A/N:
Mine: Angsty one-shot interpretation of Eric always telling Sookie she is his. AH, with Sookie and Eric being two star-crossed teens.
Thank you to my beta chiisai-kitty for combing through this and assuring me of my angst-skills ;)
SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I just make them cry, so she should probably be in charge of them.
…
Sookie was awakened by the curious sensation of what felt like someone drawing on her hip, and when she opened her eyes she realized it was exactly that.
"What the heck?" she asked, giggling as she said it so her boyfriend knew she wasn't mad at him.
"Just giving you a tattoo, that's all," Eric replied airily.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Tattoo Artist? Of what?" she said, and tried to sit up to see what Eric wrote. But his hand that wasn't holding the felt tip pen gently pushed her stomach so she was back in the lying down position she woke up in.
She should have felt self-conscious, her boyfriend touching her stomach to make her lie on her back as naked as she entered the world. But she didn't—couldn't, with Eric; not after everything they'd been through. The two of them had grown up together but only started dating four years ago, after years of friendly touches, lingering glances, and play-dates that slowly became just dates.
Their friendship started when Sookie jumped farther than Bill Compton off the swings during recess in kindergarten and Eric said she was pretty cool for a girl. But their dating started when they were at Lafayette Reynold's 14th birthday party and, drunk on wine coolers, Eric had suddenly leaned over and kissed her on the lips right when she was in the middle of a sentence.
She didn't push him away because she'd had a crush on him ever since that day in kindergarten, and was thrilled that the lips that she'd always fantasized about (the lips that she knew had never kissed a girl) were finally on hers (the lips that he knew had never kissed a boy).
Eric had asked her out the next morning, squelching all her fears that it was just a drunken thing and the kiss would ruin their friendship. When they told their parents, the grownups didn't even try to act surprised. After all, she and Eric were grade school friends turned high school sweethearts, with their epic love played out in front of an entire town for years. Everyone knew it was a long time coming and were just glad it came sooner than later. Eric and Sookie were glad about that too.
Compared to everything else about their history, sex was the newest; it had come two months after the "I love yous" they exchanged the summer going into junior year. They were each other's firsts—first everythings, really—and had come a long way since that first slightly awkward first time.
But now Sookie knew Eric's body like she knew her own. She knew an upturned lip meant Eric was going to flirt with her, and she knew his bright blue eyes somehow darkened whenever he was turned on.
Eric knew her body too, which was why he wanted to give her a homemade tattoo. Sookie had a tiny heart-shaped mole on her hip, and it was so small and in such a secret location that, depending on the skimpiness of Sookie's underwear or bikini bottoms, sometimes it couldn't be seen. He first saw it years ago, when they were twelve and Sookie had worn her first non-one piece bathing suit, a tiny pink bikini that revealed both the mole and her breasts that he also noticed that day, though definitely not for the first time.
Once they started dating, he told her that her mole-heart was his. Now he was just putting it in writing.
A minute earlier he had leaned over and grabbed a pen off of Sookie's night stand (he knew she always kept at least one there so she could easily write in her dream diary when she woke up in the middle of the night with something worth remembering). He had dozed off for an hour or so but she was still sleeping, tired from their earlier frenzied bout of love making.
It was sweltering hot, as it always was in Louisiana in August, and Sookie had kicked away the sheets in her sleep. Eric didn't mind at all. Her heart—which he always said she wore on her hip, not her sleeve—was making an appearance; in his drowsy sex-induced drunkenness he thought it'd be silly if he circled it and wrote "Mine" next to the heart that would now be literally, in addition to figuratively, his.
He finished the "e" in the word and capped his pen with a dramatic flourish before tossing it back on the night stand. Sookie, who had been wondering what the heck he was doing down there, eagerly sat up to see what he had written. Eric looked at her face instead of his squiggly circle and uneven letters, feeling proud that he was the responsible for the way her eyes lit up when she understood what he had done.
"I am yours," she breathed, reaching for his hand and pulling him closer to her.
"You are mine and I am yours," he said bringing his lips to hers.
Within moments the kiss had heated up, and even though they were both a little sore from their love making from before, they were ready again. Hands and tongues were moving everywhere but stopped when his cell phone went off—Eric had set an alarm reminding him to pick up his little brother from soccer practice at 7:30.
Both of them groaned, in ways completely different from the groans they had been making moments earlier.
"Fuck," Eric swore, breaking off the kiss and bringing his forehead down to Sookie's. His eyes were closed, and he bit his lip.
"Talk about bad timing," Sookie joked, tucking a sweaty piece of blond hair behind Eric's ear.
"What the hell, I can be a few minutes late, right?" he replied a moment later, wiggling his eyebrows at her.
She smiled at his earnestness. "As much as I'd like that, I know Jack wouldn't. He hates being the last one on the fields, you know that."
Eric sighed, knowing his girlfriend was right. After taking one last kiss from her he got off the bed, showing no modesty as he bent on the floor to retrieve his boxers.
"Do you want me to come?" Sookie asked, leaning back on her elbows as she watched Eric.
Eric paused before answering, "Nah, you don't have to. I haven't cleaned my car, so you'd have to sit on dirty clothes and old take out containers and shit. But if you want to order a pizza, I could pick it up and bring it back."
"Take the $20 my parents put on the kitchen table for dinner," she told him. Her mom and dad were at some reception for her dad's work and wouldn't be back until much later. Hence the reason why she and Eric had been doing what they had been doing all afternoon.
"Okay. The usual?" Eric replied, buttoning his cargo shorts. He walked over to the closet to pick up his shirt, and once he put it on he came back to the bed where Sookie was.
"You know it."
There was only one pizza place in town, and there was only one pizza they ate. No one else but them liked anchovies on their pizza, even though Sookie had only tried it when she was eight and wanted to like anchovies because Eric liked them. It was one of their many 'things.'
"Remember, this is mine," he said sternly, his thumb purposefully pressing into the heart as he leaned over and gave Sookie a kiss on her forehead.
"I won't forget it," she promised, as serious as he was. "Love you."
"Love you too."
It was something they always said to each other—maybe they were making up for years where they had separately thought it but were too scared to say it out loud. But once they knew they could, they said it all the time: ending phone conversations, when Eric walked Sookie to her front door after dates, and generally whenever they were or were not together. Their friends made fun of them by saying they reminded them of their parents. Eric and Sookie didn't care.
Whistling cheerfully, Eric walked out of the room. About a minute later Sookie heard him pull out of her driveway—his car had needed a new muffler for months now, but since he wouldn't be bringing it with him when they both left for LSU in a few weeks he just made do.
Then she smiled giddily, replaying the events that had happened since Eric came over a few hours ago as she stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Eric had put on her ceiling when they were ten because he was a foot taller than her. When the sexy slideshow ended, she forced herself out of bed and put on her underwear and sundress from before; she would have felt weird ordering a pizza if she wasn't wearing any clothes.
After making the call, Sookie went to the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Thankfully it didn't look like Eric had left any hickeys. She would have been peeved if she had to cover up her neck in this heat, since even the smallest amount of concealer would have sweated off.
Sookie turned on her laptop, making a note of what the time was so she'd know when to expect Eric. Her stomach grumbled as she checked Facebook for any updates or recent postings. Seeing that her friend Amelia was online even though she was supposed to be vacationing in Spain, Sookie sent her a message on Facebook chat asking about her vacation, and things went on from there. It wasn't until Amelia was vividly describing a boy she had made out with in a club last night that Sookie realized that she'd been talking to Amelia for over forty-five minutes and Eric still wasn't back.
She told Amelia she had to go and closed her laptop too hard, wanting to get to her phone faster. Eric was late sometimes, sure, especially if it was in the morning—but that was when he had to go to school, not when he was coming back to Sookie with dinner. She felt a little nervous but figured it was nothing.
She tried to tell herself that when she called Eric's cell and it went to voicemail after seven rings—"Hey, it's Eric. Here's hoping you know what to do after the beep."
Frustrated, Sookie closed her phone shut. She didn't need to leave a message because if he saw that she'd called, he'd know the reason behind it.
She dialed the pizza place, but her order hadn't been picked up. She hung up after the employee snidely informed her that the pizza was getting cold.
Still clutching her cell, Sookie went to the kitchen and took a can of soda from the fridge. She tried watching some TV but her mind wasn't in it. On the first commercial break her phone rang and she opened it after the first ring, not taking the time to check who was calling.
"Eric?" she asked.
There was a pause before the person on the other end spoke up. "No, sweetie, it's Cynthia."
Sookie knew there had to be a reason why Eric's mom was calling her when she was supposed to be working the night shift at the local hospital.
"Hi, Cynthia. How are you?" she asked politely, making sure the nagging feeling in her stomach didn't play out in her voice.
"Sookie, you need to come to the hospital as soon as you can. It's … it's Eric," Cynthia replied, her voice wavering at the end.
"Oh my goodness! Is he all right?" Sookie asked. Now her fear was showing in her voice, just like it was showing in her knit eyebrows and the way she jumped off her stool. She knew something didn't feel right earlier.
"It doesn't look good," Cynthia admitted, audibly sniffling.
Tears sprang into Sookie's eyes as she ran into her room to get her car keys. Eric once said he had never seen his mom cry—not when his dad left her for his assistant when he was fifteen, and not when she accidentally cut off her thumb chopping tomatoes and had to have it sewn back on by her colleagues at the hospital.
"What happened?" she asked, finally finding the keys in her purse. By this point she had slipped on her flip flops and was running towards the door. The hospital was in the next town, but that was only ten minutes away, even less if she drove over the speed limit.
"There was an accident. Someone ran a stop sign and hit the driver's side of Eric's car when he was going to pick up Jack at soccer. He lost a lot of blood, and broke a couple ribs and probably some bones too. He was unconscious when he was brought in, so the doctors say he has a concussion but they think he'll wake up. The other driver died instantly; she wasn't wearing a seat belt. Cops think she was on the phone too."
Sookie was crying as she turned on the car and looked behind her as she backed out of the driveway, but she wiped her tears away. It was bad enough she was speeding and on the phone—she didn't need to get in a car accident too.
"What about Jack? Is he okay?" Sookie asked after a moment.
"He's fine, just freaked out. One of the parents was behind Eric at the intersection and saw the whole thing; she was the one who called the police and then brought Jack to the hospital. Listen, Sookie, one of the doctors is coming over, so I need to go. Just come to the hospital as soon as you can, okay?"
"I'm already on North Street. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Hurry," Cynthia urged. And then she hung up.
Soon Sookie was at the hospital and finally found the entrance to the emergency room. Cynthia was waiting for her at the doors, and Sookie ran to her once she saw the tall blonde, a woman as familiar to her as her own mother.
"How is he?" she asked as Eric's mom pulled her into a hug.
Cynthia shuddered, and Sookie could feel it through the hug. She started crying again, after she had finally managed to stop in the car.
"They're operating on him now. Come, I'll take you to where he is," Cynthia told him.
But she didn't take Sookie to where Eric was; that was impossible, even with her connections at the hospital. Eric was in surgery, and no one was allowed in. So Sookie sat in a hard, plastic chair next to Jack, not even pretending to read the magazine in her lap. Cynthia was pacing back and forth in front of the kids, and thirteen-year-old Jack was halfheartedly playing a game on his iTouch. Sookie had called her dad and told him what happened; her parents were on their way now.
An hour later, when her parents finally arrived, Sookie still hadn't been able to see Eric. A doctor came out to tell Cynthia that her son needed a blood transfusion and he needed to know what type Eric was, but that was all of the news they'd gotten. Between deep breaths Cynthia told Sookie and her parents it probably wasn't a good thing if Eric needed a blood transfusion, but she did so quietly so Jack couldn't hear.
Sookie's mom sat next to her daughter, clutching her hand as they both sat in silence. Sookie's dad had gone off to find the cafeteria for some coffee, and Jack was in the bathroom. Cynthia was still pacing.
Sookie could tell when the doctor was approaching them because his sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. She picked her head up and the moment she saw his face she put it down again, lower and between her knees.
Her tears rolled down her legs, and she watched them instead of the doctor as he apologized to Cynthia and told her they'd done everything they could do but Eric just had lost too much blood. He said other things too, about other injuries Eric sustained, but Sookie couldn't pay attention because they didn't matter now.
She didn't want to believe it—she couldn't. Eric was dead. Her Eric was dead. He was dead and she'd never see him in her bed or in his car or ever. He wasn't supposed to die—it wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to go to college together and love each other and get married one day once they were adults and had jobs and a place of their own. Eric was only nineteen, for Christ's sake—he'd just gotten to the good part of life, and it was snatched away from him suddenly.
It was a random Tuesday night and Eric was just supposed to pick up his brother from soccer practice and come back to her, but now he was dead.
"Michelle? Sookie? What happened?" Sookie's dad asked, back from his failed trip to the cafeteria. He stopped in his steps as he took in the scene in front of him: his wife and daughter were doubled over weeping in the waiting room chairs, Cynthia was hugging Jack and crying on his shoulder, and a doctor was uneasily watching everything from afar.
"Corbett," his wife said between gasps, but that was all he needed to understand that his daughter's boyfriend, the boy he never had to worry about with Sookie for over a decade, was dead.
He walked over to the chairs and kneeled in front of his girls, a hand on each of their knees
Sookie lifted her head up, but she didn't even appear to be looking at her father's face that was just inches away from hers. Instead, she stared right at the doctor and said, "I want to see him."
The doctor's Adam's apple bobbed. "I'm afraid you can't … he's on the table from surgery … you don't want to see him like he is."
"I always want to see Eric," Sookie snapped. She stood up from her chair and marched right over to the doctor, not caring that she was crying as she ordered him to take her where Eric was.
"Sookie, are you sure you want to do that?" Michelle asked from behind.
"Yes." Sookie whipped her head around and saw her mom now standing up and holding her dad's hand. She looked to her right and saw Jack sitting in a chair crying into his hands, and when she looked to her left she saw Cynthia right next to her. She hadn't even heard her sneak up.
"Let's go, sweetie," Cynthia said, taking Sookie's hand in hers. Sookie managed to nod and squeezed tightly as they walked down the clean white hallway.
If it weren't for Cynthia Sookie would have turned around once she looked in through the window. Eric was lying on the surgical table, but none of the nurses or doctors paid any attention to him as they cleaned up from the surgeries. At least someone had thought to put a sheet over his body, so he could only be seen up to his neck.
Instead, she forced herself to walk into the room. She didn't notice that most of the hospital staff had stopped what they were doing to watch Cynthia from pediatrics and a blonde teenager walk in holding hands and crying. All Sookie saw was Eric; it looked like he was sleeping, since someone had washed blood off of most of his face and hair.
When she put her hand on his chest it made a squishy sound and her hand sunk in a little, so she quickly removed it. Then she carefully touched his shoulders, and they felt as sturdy and capable of being cried on as they always did. Sookie leaned over and tucked her face in the crook of the neck, inhaling the faint smell of his deodorant and shampoo for the last time while blocking out the more overpowering combined smell of his blood and various disinfectants.
This was how she always fell asleep with Eric, her face buried in his neck. Sookie always fell asleep before Eric, and she always slept longer than him—but not this time, and not ever again.
…
"Hey baby. I made you pancakes," Michelle said comfortingly when she saw her daughter standing by the fridge; she hadn't even heard Sookie come into the room, she was so quiet.
Her eyes were red and puffy, and even if Michelle hadn't been kept awake all night crying into her pillow at the sound of her daughter's own crying she would have known Sookie didn't get much sleep last night. No one did, even after being in the hospital until two in the morning.
"Mom, can you take me to get a tattoo? You need to have a parent with you if you're under 18," Sookie said, looking her mother right in the eyes.
"You want to get a tattoo?" Michelle repeated dumbly, forgetting all about the pancakes.
Michelle wasn't an idiot; she knew Sookie had sex with Eric and often drank at parties. But she also knew her daughter used condoms and birth control pills and made sure there was always a designated driver. Sookie wasn't the kid she had to worry about—no, that would be her older brother, Jason. Never in a million years would she have guessed Sookie would want a tattoo. And now she wanted one the morning after Eric died?
"Please? It'll start to fade if I don't get one right away," Sookie whispered, her throat hurting too much from hours of crying to speak at the regular level.
"What will start to fade, honey?" her mother asked, turning off the stove and walking over to her daughter.
"This," Sookie said, starting to cry all over again as she pulled down her pajama shorts.
Michelle gasped as she stared at her daughter's mole, the one everyone knew Eric loved to joke was his. Tears she thought she'd run out of sprang up in her eyes, ready for descent.
She reached out to trace the circle around the heart and the word written next to it, but she stopped inches away; Eric had probably touched them last, and she didn't want to ruin it for her daughter. Instead, she brought her hand to her mouth, which was wide open in shock.
Her eyes watering, she nodded. "Do you want breakfast first or—"
"I want to go now," Sookie said impatiently, her voice clearer than it had been for hours.
Michelle stood to her regular height and kissed Sookie on the top of her head. "Let me go get my purse."
Sookie was silent for the length of the car ride, which was pretty long since the nearest tattoo parlor was in Shreveport, over an hour away. She was sure that she wanted her tattoo, and was thankful her mom hadn't tried to talk her out of it.
She knew she was young, but she'd always be Eric's. Eric would always have her heart. He was going to have it forever, for the rest of their lives, but now he'd only be able to have it for the rest of her life.
Eric's marking of her had started as a goofy little thing, but just like their relationship, it had grown into something much bigger.
…
The tattoo artist thought it was strange that there were tears in Sookie's eyes when she walked into his shop; usually his customers started crying when they were in that leather chair and his needle was on their skin. But after hearing why she wanted the tattoo she wanted, he realized that the tiny teenage girl was not like his other customers.
As he carefully traced the circle around her heart-shaped mole, he thought she was a hell of a lot braver than the usual idiots who came in wanting their whole body covered in ink.