fury.

"Miss Harris?" Dean Wilkes said, his voice cautious as he prepared himself for what I was about to do. But he couldn't possibly know what I would do. A smirk slowly curled my lips, fear enveloping like a cloud over his face. We waited there, staring at each other for a long second, before something in me broke free. It wasn't just the rage at my father's impossible death. It was nineteen long years of pent-up rage, a direct result of the cruelty inflicted upon me by the world. Now there was no one to protect me, to comfort me from the pain of being a complete social outcast. My one true friend in the world was gone. And I could do nothing but let my body be ruled by that innate instinct to strike out at whatever was in reach. I would never be able to recall exactly what had happened to me that day. Of course, who would want to remember the worst day of their entire life?

When Wilkes called in the medical personnel, I even tried to strike out at them. But armed with a needle, I was no match for them. All I felt was a sharp sting before everything around me faded slowly to blackness.

A/N: Okay so for those of you familiar with my work, I like to put the author's notes down here at the bottom in bold. That was they're sort of hard to miss if you (like me) enjoy reading these little comments. Um...I'm putting this out a lot sooner than I'd thought I would, but I just really wanted it out there before I leave for Virginia, which will be this coming Friday. I'm not completely done with this story. I'm about 18 chapters in right now and if you ever want to know the status of it, you can either go to my profile or to my twitter account. The updates are down at the bottom of my profile and I have the same screen name (Ber1719) on there. You can also use my email to search for me on there. I really hope that you guys like this. I don't know when I'll be updating. I've got an idea about just updating once every week. I don't know...anyway, please review so I can get some feedback. :)

Finally, a HUGE shout out to captainty. She's been a big help on this one and well a lot of the good stuff in this story will be because of her inspiration.

DISCLAIMER: I own Rebecca and any original plot. I have the utmost respect for all the men of Easy.