The day the Tracker came it felt like the world had stopped turning. Everything that could possibly go wrong in world had crushed against me like a wave from the ocean of fucked up. It was obvious that it was something that I considered to be fucked up since the first words I said when I noticed the tall, slender man with a blue crescent moon imprinted in the middle of his forehead were, "Fuck this."
I had gone almost three years without cussing and that streak had been broken in the matter of seconds.
Today was the first day in a couple weeks that I was actually free to do what I wanted to do. Now why does an eighteen year have such a lack of free time? Well that could be explained in one word: Responsibilities. Now most people (mainly adults) that find out I have responsibilities always stick their nose up and make snide comments that usually sound like, "You don't have responsibilities, you're only eighteen," or, "Having a lot of homework and doing after school activities or getting ready for graduation during your senior year does not count as responsibilities."
It's almost insulting how quick they are to make judgements and jump to conclusions just based on the fact that even though I'm legally an adult, they still view me as a teenager. Most of the time I laugh it off without informing them that I have a part-time job to help pay for food and bills. Some of them don't believe I help out and some of them say that's still not having responsibility. Though my job takes up most of my weekends along with what little social life I have.
I used to be a fairly popular girl in school with a good bit of friends. Well, that was until I was forced to move from Chicago to the town of Tulsa, Oklahoma. My father's job had forced us to pack our things up and move to where they wanted my father to work at. My younger sister and I had to leave the only friends I had ever known and move to a place where no one knew us. We didn't have family in this part of the country. Yet that didn't matter to our father because pleasing his bosses was more important that what his children wanted. Though it wasn't completely terrible. I had just had first heartbreak of my life and I couldn't deal with everyone at school asking me what happened between me and my ex-boyfriend because even though we were young, we had been together for two years, which was a while for someone in middle school and first entering high school.
After moving to Tulsa, my mother had suggested to me to find a job to preoccupy my time (and my mind) while I was adjusting to all the changes. I didn't argue with this. Even though my family was pretty well off thanks to my dad's business career, I decided why not start taking some responsibility in my life? Though between my school life, work, and my life at home, I barely had time to entertain myself.
"But can you believe him, Stella?" A high pitched voice scowls in my ear, dragging me from my thoughts.
My brows furrow as I look up from my chili cheese fries to look up at my best friend, Holly. The curls of her brown hair crowned her face as her round, brown eyes stared at me for an answer. "I'm sorry, what?" I question before stifling a cough, a ping of regret washed through me for not paying attention to her. She had clear time her day to hang out me after knowing that it was my first free time in weeks.
"You weren't paying attention to me?" Holly squeaks while slamming her hand on the table. "I was telling you that I caught Kyle talking to another girl on his Facebook yesterday."
"Again?" I speak in tone that said that was such bullshit. Bullshit that her boyfriend, Kyle, had talked to another girl for the fifth time and also because I knew Holly probably forgave, again. "What is this, the sixteenth time?"
Holly clicks her tongue. "It's the sixth time." At this remark, I shoot her a look that says, That's bs. "Alright, I know I've forgiven him too many times, Stella, but I love him. We've been together since sophomore year and I'm not ready to let him go," she pleads her case while munching on some fries.
At this I couldn't help but shake my head. "But he's just gonna keep talking to other girls. And who's to say he won't take that talking to another level with them?" Really, how could she be so naive?
Holly squeaks at this. "He wouldn't do that."
"But he's already talking to them and who's to stop him from doing so? Dump him before you catch a STD or end up being a child's second mama." I didn't trust guys who talked to other girls behind their girlfriends back to have enough intelligence to actually use protection. In some way or another, they slip up and my best friend didn't need that.
Holly shakes her head. "Alright, let's just end this discussion. What have you been doing lately?"
This results in an eye roll. "The same things I'm always doing. School, work, and being stuck at home," I sigh while dipping a fry into the cheese and chili dip before a few coughs tore through my throat.
"Girl, you need more free time. You're too young to not have time for yourself," Holly says matter-of-factly. "And get some cold medicine. Your coughs are getting bad."
"Yeah but I have responsibilities," I breathe out, my throat aching from the fit of coughs I kept having. My body ached all over today and my throat was sore along with a bad cough. I had been taking cough drops all day like they were candy. It didn't make me feel any better to know that this was my only free day before I had to jump myself into the world of responsibilities again. I was just going to tough it up until I went home where I could curl up on the couch with my comfy blanket while eating Campbell's Clam Chowder. Yeah, I know, yuck, but I actually love that stuff.
Though, again, most people will wonder what kind of responsibilities an eighteen year old could possibly have besides worrying about graduating high school and what deciding which college to go to. Though I have always made sure I was responsible ever since I was fifteen. After all, I wouldn't be able to rely on my parents for the rest of my life. That's why I chose to get a job in order to buy my own food, help pay the car bill and insurance, and even give my parents some rent money. It's not as much as what full fledge adults deal with, considering they have to pay multiple bills, but my parents and I agreed that it would help me learn responsibility. Especially since I was majorly irresponsible fifteen year old but I'm not going to get into that just yet.
Holly opens her mouth to say something but stop short when her eyes land on something behind me. The color drains from her face and drops the fry in her hand. A ting cold shoots through my body before I turn around to see the source of Holly's horror. My blood runs cold when my eyes make contact with the undead man across the food court. He held a tall, slender form that was covered with a black. His leather coat, pants, and boots: black. Even his hair was black and his eyes were a dark brown, almost black. Like the night that suited the undead, vampyre vibe he was giving off. The only splash of color on his dark demeanor was the blue crescent moon imprinted in the middle of his forehead along with the elegant lines around it seemed to glow off his pale skin. His dark eyes were staring back across the food court. Toward me.
I tried to convince myself that he was staring at Holly but as his long slender legs made their way closer to our table, I knew he was coming for me. His eyes never left contact with mine; my eyes that were a wide as a scared rabbits.
My breathe freezes in my throat when the man steps right in front of me. His voice slicked through the air toward me as he spoke the ceremonial words that every Tracker spoke right before every fledgling was marked.
"Estella Isolde! Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee; hearken to her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night!"
He lifts a long, slender finger and points it at my forehead. The middle of my forehead explodes in pain as the food court grows silent. The only sounds that echoed through the room were the clacking of the Tracker's boots as he walked toward the exit and the air around me being sucked in between my lips in a hiss as I hold my forehead.
My breath finally coming back to me, I hiss out the words, "Fuck this."
The images of three years ago flashed across my mind. My then boyfriend and I were walking home from archery practice. It was hobby for me and something that he was extremely passionate about. He was making goofy jokes at me, his sandy colored waves blowing in the wind. I adored everything about him right down his big, brown eyes. Though our joking and laughter was cut short when we noticed the Tracker standing at the end of the street. My then boyfriend had gripped my hand tightly. We knew one of us was going to be Marked. We were the only two walking down the street and the Tracker was making his way toward us. We both knew who it would be, too. My then boyfriend had been sick that whole day. Coughing, body aches, runny nose. He looked awful even though that didn't matter to me. So when the Tracker finally reached us, he said the ceremonial words while my then boyfriend was pale as a ghost. Once the Mark was on his forehead, the crescent moon glowed against his skin.
Glowed.
I wonder if the crescent imprinted on my forehead was glowing. I already had a creamy complexion which I was sure was as pale as a vanilla milkshake at that moment. The crescent was sure to stand out like a flashing billboard.
After the minute of silence, the food court broke out in the sound of chatter. All around I could hear people saying, "Oh my god, did you see that?" And, "She's one of those freaks."
Heat rushes through my body before I grab my purse and sling on my shoulder before grabbing my chili cheese fries and drink. I glance at Holly, who was stile pale with shock. She opens her mouth to say something but the words get caught in her mouth. At this, I shake my head at her before darting out of the food court, making sure to throw my trash away on the way out. As soon as I reach outside, the sun beaming down on me causes my skin to burn. I was pale and used to getting burnt but never this quickly. This hurt like hell and I was to get inside my car. I dart through the lines of parked cars, finding my blue BMW. Fumbling for my keys in my purse, I finally find them, unlock the door and jump into the driver's seat. A heave a sigh of relief, thankful that I had changed my mind on lightening the tint of my window. It didn't completely stop the burning sensation the sun was causing but it helped.
Heaving a sigh, I curse, "Fuck this," again before cranking the car up to go home. I could only think about how I was too old for this and how fucked up it was that the vampire goddess had decided to Mark me to be one of her fledglings.
I had always thought that typically fledglings were Marked between fifteen and seventeen. I had no idea that they could Marked when they were eighteen. Well, I guess maybe any age with a "-teen" added at the end could be Marked. Which sucks, to be honest. I have so many things I need to do, needed to do, and now everything has gone into smokes. I feel like my life has just been ripped apart, the same feeling I had when my ex-boyfriend was Marked and when he refused to try to figure out how our relationship would work. Though this time it was a hundred times worse because of what was at cost. How was I supposed to tell my parents that I had to go to the House of Night of Tulsa? How was I supposed to drop every one of my responsibilities for this school? I was on my way to moving out of my parents' house and getting my house. On my way to becoming a responsible adult. Now it felt like I was set back to being a teenager because I wouldn't be considered an adult about vampyres until I completed the change; if I completed the change. And that "if" worried me more than anything.
My eyes stung as I drove down the road to my house. It hurt almost as bad as that time I accidentally squirted Mean Greene in my eyes when I was eight years old because I was such a genius back then. My hands burned as the sun came in through the windshield like I had been sitting outside all day and forgot to wear sunscreen so my skin decided to scream at me. I had already been Marked for thirty minutes and I already wanted my refund. Maybe next year?
Swinging into my driveway, I pull up to the garage and park my car right outside it. As I grab my keys and put them in my purse, a pulse of fear finally bolts through my body. The reality was setting in that everything was about to change. It wasn't like I was afraid of suddenly turning Goth or emo or becoming a bloodsucking parasite; I was afraid of losing my family. While my family are usually pretty open minded they would still be upset that everything I've worked for has been for nothing. I had no idea if they would be disappointed that I was now something that we all thought I had avoided. My parents know that fledglings can't help being Marked and they would no way hold it against me personally but they were also afraid of the vampyres. I mean, who wouldn't be afraid of the unknown? While vampyres are no secret, humans still didn't know what was fact or fiction when it came to how they live. Do they need to drink blood to survive or is that simply just a craving? Do they sleep in coffins or regular beds? Do they eat regular human food and if so, will I still be able to eat my spaghetti with garlic?
There are so many questions that none of us knew the answer to just yet. Though the biggest question I had wasn't about the vampyres behaviors or how they lived their lives. No, I could care less about the vampyres because I couldn't shake the sickening feeling that my world was about to be ripped up from underneath me.
While anxiety rushes through my veins, I open the door to my house, knowing that someone would be home at this time. Someone was always home and I hoped it was my mother instead of the nanny that we had hired. This hope burns inside me as I hear the sound of plastic dropping on the hardwood floor and the thumping footsteps running from the living room and down the whole. My anxiety and aches disappear the moment I see the bouncing sandy blonde curls of my favorite three year old as she runs to me with her arms outstretch. I squat down and scoop her in my arms once she reaches me, the smell of candy filling my nostrils as I bury my face into her hair and neck.
"Adalynn," I whisper as I clutch her close to me.
