A/N: This is my first fan fiction of AAR's work, so bear with me. I've been trying to get into this more, actually, but I've never had a spurt of creativity that lasted long enough. Well, the second chapter will hopefully be up soon.
Disclaimer: Amelia Atwater-Rhodes is a genius. I am not. She owns every character in this chapter except for Stella, who is my own gal. The plot is mine, though it is still in the developing stage.
I've always rathered brunettes.
By: Abby (aka hi-fi mixup)
"It is not your color, Aubrey."
The fabric of my shirt pulled taut around my waist as I turned it, facing the woman that had just addressed me. A smile formed at the corners of her mouth, which was slicked in red gloss. Her teeth shone even brighter than her Vampiric-black eyes did in the dim lighting. I held back a chuckle, twisting my upper body back around at an attempt to snub the blonde. I heard the quiet click of her heel as it knocked on the tile behind me. The thick odor of her French perfume overpowered my sense of smell, and I smiled a little. It was a silly act of mine, actually. No one could properly "ignore" Stella. It might have been her steadfast diligence or maybe the way her chest always seemed to attract your eyes. Hell, I didn't know. She did have a nice rack, though.
"Maybe," I said quietly, not moving my face an inch to meet her eyes, which I felt staring over every inch my skin. "But, I like it."
Stella snorted, sliding onto the stool beside me. "You were never meant to wear bright colors. The darker hues fit you so well," she purred. Spurts of air pushed against my ear and chin, her breath as sultry as her entire appearance. I felt as if every word tied another string around my heart. The stool squeaked as I stood, my hands sliding into my pockets, and I walked across the room. Those strings ripped from the sudden distance. "Do not try to tempt me, Stella. I'm not that erratic. That night meant nothing to me, absolutely nothing." For a moment, her face became distorted with pain.
Everything I said was true, if only a little. That night hadn't been filled with the ecstasy she swore that I'd feel every second of it. No, it had only brought weights onto my shoulders, mental and physical restraints. Even now, twenty years later, I held back a hiss every time our eyes met. I'd met Stella in a bar outside of New York. She'd been just another wild blonde, with a painted face and a tight skirt. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, only allowing a few tendrils of bangs to fall, eyebrow-length, into her features. Blue eyes had scoped me out from across the bar.
She'd bounced right into my life for what she thought was just a wild ride. A wild ride that turned her into what she was now. Whether I liked it or not, I was blood bonded to this saucy, yet controlling, girl. That's what I got for thinking with anything other than my brain. One little tilt of her angular face and a glance at her form-fitting tank top, and I'd been won over. I regretted it now, yes, but it didn't seem like the worse thing to do at the time.
"But, Aubrey," she started, turning her chin away from me. Her black eyes fluttered closed, and I turned to face the wall opposite of this pitiful scene. "Stella, you are just another face in the crowd to me," - I turned to face her again- "Plus, you know I've always loved brunettes." I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Over the years, she'd snuffed out my flame more times than I could ever make up for. This was a sort of "quick retribution", I guess. Her eyes were rimmed with tears as she looked up at me now, the smile on her face had faded to deadpan. "It's not funny, Aubrey. I'm... sorry, I'm sorry. I want you back. If you'd only believe me."
Her voice was genuinely hurt. I think I liked seeing her this way.
"Risika was always right! All those times when she tried to give me advice, she was right." "What did you say?" I took a step closer to the woman and she shrunk back to the bar's counter. Everyone knew that I despised Risika. Everyone. "I...," her voice was shallow, and she couldn't raise her eyes to meet mine. "I said that Risika was ri-" She cut herself off with a gasp as she fell backwards, her hands shooting up to her cheeks, covering the reddening spot where the back of my hand had impacted. My voice deepened. "Do not speak her name around me!" I stood over her, passing my fingers through the front of my black hair. I covered my mouth as I coughed, shoving my previous actions to the side so nonchalantly. Stella struggled to her feet before slipping out of the room unnoticed, her cheeks still burning more with humiliation than with pain.
"I can't believe that she's still on my back. I've never met such a persistent girl in my life."
I laughed to myself again, turning back around and letting my eyes search over my apartment. It was simple: one bedroom, a small kitchen and dining room, and an allotted area for sitting. I didn't need to live in simplicity, but I enjoyed it, I guess. I hired a woman every month or so to clean up, and dust, and that sort of thing. She never asked any questions, that's what I liked in a woman. But, no, Stella couldn't be that way, of course not. She would be far more attractive if she would just shut her mouth for more than two seconds. My chest rose and fell with a sigh; and I took a few steps forward, bending to pick up the stool that she had knocked over. "Klutz," I smiled.
