A/N: Beta'ed by the wonderful Lily Tagloft, thanks girl
I'm Raven Madison.
I like bats, vampires, and long walks in graveyards.
I'm Raven Madison, and I don't, I repeat DON'T like teen romance novels, TV shows or movies.
So why did my life have to read like the cliché storyline of one?
Here is the run down on my suburban (puke) life. My parents and I all live in the most boring place in America, Dullsville, as maids and butlers for the richest family in the whole stupid place, the Mitchells. That's right, I'm their son's personal maid (Like gag me with a spoon). Who would also be the green-eyed, blonde-haired, popular soccer star of my nightmares. Whereas I was a black-haired, nonathletic, gothic nobody. And we pretty much hate each other.
So yep, the only way my life could get more cliché is if you throw an arranged marriage in the story. (But not with Trevor, I already do his stinking' laundry, how much more can I suffer?)
My life didn't always read like a tween girl's crappy fan-fiction. My parents used to be glossy eyed, flower children and the first years of my life were spent following the Grateful Dead in my parent's flower power van. But then the Grateful Dead broke up in 1995, mom was pregnant again and my parents decided to settle down. Gone were the lava lamps, the bus painted with flowers and replaced with a permanent residence in Dullsville at the Mitchell mansion as live-in help.
I feel the most sorry for my brother. As soon as he's old enough the Mitchells will probably have him shine their shoes or walk their dog or something.
The only plus side to this whole dumb arrangement is I get extra money in my pocket for being Trevor's personal "Get this" and "Get that" girl. My newest purchase was these awesome Heelys, you know, the sneakers with wheels on the back.
So here I was gliding through the polished hardwood floor with my new sneakers, black tutu and Emliy the Strange tee practicing my moves in the Mitchell mansion, managing to almost run into my mom and her bucket of soapy water as she cleaned dust off of Mrs. Mitchell's expensive Ilodros.
"Raven! What did I tell you about wearing those sneakers around this house?!"
"Um, don't?" I said innocently, looking the other way. That's fantastic. It had almost been a week since mom had given me a long-winded speech about my behavior.
My mother sighed and looked at me with disappointed eyes. I remembered a time when she wasn't wearing that gray apron or that short hair, when she was an easy going free spirit with long, flowing hair. Now all my mother did was cook, clean, and beg me not to break anything or get them fired. She was always working, always anxious, and always worried about me getting in trouble, losing their job, and keeping a place to stay at. Like I didn't already feel guilty enough for putting so much extra stress on her.
"Raven, I swear you will be the death of me. How one girl can cause so much trouble is beyond me. Just last week you smashed an expensive vase of Mrs. Mitchell's that belonged to her grandmother!"
"I only fell because that spoiled brat Trevor tripped me! And she only said that to not get in trouble with Mr. Mitchell. She bought that vase two months ago, I saw her asking dad to bring it in for her!"
"Raven. Do you remember how you said you'd help me around the house? I've swept, vacuumed, mopped, dusted, polished, and fixed breakfast. What have you done so far? Please, tell me you've at least finished Trevor's laundry!"
On my Dracula! Trevor's laundry! I forgot! Without answering mom I took off gliding over the floor to Trevor's room hearing mom yell after me about not skating. But there was no time to waste, Trevor would be home soon and I wanted to get this out of the way before he got here.
Laundry day is my least favorite of the whole week. I didn't want to see, touch or smell Trevor's unmentionables, especially after he sweated through soccer with them on. People thought bloody fangs were grotesque, obviously they never got a whiff of a teenage boy's dirty laundry. The walking dead would be a welcome change for me.
I pulled my trusty black rubber gloves and mask out of my bat-shaped bad. To make the job a little less than a painstaking misery I pulled out my small, black mp3 player and let Panic at the Disco fill my ears.
I grabbed the basket he's supposed to keep for laundry, but somehow his dirty clothes never finds it's way there. Instead, it could be found strewn across the floor and furniture. I'm pretty sure Trevor tries to make my life more difficult by not even TRYING to get his dirty clothes in the basket; I think if he could get it on the ceiling it would be up there. I tried my best to not look at what I was touching as I walked through the room, picking up his things and throwing them in the basket to be washed. Come on, the boy wears freakin' jockstraps that I have to clean for Vampire's sake! I'm still recovering from the mental scars from the first time I saw that sweaty thing hanging from his chair!
I did my very best to get the room neat quickly before Trevor came home from soccer. After I picked everything up and made his bed I saw the bedroom still looked somewhat nice from yesterday when I cleaned it all. But still I swept because I didn't want to risk getting in trouble with Mrs. Mitchell, it is well known that she 'just can not stand a dirty floor!'
With one arm carrying the dirty clothes basket and the other reaching for the door I wasn't expecting to see Trevor as soon as I opened it. Did I fail to mention that Trevor, even if he is my arch nemesis and the person I loath the most in the entire planet, was drop dead sexy?
Yeah, well he is.
Things would be so much easier if he looked like the troll he acted like. Is it too much to ask for him to get some acne, gain some weight, have bad breath; anything that would save me from looking like a star-struck idiot every time I see him? Because right now I couldn't talk, or move. His blond hair was slightly damp and messy, his bright, aqua-colored eyes framed by long, dark lashes looked back at me playfully, a sexy smirk sprawled loosely across his pink lips. His clothes were minimal, revealing his attractive tan and dewy skin. Would be so much to ask for him to stink after pratice like normal guys? But of course all that filled my nostrils now was Polo cologne and cut grass. Oh, did I forget to mention his body was unbelievable? Seriously, it was like he was photo shopped and appearing on a billboard for men's wear. The complete package with a sexy six pack, pecs, perfect arms (toned but not too muscular), and his shoulders were wide. In comparison, my body was more round than trim, more prone to acne outbreaks, and my eyes the color of dung, not tropical island water.
I still couldn't take my eyes off of him, a pair of blue basketball shorts hung so low on his hips that I could read the brand of boxers he had on: Diesel. Blushing, I hurried to look away before Trevor caught me staring.
"Monster girl, have I ever told you you make a sexy maid? I think I'll buy you a hot little French maid outfit for your birthday. Well, it would be more appropriate for MY birthday, don't you think?"
Thank vampire for his horrible personality or I might actually like, well less than hate I mean, the Neanderthal.
There was a hundred come backs to his perverted remark I could say right of the top off my head. I wasn't the greatest maid, but I was pretty good at witty insults, if I do say so myself. But unfortunately, for him that is, I had better things to do with my time... If only I could say it was something other than doing his laundry. So I opted to rolling my eyes and attempted to walk around him. Before I could make it through the left side of the door his arm reached out to block my way and when I tried to leave the other way another tan arm blocked my path.
"Put your arms down before I break them."
"Hm? I think someone is forgetting their place. I just might have to remind them who's the boss and who's the slave in this relationship."
Damnit. Trevor had all the control and power and in this situation he knew it. I'm positive that he actually revels in the fact that he had so much authority and control over me. He loves the fact that everyone in this dumpy town worships the ground his family [and him] walks on. Sometimes I think everyone here is brainwashed in the hospital at birth to love the Mitchells. And I only escaped being a brainless sheep because I was born at an outdoor hippy festival in New York. But that doesn't explain my family's attachment to Dullsville and the family that owns it.
"But, I'm a nice guy so I tell you what, I'll forgive you if you ask me politely to leave."
"Please?"
"Hm, I didn't quite catch that, you were mumbling."
"Please, can I go?"
"I'm sorry, come again?"
"Please! Can I go now?!"
"Sure, all you had to do was ask." I wanted to slap that arrogant smirk off his face, unfortunately Trevor moved before I could.
"One last thing Raven," Annoyed, I turned back around to face him angrily. What did his majesty want now?
"I think you forgot these."
Oh my Dracula! Trevor just- he just- he just stripped right in front off me and threw it in the basket! I squeaked, my cheeks flaming up as I rushed out of his room.
As the water filled up in the washing machine I quickly sorted his clothes. Light, dark, light, dark. I worked on auto pilot still trying in vain to block out the image of Trevor almost naked from my mind. But it seemed like it was tattooed on the inside of my eyelids and I couldn't escape seeing it! When all his dark clothes were separated I left the light ones in the basket to get done later and threw the dark load in the washing machine along with detergent on top. Afterward, I headed to the bathroom to put my hair up and wash my hands so I could help mom with dinner.
Dinner was the one and only time of day everyone came together. I walked in, seeing Nerd boy home from day care and sitting at his usual place on the breakfast bar with dad who just got finished gardening outside, mom was at the stove cooking. My mother already had it half way done. The biscuits were in the oven, potatoes were peeled and cooking in the boiling water when I got there.
My Mom, if you couldn't tell already, was a much better maid than I. Everything it took to be a good housekeeper I lacked; obedience, good manners, punctuality, etc, etc. But I wasn't completely clueless in the kitchen either. So I tried my best to help her.
As mom prepared the chicken, I helped her by dipping the chicken in egg, then flour, taking it over to the frying pan to be cooked, and putting a lid over it.
Once that was done all we had to do was check the food to make sure it didn't burn and open a can of green beans and cook it with margarine as a side.
I heard the sound of Mrs. Mitchell's heels clicking against the floor from the kitchen and walking toward the formal dining room when the food was almost done. My family used to eat by ourselves because according to my mother, it was Housekeeping 101 to know not to eat with the people who we worked for. Usually that was after the owners were done eating. Lately, now that Mr. Mitchell has been away on a lot for business trips, the lady of the house requested us mere peasants to the coveted formal dining room and the gilded cheery wood table .
It wasn't that I disliked Mrs Mitchell. She always paid us well and treated us fairly. It was the fact her clothes were always ironed, her manicured nails never chipped, and her designer heels she always worse around the house, made me feel awkward and inferior.
It annoyed me how much mom tried to imitate her. Right now for example, mom was wearing a copy of Mrs. Mitchell's outfit. But instead of her pants looking glossy and impeccably spotless creamy white, my mother's white pants were a stained and wrinkled mess and so was her white shirt.
Lately though I have been feeling sorry for Mrs. Mitchell. My dad was always with my mother, and Mr. Mitchell always seemed to be away for work and so she only had the company of her son, (who was always busy with practice or his social life), her fake friends, and us.
I was helping mom serve the food around the table. Trevor still wasn't here yet. Usually after practice he takes a quick shower and practically runs to the dining room to eat and bother me. Being a teenage boy means he's never NOT hungry. But I certainly wasn't complaining from my Trevor-free break when his mom waved me over.
"Yes, Mrs. Mitchell?" I asked politely, walking over. In my mind I was panicking. I saw mom out the corner of my eye inspecting our conversation with wide, worrisome eyes.
Oh no. What did I do now? My mind drew a total blank. I hadn't done anything recently unless she finally found out about that lamp from last summer. Or maybe I didn't clean Trevor's room good enough or something! I swallowed and waited anxiously to suffer the consequences for whatever it was I had done.
"Raven, Trevor is tired from soccer practice and would like you to bring his food in to his bedroom."
Yes! I wasn't in trouble ... No! This meant I had to serve Trevor his food in his bedroom like... Well a maid.
"Okay Mrs. Mitchell," I said forcing out a fake smile when I saw my mom behind me making wide, wild and crazy hand motions between her own wide smile and me.
I gathered a tray, his plate of food, drink, and silverware. I sighed deeply, resigned to my fate. Then I headed to the upstairs eastern wing of the mansion where Trevor's room was located. Yes, this place is big enough to have wings. On my way I remembered to fetch his laundry out of the washing machine, put it into the dryer and put the other load in.
Inside the room I heard Trevor's laughter, along with the trash talking him and his best friend Matt were exchanging. So, it was going to be another Xbox live night tonight. That was just great, seeing how just the other night, I was blessed to fall asleep to the sounds of World of War Craft lines like, "You mad bro?" which was apparently some kind of rhetorical question and other greats lines like, "Come at me bro!"
By the fifth knock Trevor still wasn't answering me and I could still hear him playing that dumb game. So I put his dinner down on the floor beside me and tried opening the door, but of course it had to be locked.
"Trevor! Open this door right now!" Inside I heard him say to Matt to hold on, before there was some shuffling, and the sound of the door clicking open.
Trevor leaned casually against the door frame in front of me. His wet hair was sticking up in messy spikes, body glistening in the dim light from the television, his upper body nude and wet from a recent shower, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants smirking devilishly.
"I like it when you get all mad. Roar," He said, pretending to claw me like a cat.
It was a good thing his annoying lines distract me from his gorgeous body. It was another good thing I could be a quite the brilliant actress when needed. So I feigned disgust, perfectly gagging. "Ugh, what is this, no clothes day or something? Seriously Trevor, can you get any gayer than going meow at me?"
"It was a roar."
"Whatever." I reached down and picked up his tray. "Here, now if you don't mind, I have places to be. Like anywhere else in the world," I said, already heading back to the kitchen where my food was waiting for me, when a strong hand gripped my forearm and tugged me backwards, until I landed into his rock solid chest.
"Where do you think you're going?" Trevor asked softly, leaning towards my neck, his warm breath swirling in my ear.
"To eat," I answered, twisting around so he let go and facing him, "You know some of us need to eat; we all can't be like your girlfriend Jennifer Warner."
"Do I sense a little jealousy going on here?" Trevor teased looking very pleased with himself, "And you know I broke up with that skank a month ago."
"Awl, poo' lil' Trevor! Still bitter she cheated on you with Brad?"
Trevor turned his back on me and okay, that was kind of low. Feeling bad, I might have blurted something accidentally along the lines of, "Shes an idiot. You're hotter than him anyway."
Trevor faced me again and I saw his smirk as my hands covered my mouth. Stupid, stupid Raven! How did I let that come out my mouth?!
"You think I'm hot, huh? I knew it," he said smugly. I tried my best to deny it, shaking my head vehemently no. Unperturbed, he stepped closer and closer toward me and grabbed me by my hip, "I guess we're even then because I think you're hotter than her."
I gaped, red blood pouring into my cheeks. I could feel them getting hotter as Trevor continued staring into my eyes, not looking away for a moment. Was he just playing with me? His eyes said no. I felt his hand press my hip closer to his body. I saw how he looked down at my lips and the way his tongue swiped over his own before his head came closer and closer.
"Your food is getting cold and so is mine! See you tomorrow!" I turned to leave, but once again, Trevor wasn't letting me go. This was getting real old, real quick.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Kitchen?" Why did that come out like a question? I was positive I wanted to leave?! Get a grip Raven! Focus! Trevor Mitchell is the enemy!
"Yes you are, but just to grab your food and eat with me."
"What?! I am not eating with you while you play that stupid game!"
"So, you want to have my full attention then?" He asked his blue eyes twinkling and his pearly whites showing as he smirked.
"No! I don't want to eat with you period, Soccer Snob!"
"I'll make a deal with you. After you're done eating we can hang out in the garage and practice our technique."
"Technique?" I asked, confused, with one black, tweezed eyebrow raising. I watched curiously as Trevor walked to the side of his room. He put on new sneakers I haven't seen before, spinning around the room, before he ended up crashing on the soccer-shaped beanbag chair.
"Copy cat. You bought my Heelys! And I still don't want to eat with you, Soccer Snob!"
"Well, I guess I'll be forced to show mom another favorite shirt of mine you managed to ruin in the laundry." He told me grabbing a shirt out of his shelf that had a great big bleach stain on the side. I had completely forgotten about that. I put it in his drawer last week under a bunch of other shirts, hoping and praying he somehow wouldn't notice. He already had so many shirts but of course he had noticed. Which was just great, seeing how I was already in trouble for messing up three of his other shirts with Mrs. Mitchell and my parents.
"No!" I yelled, ripping the shirt out of his hands. "I can't lose any of my pay!"
"Then I guess you'll just have to eat with me."
I growled at his smug face as I walked out into the hallway, but before too long I heard Trevor call me back. Stomping my foot, I turned around and barked at him, "What?!" feeling like a six-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.
"You're right, my food has turned cold. Put in the microwave for me? Please?" Trevor asked sweetly as he pretended to be polite, his arm extended out with his food on his tray.
"My pleasure," I said through gritted teeth and snatched it from him. Trevor only laughed and plopped down on his chair to talk some more trash to Matt as I slammed the door behind me.
I checked on the laundry before heating both our plates up, Billy and all the adults were already done eating and the dishes were clean. I felt guilty that mom had to do them all by herself again, but hopefully, I could help her next time and stop being the world's worst maid and daughter.
Before I stepped back in Trevor's room I felt a strange urge to check my make up and comb my hair. Unfortunately, his door was open and he caught me, eyeliner in-hand.
"Dolling yourself up for me, I'm honored." I scoffed at a smirking Trevor pushing my way past him and into his room. I only noticed when I sat down that Trevor had grabbed his plate and drink from the tray. I looked back at him and saw he already had half of it devoured... And people think blood drinkers are gross.
Trevor returned to his game and killing Matt over and over again. It wasn't like I wasn't an expert at video games, but I could tell Trevor was winning, due to his excessive bragging. I munched on my food, trying my best to enjoy mom's cooking, and not be bothered by Trevor elbowing me. Again and again he wanted to show me how great of an attack he just pulled on Matt was. I pretended to care, nodding my head, before rolling my eyes and eating more food.
Boys, how they got so riled up over a stupid game was beyond me, but I guess we all have things we like that no one understands. Mine just happened to be old Dracula and Nosferatu movies rather than Halo and soccer.
"Trevor, I'm done eating, so I'm going to take the plates away. You can continue playing."
"No. Did you think I'd forget about the deal we made?" Yes. "We still have to hang out."
Trevor said bye to Matt in the headphones and told me to come back after putting the plates in the sink. When I came back he had a gray American eagle shirt that matched his sweat pants and the Heely sneakers he had to copy from me.
"I'll race ya," he said over his shoulder before running and gliding through the hallway.
I, of course, won since I been practicing and he just now bought them. The feeling of beating Trevor was great.
"Trevor! Ahhh! You're going to make me fall! Or do a very painful spilt!"
"Come on Monster Girl, I got you." Trevor smiled and pulled me along the smooth floor of the garage where the Mitchells keep their cars, bike, golf carts and other junk, with extra room.
Yep, it is just that big.
I felt his fingers grip my hands tighter as he pulled me along, like he was as scared of hurting me, as I was scared of being hurt. The thought was strange. I always thought Trevor would be the first laughing uncontrollably if I got injured on a painful [but funny] accident. I let him lead me through the garage laughing as I slid over the cold, smooth floor.
"Okay, together now!" I said after stopping at the garage door and on the count of three we stopped running and slid along the gray tiles together, Trevor crashed into the steps and screamed as I landed on top of him.
"So my Monster Girl likes it on top?"
"Shut up."