Okay, so ummm, HI! Thanks for clicking on this fic! This is my first story to post on here… I would like to say thank you to VeronicaT175 for being my beta! YAY! She is awesome, if you're in to Vampire Academy check out her fic What You Value Most (which is actually quite amazing! – you will notice that her author's note often mentions me as the Editor! Yeah!). Okay! Read on awesome people, read on.

Anyways so I guess I would just like to say I do not own any of the following characters. Except the ones I create…whom you will meet in just a second! They all belong to the hit HBO series, True Blood. I just add…my…creative touch! Anyways here it goes…

"Fuck!" I shouted. Normally, I'm a good driver, but the thoughts pressing urgently in my head had kept me from paying much attention to highway 79. Much to my detriment I had almost become a hood ornament on the windshield of an oncoming Mac Truck. I swerved myself quickly back on track, just scarcely avoiding a tragic demise. To have lived all of those years of torment, surviving the turmoil my life had brought on, only to be brought down by my own dumb-ass driving. That would have been absolutely pathetic.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, before letting my mind wander again, this time making sure to pay attention to where I was going.

What will he say? I wondered. In fact, what would I say?

"Hi there, I'm your relative. My eternally-high mother kicked me out and you're the only family I have. Want to give me a place to stay and a bite to eat?"

That probably would not have been the best strategy. Especially since it would put bite, eat, and me in the same sentence.

I couldn't decide if I should even go. What if he attempted to... no, I decided not to think about that. I was desperate. I didn't know where else I could go. I didn't have anywhere else to go. I turned my sleek cobalt blue Yamaha Bike onto exit 4. The city was Bon Temps, Louisiana; Hick Town… Joy.

Like I said, No. Other. Choice.

My bike growled under me, purring like a ravenous Jaguar. Fierce and Dangerous - much like my own personality. I slowed the bike's speed, and turned onto one of those back country roads; no lights, no sounds, just the hum of my motorcycle and my own thoughts, a deadly combination.

The bouncing of gravel under my bike brought a small amount of liberation to my insane and completely irritating contemplations, it gave me something else to focus on, something to help do away with the unsettling fear I was feeling.

Thinking sucks. It's much easier to go through life without. I pulled over to the side of the road, and pulled out the crumpled piece of printer paper, at this point it had so much wear-and-tear it looked like an ancient treasure map. I re-read the address (which was pointless since I had already memorized it) of Mr. William T. Compton. I was close. Well, more than close, I was about a mile away.

"Time to decide," I said to myself, leaning back on my bike and brushing my tangled, windblown hair back with my fingers, "to go or not to go?" and I smirked at my own melodramatic tone. I swallowed to growing lump in my throat and it proceeded to land…in the pit of my stomach. It was my last chance, and my decision was made. I had to try.

I threw back the aluminum kickstand and put on the throttle, listening as gravel spewed out like hail behind the racing tires as I made my way into the cemetery. How cliché; a vampire living next to a bunch of dead people.

The wind whipped through my hair, casting it in messy tendrils through the air, while also unpleasantly stinging my face and eyes. I glanced at the moon through the trees. I envied that damn thing. It's life was so constant, it came up, stayed for a few hours, and then left, only to do it again the next night, looking down at us; miniscule, insignificant beings.

I barely had time to catch my breath before pulling my bike into the driveway. I ran what I was going to stay once again through my head. No slip ups, this wasn't a dream it was a real thing. I inhaled and exhaled, then dismounted my bike. I felt like I might lose my lunch, what a first impression that would be.

I walked up the path, the dirt crunching under my combat boots. I assessed the building looming upon me. A rickety old Victorian-style home, featuring old windows, and a coat of white paint, starkly contrasting the midnight black roof, its panels of woods running down its sides like an old-washboard. It almost looked haunted, or abandoned – another cliché. I liked it. I crept up the stairs and inhaled a deep breath, there was no turning back. I knocked on the door.

I waited for about ten seconds before a man opened the door. I looked into his eyes, expecting to find a cold-hearted bloodsucker. Instead I found familiar dark chocolate eyes gazing into mine. I saw a tired yet content soul in those eyes. My breath was taken away by the amount of things I knew this man had gone through, just from the demons lurking in the deep caverns of his eyes. We stood there for a moment taking each other in. His shirt buttons were messily undone at the top and his hair a slight mess, as though someone had been running their hands through it in passion.

He seemed to be completely frozen, as if he was seeing a ghost. He whispered one word, one name, the exact one that I knew he would.

"Sarah?"