CH. One
Vintage Victorian
I sighed. How the hell did I get stuck here? Palm trees lined the highway we were turning off at.
"Aren't you excited? We're moving into a very large vintage Victorian house!" cooed my mother from the front passenger seat as she unglued her face from the window to glance at me.
"No." I said curtly. Well, I wasn't honestly. How could I be excited over this? Southern Florida isn't my paradise, its my mother. We had lived there before. It's nothing special though a Victorian house in Southern Florida seemed out of place, strange to me. She stared at me, disappointed apparently. She exhaled, and I cringed for the upcoming lecture.
"Could you try to be more excited?" she pleaded to me, then looked at my father expectantly, silently begging him to step in persuasively.
He sighed and gripped the steering wheel harder as he attempted to trick my mother into thinking he was too engrossed in driving and dodging traffic to hear her. It didn't work. "Honey?" she solicited his help. He threw me an annoyed glare. Please, I thought, like I'd respond to that.
"You should be happy were moving back. I'm getting my well deserved raise, and your mother was homesick." He grunted. I didn't hear any reason for me to be happy. That's because I wasn't, but it escaped their logic evidently. Yeah, 'mother was homesick' for Florida only because she had cleared out every shop in the small town we had lived in for only six months. How on earth one woman could pry envy and hate out of every single neighbor, I already guessed. My mother is a compulsive buyer, or she keeps up with the Jones', so to speak. Naturally, those one horse town citizens were unpleasant to her. My father worked with a manufacturing company for well over sixteen years, and he hadn't gotten one raise until now. I wonder why—the lazy bastard. My dad isn't the fatherly type. He drinks, brings his hangovers to work, yells, and once got as far as punching my mother before they separated for three months. He promptly apologized, my idiot mother accepted, and we moved to avoid conflict with prying neighbors and my mother's wounded reputation. Now, we're moving back—where everyone knew two things: My dad is a wife beater, and my mother is a gold digger. My dad may have not have gotten a raise, but he made ample money. So, everyone knew why my mother accepted him back—she craved money like people crave water or air.
"Yeah, yeah." I snapped, averting my bored gaze to the window. God, I wanted to open the door and roll out. My parents were that insufferable…
I cringed; we were home now. I slammed the car door closed behind me after getting out, and peered at the old house. My mother's words echoed through my mind. Vintage…vintage…vintage. No, I corrected mentally, not vintage, aged or ancient maybe, but not "vintage". My mother clapped with glee, and impatiently pulled my father out of the car so he could have a better look as the moving truck followed and parked at the edge of the lawn. My father darted over to pay the driver, and my mother clamored into the car my dad had abandoned with keys still in the ignition.
"Sweetheart," she called my cheerfully, "Tell your dad I'm going to buy groceries and bring home dinner, will you?" I didn't nod or even respond in which she would have noticed if she had even glanced in my direction. She was too eager to shop…pathetic. I fished my new house key out of my back pocket and climbed up the old wooden steps to the threshold. I unlocked the door and pushed it warily open. I expected giant spiders to leap out at me though they had certainly left webs in their wake. Vintage, I scoffed. My mother could deal with the "vintage" debris left behind, and I sprinted up the spiral stairs and into the loft and hallway. I immeadately found the room I would have. It had lead me straight to it, as if I had summoned me. It was too gorgeous to let go. It was large, but you could tell it wasn't the master bedroom. That was down the hall and contended in size if I remembered the floor plan from the papers mother held on the house. My room was eerily dark, and I fell in love with it. I heard a shuffling noise by the door through which I had entered and peeked out of the corner of my eye, agitatedly. Dad, with a smiling face, sauntered in and put a hand on my shoulder. He could tell by the look on my face that I was fond of the room.
"You want this room?" he offered, smiling like an idiot. How generous, I grumbled inaudibly, I get pick my room. Understand, my hard feelings are justified: My dad wasn't a pleasant man. Right now, sure, he was fine. Later on, after things settle, he'll start complaining and screaming at my mother. I wasn't fooled, so I humored him just as falsely. I looked up at him, and put a weak smile on my face.
"I would love this room. I'm going to unpack my things from the truck." I said, then I went to grab my boxes out the Uhaul. They weren't very heavy, but there were lots of them. My boxes were numerous, and I finally set the last one down as my dad finally finished assembling my furniture. I now had a bed, dresser, and vanity in my room. There was another bed, very elderly, that was piled with tattered boxes and containers from the attic at our previous house that was filled with my grandfather's junk and my dad claimed he'd toss tomorrow for my mother had arrived with dinner. I ate quietly, only answering direct question with a nod or a shake of my head. As soon as I was excused, did my chores, and helped unpack the rest of the boxes from the moving truck, watched tv, I dashed to my sanctuary. I hurriedly shut the door after escaping my parents' presence, locking it after me, afraid they'd call me back like they usually did to help with more chores or say good night, but they had probably fell asleep by now. I closed my eyes in relief.
"Well, it seems I'm not going to be lonely." A voice startled me. I peered around the room, it was darker now with no light coming in through windows, and the voice's source was hidden. I shifted back against the door, gripping the knob desperately, but it refused to open. "Don't be in such a hurry. I have never had a willing guest before." I could make out a silhouette of a human, but not until he reached the glow of a votive I had lit earlier. My first thought was: Wow, he's sexy! He was lithe, lean muscled, tall, and had dark hair with crimson streaks peeking out in a disheveled fashion. His eyes caught mine. They were an intense black with silver lining the enlarged pupils. His voice was invitingly deep, sensual, and seducing in an almost melodic way. His black jeans fit snugly to his legs and a tight crimson shirt pulled at his well defined chest, slightly unbuttoned. I gasped audibly, and he smirked as if cued by my inappropriately timed thoughts. I clutched the door knob for support as I surrendered my chances of opening it. "Don't try to run." He advised as he advanced on the shivering form that was me. I glared around the room, searching for an escape, but ended up just darting for my bed and onto the comforters covering it. I barely touched the bed's surface before I felt a hand on my ankle, starkly white and immensely cold. I inhaled sharply and cringed, afraid to face him. "I don't recommend running away." I attempted to tug my foot from his grasp, but it was too much like unyielding metal. Next, I felt another icy hand on my waist, and I was promptly flipped around to face him. His eyes looked dark, but held amusement.
"It seems we have a slight issue." He started, not letting my limbs go from his grasp. "Your family has moved into my house, I suppose?" I felt the color drain from my face for I had just witnessed this man's incisors slip out onto his bottom lip that supplied him with a Transylvanian court-ish slurring. He couldn't be a vampire, I denied. He looked at me, exhaustedly.
"Yes, I am a Vampire," he announced, causing me to open my mouth in protest. "And I'm not from the Transylvanian court." He sounded insulted, and I gapped at him. He had read my mind, how uncomfortable. He now looked smug, almost proud of himself for scaring a mortal girl into incoherency.
"You can't be." I denied, staring at his cold, white hand on my ankle and waist. Could he? He smirked flashing a mouthful of teeth featuring enlarged incisors.
"I can. Would you like me to prove it?" he asked in an enticing voice.