The world as one knows it goes like this:
Being born, growing up and a few entitled mistakes that are supposed to be learned from. And there's marriage with a couple of children and with a dog and a white picket fence are inevitable.
Then there comes a day where one loses their breath, six feet under is the last stop – a sense of finality. Loved ones stream in with somber looks, and tear-streaked cheeks and lay bright yellow daises across a simple headstone – the flowers will dim and wither over time, but that's okay. It's perfectly normal and that's how life works.
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The only problem is Zoey Brooks is dead for four months and her life is on a perpetual loop now.
Today she's turns eighteen and just stops aging, trapped in the body of a high school senior forever.
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"Desiree."
She looks up, meeting brown eyes and Zoey slightly flinches as a natural reflex but Desiree is beautiful and deadly and could snap her neck if she wants to, even though they are on the same plane in terms of mortality.
"I'm busy," the red-head says absent-mindedly, filing her pinky nail. "But it's your birthday – I'm taking you out for a little fun later tonight," she snorts with laughter, and Zoey sits on the cushion beside her. "I find it cute sometimes – the way mortal boys are just so eager to get into my pants. If only they knew I was going to kill them right afterwards."
The blonde runs a hand through her hair because it's her birthday but she has the worst headache ever. Sometimes, Zoey wonders if she'll hear her body screaming at her and just punishing her until she gets what she wants – what so admits she craves if there's enough silence.
Zoey's forgotten what sounding asleep and dreaming feels like.
Those really weird premonitions she gets in broad daylight don't count.
"Why'd you do this to me?"
Desiree stops filing and her hazel eyes almost cut through the brown eyes looking expectedly at her. She will always envy Zoey with her slightly tanned skin, good hair because she has better hair and she's the better-looking red-headed vampire (uh, Victoria who?). Desiree does a sweep of Zoey's face and she's demanding an answer, cheeks rosy with a soft pink tint and warm brown eyes that sparkle.
Lucky bitch.
Her nails are prefect, so Desiree sits the nail file down on the table.
"Because I was bored."
Zoey blinks, face looking aghast, "Wait. I get pounding headaches, and I'm fighting with an appetite that seems to get bigger and bigger and harder to control, and decide to do this to me out of boredom?"
Desiree looks at her matter-of-factly, "That's right. I gave you immortality because I was bored."
"Are you being sarcastic?"
"You're asking too many questions for your own good, Zoey."
"So, why did you make me this way?"
She's so doe-eyed and innocent so that it makes her blind and oblivious, and Desiree's laughing at that. But the girl is stubborn, and overly determined – brownie points for that, maybe.
Desiree sighs, deciding to come clean. Maybe her soul gets lost and re-appears.
"Okay, fine. I turned you because honestly, you were in rough shape. You were almost unconscious and you looked almost so innocent. The house you lived in was engulfed in flames. Usually, I get off on other's people's misery especially when I'm delivering it, but not when you've lost your entire family," Desiree explains, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile when Zoey's face flushes and she's biting her bottom lip as if that will stop the onset of tears and the trembling.
Zoey sniffles and her voice sounds so small. "I lost everything?"
"'Fraid so, Blondie," Desiree says. "And you were near death – Logan would never forgive me if I let you die and waste away in those woods," the red-head gestures towards her in a sweeping gesture. "And the rest is history. You're welcome."
Zoey shakes her head, mouth slightly dropping. "I wasn't going to say thank you."
"You should," Desiree counters, smirking. "Because it's simple – Logan's in love with you. I know him better than anyone because he's my half-brother. We share the same father, but he took our father's last name. I didn't."
There's a look of disbelief evident because Logan doesn't love anything.
Except himself. He's not a nice guy, and she's not an easily enchanted, persuaded girl.
"You're crazy."
"No – just hungry but I have selective self-control. If I were you, I'd get that appetite fixed because you go stark crazy. Honey, it's been four months – you've got to start feeding properly."
"The victims will talk."
She knows they won't because whatever it is, she'll get something done right. But it sounds better in her head somehow. Adjustment to this lifestyle is still hard.
Desiree lets out a careful, exasperated breath, "God, I have to teach you everything. That's where the killing part comes in. If they're drained to death, they can't spill the beans and if you do leave them alive – you glamour the shit out of them and make them forget what happened."
Zoey rolls her eyes, and closes her eyes slightly. Her body is screaming at her again, nagging, yearning for that precious crimson liquid. Her headache stops pounding gradually, reducing a little drilling in the back of it. Standing up to focus her vision, Zoey turns around and almost leaves until she stops in mid-step and surprises Desiree with a hug. It's warm, tight and friendly and Desiree doesn't know how to react.
"What are you doing?"
Zoey smiles, pulling away, "It's called a hug. I don't know why I felt you needed that. And I owe you that gratitude for saving me, I guess. Thank you."
Her hazel eyes gleam and her ruby red lips curve upwards.
Sometimes, Zoey wonders if it's the natural dark rouge of her lip gloss or if her lips are just tainted red with someone's fresh blood. It could be both.
"No. Thank you," Desiree replies with a smile that's hard to decipher and picks up a magazine and she begins to flip through it. "Your blood tasted lovely."
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They almost have a second moment. But Zoey knows she'll never get one with Desiree again.
It's too complicated, so almost is enough.
Besides, the first moment is filled with Desiree telling Zoey about her losing her father physically because she has a half-brother she doesn't know about, and losing her mother's in every other aspect so she goes to a club one particularly eerily dark Saturday night to get away from mommy dearest. The end result: Desiree wakes up the next morning with her little black dress askew and her make-up smudged complete with white hot pain like she's had her neck slashed, and all of her cells are on her fire, burning her alive from the inside.
"I killed every person that screwed me over, and enjoyed it. Starting with the ex-boyfriends and ending with my mother – ripped her jugular out and smeared her blood all over the walls."
That's why Zoey is in some unspoken agreement with Desiree – that they not to have encounters like this that can easily be defined as moments, and leave things as they are.
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Zoey walks into the little kitchen and finds Robbie with his nose in a copy of Twilight.
He smiles amusedly, deep laughter escaping him, "Oh, Ms. Meyer – if only you knew."
He's tall and looks twenty-five even though he's much older than that obviously, and he has a happy, and parental disposition and beautiful green eyes with pale skin that make him glow on some nights, but he's also kind of freckled. Robbie must be a vampire with a soul, she concludes silently, because he's just that nice – dead or alive.
She's always protective of others, now Robbie protects her fiercely and always calls her kiddo, never Zoey. The nostalgia creeps up on her because she sees her fourteen year old brother who she used to call kiddo. Then Zoey sees her parents, and feels like she has to have some foresight about the fire that is inevitably fatal. But she doesn't.
"Hey," she greets, sitting across from him, hand propped so the apple of her cheek rests in them. "Reading Twilight I see."
Robbie smiles, eyes lighting up and he tosses the novel in front of him. "Yeah, sadly. And it amuses me – vampires that sparkle in the sun. I'd love to take this 'embattled' Edward Cullen guy and his entire pansy family on," another hearty laugh bursts out. "The tiniest amount of sunlight is excruciating to us, and this poser gets to sparkle. What the hell?"
"You realize they're not real, right?"
Zoey feels the need to re-assure Robbie of this, since he has the tendency to get passionate about things – real or fictitious.
"Hey," Robbie shrugs, absent-mindedly racking his hands through dark bed-head that is totally on purpose. "I'm dead, but it's a dream of mine. I'm allowed to have those."
Zoey giggles and yawns even though it's dark out.
"Yes, you most certainly can."
"So, it's your birthday tonight, kiddo. You going out or something?"
"According to Desiree, I am," Zoey answers, with an exasperated sigh. "I don't even know if I want to, though. I've been dealing with this headache that's on and off and I just…hurt."
"My sister's harmless."
Robbie is Desiree's older half-brother because they share the same mother.
"So, wait – you and Logan both share Desiree as a sibling on both sides of her family?"
"Pretty much – our mother got around," the older vampire says with a nod. "And theoretically speaking, Logan's my brother as well. We're just not linked by blood but I feel like he is because I have to watch the both of them. Similar impulsive personalities," his voice is all wistful and distant. "I feel bad sometimes – that I couldn't protect my baby sister from my mother's parenting, or lack of. There's nothing worse than not knowing who turned you in a vampire. So, she has some kind of vendetta against mortals by killing them because she can. I think she resents me for leaving her."
"She never told me that part."
"C'mon, this is Desiree we're talking about. She's not soulless – just incredibly bitter."
Glancing to the side, Zoey stares at her nail polish. It's almost starting to chip away. "I guess."
Zoey rests her head on her arms, dirty blonde hair fanning out slightly because she's so tired.
Maybe it's her body telling her she's not mortal anymore and can't have a mocha javaccino even though deep down it's not what she wants. But a mocha javaccino sounds nice about now.
"I'm tired," she says and her voice comes out muffled. "And I feel icky."
"Kiddo, you know why."
Zoey lifts her head up, and Robbie presses a light kiss in her hair. And she finds herself laughing to herself because Robbie's the best friend she got, and she realizes that sometimes she likes to be protected and not be in control. Just sometimes – blame it on the Type A Personality.
"Don't tell me."
"You know I'm going to have to say it."
"I know," Zoey pleads, and giggles somewhat tiredly. "But gimme a break – it's my birthday today."
Robbie gives her a knowing look, and then crumbles a little. "I guess I can't hold that against you too much. It's been four months and you're still transitioning. Average time is about six months to a year. But you do have to feed so I'm going to do something – consider it a post-vampire birthday gift."
He rolls up his sleeve, revealing his bare forearm with blue coloured veins crossing each other underneath his skin. She's not sure, but god, she's hungry.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Robbie laughs, "Aw, look at you being all worried like I'm a novice at this type of thing. Well, you won't – I've done this before and I'm still alive," he corrects himself. "Well, not that kind of alive anymore, but yeah, you know what I'm getting at. I can self-heal, so I'll be okay. Go on."
"Okay," she agrees finally and her grin is bright and full of gratitude. "Thank you."
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Zoey remembers her first time feeding.
It's a particular Saturday, and she's just irritated and cranky.
"It's a side effect. Others puke and others feel inexplicable rage and crave," Robbie diagnoses.
And then she often wonders if she's that bad of a person for enjoying Katie Peckerman's blood go down smooth and satisfy her when her childhood rival's screaming in her silent house go lower and lower in decibels until she just falls limp and stays deathly still when there's nothing left.
Katie isn't supposed to call Zoey ugly in the third grade, and splatter the new dress her grandmother made her with sticky mud. Or call her metal mouth in the fourth grade either.
"Hmm," he appears at her side in three seconds flat and he's smirking down at her. There's an amused, jovial quality in his tone that just gets on her very last nerve. "You waste no time, do you?"
Zoey gets up, glancing at the body and frowns, almost glaring at him.
"What, Logan? You're following me now?"
He touches the corner of her lip, catching leftover blood and tastes it.
"Eh, not bad. I've tasted better," and then his attention diverts to Zoey with her hand on her hip, and a glare that is strong enough to peel back paint. "Yes, and baby-sitting you blows but Robbie's making me for that Incident last week."
"So, leave me alone. The concept isn't that hard. Even you should get that."
Logan glances at Katie's body, throat torn out and stares some more at Zoey, totally ignoring her statement – like she never really verbalizes it. "Would have never pegged you as an angry type of person."
She's not. Logan's doesn't know her. She's…not angry – ugh.
"If you're trying to read my mind, stay out of there."
"Do I look like Edward freaking Cullen to you? I look better than that guy," Logan breezes by her, over to Katie's window, propping it open effortlessly with one hand. He rolls his dark brown eyes. "Look, as much as I would love for you just give into your freakishly obsessive, sexual tension-laced attraction for me, we've got to go. I'm way too tired to glamour and control anybody tonight."
"I hate you," she seethes, and climbs out of the third story window and lands gracefully.
"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart."
She contemplates slapping him, but still feels the ghost of his finger on her lips.
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"Thank you."
The puncture wounds heal and close up right in front of her eyes, and Robbie gives her a tight one armed hug, "No harm done – just seriously take care of yourself."
She can't believe she's asking this question because really, why would she really care?
But in retrospect, she's ready to just go out and feel the cool night breeze against her face again.
"Where's Logan?"
Robbie blinks his green eyes at her, eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "Are you that blood deprived that you actually care where he is?"
Rolling her eyes, she sighs, "Robbie, I – " she pauses, working out what will sound better out loud than in her head. "I just want to know where he is. Can you tell me?"
Robbie knows better and knows what's going on between Zoey and his brother. But she's staring at him with those pleading eyes proven to weaken him more than a stake to the heart.
"He hasn't been here since sundown and Desiree is long gone but he's sitting on the rooftop directly facing the Hollywood sign. Kid's developed on a habit of doing that even more so that he's practically in love with you," Robbie says, and answers Zoey's surprised look. "Yeah, that's right – I'm not that out of the loop. Be home before sunrise."
"Yes, Dad."
"Hey!" Robbie calls, after Zoey's speeding figure. "I'm totally old enough to be your dad, and don't you forget it!"
Here's a side thought: he's contemplating writing a letter to this Stephenie Meyer person in Arizona because really, her perception of vampires are hilariously skewed.
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Tonight Desiree spends the night having loveless sex and leaving more drained bodies in her wake.
It makes her feel better because she cares about just herself, she thinks, tracing a dominant vein with her sharp index nail when this muscular guy desperate for a piece of ass moans underneath her. The bass of the music is pounding, but she can hear the blood racing.
She kisses his neck, slowly because she wants to savour this while his hands roam her and she arches into his touch. It's a damn shame, having to kill this hunk of man right after sleeping with him. She's pretty sure this isn't how Craig or Kevin (whatever, he's hot and dinner) planned to spend his last day on Earth.
Her lips trace the path of the vein at the side of his throat, and she can feel it – the blood pounding, his heart racing and pounding more of that sweet nectar.
She absolutely loves this part: the one where her fangs pierce her prey's neck, and it's all hers for the taking because Desiree is drunk of the notion of winning.
Love can wait.
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He's sitting there serenely when she arrives – about a minute and a half later, and just by the way the full moon illuminates his profile, Zoey can begrudgingly admit to herself that Logan Reese is the most beautiful boy she's ever laid eyes on.
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He smells like mint – the really nice mint after brushing her teeth but he has the potential to be stinging and Zoey just can't stand him but there's some kind of magnetic pull.
"What are you doing here, Brooks?"
"Robbie told me to find you up here."
Logan frowns, "God, I'll kill him. I mean, who the hell reads Twilight for kicks on a Friday night? Who reads anything on a Friday?"
"He does," she answers, absentmindedly drawn to the white Hollywood sign and the stars that peek out to liter the velvety sky. It makes her think of starry summer on her grandmother's ranch in Louisiana, fishing with her grandfather and staying up late to catch fireflies in jars with her brother. Zoey turns to him, knees up to her chest with her lips glossed and pursed because it's the truth. "I really don't like you, Logan."
Here's another side thought: she sorta does, even though he radiates cocky bastard with a pinch of asshole – but sometimes, she does question him when there are buttons he can push.
And other times, she'll just push back.
Logan glares at her shrugging in that nonchalant way, before turning back to the Hollywood skyline.
"I really don't like you, either." Logan says, shortly, but the silence between them is unusually comfortable.
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It's weird.
It's weird, how he knows expertly how to push her buttons and make her incredibly agitated.
"Will you just jump my brother's bones already? The Girl Code doesn't apply in this situation."
Zoey throws a look of disdain toward the red-head, crossing her arms. "There is no situation."
Desiree sighs, and pats her shoulder, "Okay, so you're the denying type," she observes, and deadpans. "Great – and I can't actually put myself out of my misery because I'm dead."
"You're crazy."
"Rather be that than be neck deep in a pile of heaping denial."
There's nothing to deny.
All she wants is for Logan to stop pushing her buttons in the correct sequence.
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It's supposed to be like this: she's supposed to be mad at him and lists the reasons why they can never be compatible, why she would never want to kiss much less date him, and why forever is just way to long for a person to handle the complex personality that is Logan Reese. They're supposed to be arguing, and there are supposed threats that never quite follow through with one of those storming off.
But instead, they're on that rooftop laying side by side and Logan's eye colour is a shade darker than hers, but Zoey can't tear her gaze away. They're…nice.
"Thank you, Logan," she says, and is surprised at how soft her voice is. "Desiree told me you had her do it so I could live after I lost my family in the house fire. So, thank you."
Zoey lightly bristles, preparing for the typical egocentric remark instead she hears a, "You're welcome," his hand finds her much smaller one and it makes her feel warm, despite being cold to the touch. He lets a small smile, pass through before he grins fully like the Cheshire Cat. His voice is low, eyes glinting. "Besides, you're stuck with me forever, Zoey. That's the best kind of eternity."
She smiles at him and laughs – it's all so very weird. "Should I be worried?"
Logan smirks back at her, "Yes."
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He calls her Zoey, not Brooks and she smells intoxicatingly addictive, like the blood of the perfect kill.
He likes her.
And the grip of her hand intertwined with his gets slightly tighter, and she's comfortable.
She likes him back.
But ask or question deeper about it, and you're dead. No, really – you'll actually end up really dying.
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It's two in the morning, and she's kissing him.
He's cold and sharp when he kisses her back and inhales the scent of her hair, contrasting against her warm cheeks and soft lips.
(There are butterflies in her stomach, however, and this is love.)
A/N: Sigh. I don't know if it's the critic in me – but I'm not satisfied with it. But I still like it. So, it's all good. In regards to my other stuff, I will continue working on my Choey oneshot and it will be my LAST until my Choey muse comes back. I don't know when that will be. That's kind of sad – that my love for Choey has disappeared and don't really feel like I want to write them. However, I will write my last Choey oneshot and make it my best work.
Not to worry, I still appreciate the canon ones – still a huge Quogan shipper over here!!
Somehow, the Zogan muse snuck up behind me and like bit me in the ass so voila. There you have it. Watching a whole shitload of Zogan fan-made videos on Youtube didn't help either. I don't know which version of Desiree I like writing her: I love the silly, mortal version of her and then I absolutely loved writing this twisted, slightly crazy and dangerous version.
Yeah, so just a little background info: Robbie, Logan, and Desiree were all turned the same time. Robbie first, Desiree by a rogue vampire, I'm guessing and then Logan. I hope you understand how I linked the three of them as well – both boys brothers of Desiree even though they are not brothers themselves.
Okay. My brain is fried. Luckily, I'm not going anywhere until 2:30 and then I have two days off this week. Uh, HELL YEAH! Next on the FF agenda, my Choey oneshot and my Vampire Diaries oneshot.
Goodnight. Reviews would be nice to wake up too.
-Erika
PS. And yes, I totally meant to crap all over Twilight - vampires actually used to be cool before this damn franchise came along. Ugh. But I'm all team JACOB! I'm sorry...Edward, who?