Thank you all sooo much for the reviews, it felt so good to get that many reviews on starting a story that wasn't even Edward/ Bella. If I didn't reply, I'm sorry, I meant to. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer- I do not own Twilight, New Moon, or any of Stephenie Meyer's fabulous ideas!
A Night to Remember
"Please, please, help me!" he whispered urgently. His voice was beautiful, that of which you imagine only in fairy tales; smooth and deep. He looked quite sincere, but my heart still thudded loudly.
From what I could see in the dark he was the most handsome person I had ever come in contact with or even seen. He had what my mother would call 'prefect bone structure', and he had the type of hair that looked amazing no matter what he did to it. It was dark brown, about the same as mine, but maybe a bit darker. I could tell he was strong by the grip he held my wrist.
But his eyes were still what kept me rapt with attention.
I had caught my breath by now, and I knew I should scream. But for some reason I didn't, I had a ludicrous notion that this was where I needed to be. I guess I was a strong believer in fate.
"W-what is wrong?" I asked a shiver from not only the cold of outside but his frigid hand, rolled down the contour of my body. I knew that as soon as he let go, my wrist would feel as if I were running it under warm water, due merely to the air being warmer.
"Everything." He shuddered as he let the word escape him, as if recalling a bad memory.
"What's your name?" I asked. The more I talked the better I felt, a wave of calm was actually starting to rest upon me. But my idiocy wasn't to a point where I would completely trust him. I just knew if I kept him talking the longer I was likely to live.
"Patrick…" he let his voice fade off, and I saw his jaw clench and unclench. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Kira." I said starting to devise a plan. "How old are you?" I asked.
"18" he said.
"I'm 17 ½, so we're quite alike." I piped in, in an attempt to get him to trust me. "Why don't you just let go of my wrist now." I suggested, and I knew that it came out with a slight edge of hysteria.
A booming growl emanated from somewhere in his chest, and scared me to a point in which I knew that any plan I had earlier had was foiled. We sat silently for what felt like hours, but I was sure that my internal clock was just being manipulated by the adrenaline pulsing through my body.
"I-I'm sorry, I promise I won't-" he stopped as if he was ashamed and then rephrased his sentence, but with a noticeable difference. "I promise I'll try not to hurt you." I stayed silent.
"What do you mean try?" I asked the fear now evident in my voice.
I re-assed my situation, things didn't look good. I felt like he could easily turn the bones of my wrist to powder.
"I asked someone to help me before, and they tried to run away…and…it was an accident! I didn't…I didn't mean to…to…kill him." Patrick finished. I just sat still. My eyes were fully adjusted to the dark. I could see the intensity of his stare. I felt the wind's breeze blow wisps of my hair around and in front of my face. I wanted to move them but I was petrified.
And that was when the tears started to leak from my eyes. They ran fast down my face into the crease of my nose then trembling on the edge of my lip. They dropped quickly and left the wet streaks to be chilled by the wind.
"Oh," he let the word slip from his mouth. It hung in the air, almost like an aroma. "Please, don't cry." He said lifting his hand and wiping the tears from my face in which I cowered back. "Just please trust me, I don't want to hurt you." He said.
"Then you don't have to." I said my voice cracking. I had been trying to hide my true feelings before, which was something that they taught you in self-defense at school, never let your attacker see you are afraid. But of course I couldn't remember anything else.
"I'm trying." He said. "Its just you smell so good." He said.
"Then maybe you should stop inhaling through your nose." I said. This would normally have come out in a sarcastic manner, but now it was serious.
"I can try." He said. And to me it looked like he actually had, but that could have been my imagination.
"So," I said struggling to regain my calm. "Just tell me what you need me to help you with," I said, deciding that helping would leave me with my best chance of survival.
"I just need someone to help me understand what is happening to me." he said looking down. A shiver ran down my body, and my teeth were starting to chatter, though I kept them clamped has hard as I could. "You're cold," Patrick said.
In any normal situation I would reply saying something like 'no shit Sherlock' but this wasn't any normal situation, so I merely nodded.
"Why don't we go inside?" He said. And I looked at him like he was as crazy as I thought he might be. Why would I let him in my house?
"I don't think that is a good idea." I said.
"Perhaps, but I would rather you not get hypothermia." He said. For a crazy person he was awful caring. He stood up pulling me with him. We were both standing on the trampoline, its stretchy black material giving beneath us. But before I could try and do anything to get away I was being pulled into his arms, and the level at which we were, was changing.
I heard him hit the grass with a bit of a rustle and a thud, but after that I just had the sensation that I had jumped from a high height and left my stomach behind. For the next thing I knew we were up onto the balcony next to the 'secret room'.
"W-what happened?" I said. He placed me back on my feet, though I immediately crumpled to the ground. Patrick reached back down to me like he was going pick me up again, but I dug my heels against the cement pushing myself backwards and up to the railing.
He let his head drop.
"I'm not exactly sure what is going on," he said. "But, please come inside," he pleaded with me softly, opening the door. I got up of my own accord and moved inside only because I knew that I was starting to freeze and that now that we were up here, he could go inside anyway, so it didn't make much of a difference.
I walked inside and the carpet felt lush against my raw feet, and the heat flushed my skin. The futon looked as if it was calling my name. But Patrick sat on it and honestly, I was too afraid to sit next to him. So I settled for the bean bag, letting myself slip into its depths.
Patrick looked even more stunning now, the moonlight hitting him so that his intense stare bore into my own with a new vigor.
"So," I started, feeling more like a therapist being held captive than anything else. "Would you like to explain to me what is going on?"
"I- I'm a vampire," he stated plainly. At this point I was sure that he was crazy, perhaps some raving lunatic. For I had long ago stopped believing in ghost stories. Though I was pretty sure what had scared me more were Psychos grabbing my ankles from underneath my bed.
My throat clenched, and a nervous feeling above my navel ran through me.
"And what makes you say that?" I inquired; my fingers clamped around a piece of the fabric and started to pick at the seams.
"You don't believe me." The knowing fashion in which he said the words irked me. I studied him for a moment or two, deciding on how to reply.
"No." I said taking my chances. He nodded silently. I pushed my fingernail against the thick cotton particularly hard, and it made a small tearing noise. I didn't dare move my hand or my head to survey the damage I had done to the seat.
His eyes had flicked from my own, to where my hand lay, limp against the cushioning seat.
"Well, why not?" he said and I almost sensed a bit of anger.
"Why should I?" I answered his question with one of my own.
"I'm not sure." His face fell into a down trodden grimace as he spoke the words. "Maybe I'm just some insane ward escapee, and I don't know it." He said more to himself than to me. "Should you take me to the hospital?" he asked looking up to me.
His words struck me off center. Normally crazy people weren't aware that they were crazy, thinking only that those around them were.
I removed the hand that had punctured the bean bag in an attempt to clasp my hands together. But the small plastic beads spilled over my lap until I stood up and readjusted the seat so the open section was propped upward as opposed to pointing down whereas the beans would once again begin to fall and scatter to the floor.
I stood awkwardly like I would if I were I visitor in someone else's house, unsure of what to do. I took slow careful steps towards the futon, meeting Patrick's gaze a few times as if to silently converse that I was planning to come and sit next to him.
As I sat down an ample distance from him, I realized how feeble I felt next to him. My whole body was in a sense slimmer, smaller, more fragile. He sat next to me, his shoulders some what hunched, and his feet apart with his elbows resting against his thighs. He turned his head to me, and once again emitting the power of his eyes.
"Are you starting to trust me more?" he questioned as though he didn't believe the words himself. "You sat next to me."
I thought it over. Did I? Or was I suicidal? Definitely not the ladder. But I couldn't truly know, possibly I had just been too lazy or tired to sit on the ground.
"I'm not sure." I responded, vocalizing my thoughts.
"I guess it's better than a no." Patrick stated.
"So, why don't you just explain to me your story?" I said. "Then, maybe I can help you." He nodded in agreement before starting.
"It was about three or four days ago, maybe even five. I was walking home from my after school job, and then, I don't know. I guess I was ambushed. All I remember was everything starting to go in and out of light. And pain. It hurt like hell. Possibly worse." He paused lost in memories. "It was like my blood had turned to magma and was burning my insides, but I wouldn't die. It was at least three days like that."
He looked at me for reassurance and I nodded for him to continue.
"The pain started to dwindle, until finally it was gone, I opened my eyes and sat up. I wasn't where I had been before. I was lying on grass, and it was dark outside. A woman was standing over me. She had blonde hair that fell about to her shoulders, and red eyes. Very red eyes." He said as though he was scared.
I wondered if he knew that his own were most likely matching to hers.
"She was who told me what I was. Of course, I didn't believe her at first, as I'm sure you don't believe me now." His voice quavered. "But she showed me that she wasn't lying. And then…then I ran. I tried to find help. I couldn't be going crazy.
"That was when I ran into the first man. I tried to get him to help me and he ran, I caught up to him in an inhumanly speed, and I tried to grab his wrist, but I guess I broke it. And then he was screaming and he dropped to the ground. I don't remember much after that, I think it's because I made a point to try and block it out. But I remember going to his level, I broke his neck to stop the screaming. It was so easy really. It barely felt like I had moved him. But I know I lowered my head to his neck, and I bit it. And…"
"And what?" I asked feeling true sympathy for him. Not a trace of fear was left in me, which was actually the opposite of what my reaction should have been. I had my head inclined toward him, my body tilted at a funny angle.
"I know that I drank his blood." My own mouth puckered at the idea. "It wasn't even disgusting; in fact it was as if I was drinking the most delicious thing ever to be invented." He stopped himself appalled by his own words.
He shook his head as if to rid an image from his head before continuing.
"Then, as I stared at his lifeless body, I knew I couldn't leave it there. So I pulled him to a lake, and threw him in, I know that they'll find him. He'll float up eventually. But I couldn't just leave him there. But I was still so sure I was crazy. So I continued to search for someone who was still up and out. I knew very well I couldn't just take someone out of their house. But I saw you and I figured that you weren't actually inside, and I saw you wake up, and it was just perfect timing." He ended.
As I listened to his story, a lump grew in my throat. But the scariest part was that I believed him. Just one thing.
"If you're a vampire wouldn't you have fangs?" I said calculatingly.
"You would think so," Patrick began again. "That's the first thing I said to the woman who found me, she said it was all wise-tale."
I stood feeling like I was the bringer of bad news, but his mention of this mysterious woman had reminded me. I reached out to take one of his hands, amazed by my own confidence. He took my small hand within his larger one, and he stood. I started to move as quietly as I could, taking him with me to the door to the bathroom, he was so quiet. I would have had to look behind me to check that he was still there if I hadn't been holding his hand.
I pushed open the door and it squeaked on its hinges. I stood stock still waiting to hear my mother. Nothing. I continued my advance towards the mirror. As soon as we were in front of it, shock crossed his face.
I watched him blink a few times then shake his head, before , moving centimeters away from the mirror to further examine his reflection.
I crossed my arms in a nervous gesture, hoping against hope that I was imagining the rustling of the carpet down the hall. Once he straightened back up I saw that he was quite a bit taller than my own 5'5" stature. I guessed around 5'12" or 6'0".
I ushered him back into my room, which was actually considerably cooler than the bathroom. I let myself fall back onto the futon. Though sleep had evaded me while he was telling his story it was now coming back with a vengeance. I felt the mattress that I rested on move as Patrick sat down. I pulled myself up into a sitting position so I didn't seem impolite.
"It's okay. You can sleep." Patrick said, surprising me. "It is late, or rather early." His voice, though I was aware he was merely talking, felt like a lullaby. I felt my heavy lids fall and worked to keep them open.
"Um," Not sure how to put my next words into a way that they weren't rude, I began carefully. "Where are you going to go?"
"I'm not sure; I don't really have a place to go." He said solemnly. I was itching to sleep and ready to just tell him to spend the night.
"What about your parents, I'm sure they're worried about you." I recommended. He looked down ashamed.
"I can't." He simply said.
"Why not?" I asked almost in a groan.
"Because they'll notice the difference in me, I look almost completely different anyways I have no idea of getting there seeing as I have no idea of where I am."
"You're in New Haven, New York." I told him.
"Anyways, I wasn't really supposed to tell anyone what I am now." He said, and I immediately perked. What was that meant to mean, would he have to get rid of me?
"Oh…" my voice trailed off.
"So I guess I shouldn't really leave you, I don't want someone to find out that I told you." He said decisively. My eyebrows rose at this unexpected response. And at it I felt like it was my responsibility to invite him to stay and I was also semi-confident that he would anyway at the certainty of his words.
I looked out the glass doors and could see the slightest of paling in the sky, a sure sign of the oncoming dawn, possibly showing the time being around four.
"How about you stay here tonight." I said. "You can have the futon." I said slowly rolling off towards the edge in a lazy attempt to move. He touched my shoulder and I stopped my wriggling, my heartbeat quickening.
"You can stay there. I'll sleep on the floor." He generously offered. I was much too tired to say no, so instead I gave him my pillow and one of the blankets. He moved off the bed and I did to, he looked at me oddly, I crossed the room's length in a couple of stumbling steps, and easily turned the metal lock so that I didn't have to fret over my mother coming in.
I walked back to the futon stepping over Patrick and let myself drop into the soft and warm bed, the comforter like a sea of pure bliss and warmth. I pulled my arms up and crossed each over the other, letting my head rest upon them as a makeshift pillow.
"Goodnight, have sweet dreams." I whispered.
"Good night." He said. For a split second panic crossed my mind. I was letting a total stranger sleep in my room, it was about to start over my frenzy of fear before I pushed it out of my mind, and let sleep envelope my tired mind.
But it was barely 10 minutes before I was awoken, though I was sure it had probably been more. An icy cool had settled over the exposed side of my cheek, the side that wasn't pushed up against the hunter green sheet beneath me. My eyes flicked open faster than normal at the realization of who it was.
I looked to the sky out the glass, but it was still a deep purple though hues of pink were weaved in.
"What is it?" I asked embarrassed by the grogginess of my voice, so I cleared it.
"I can't sleep." He said in a terrified whisper.
"What do you mean, you said you've been in pain the last three days and you've been up all night, and how can you not fall asleep." I hissed sharply, before succumbing to my guilt and looking sorry.
"I'm just not tired, and however long I keep my eyes closed I can't fall asleep." He said. I could tell that there must have been something truly wrong, not just him being aggravated. I rolled over pushing myself tight to the wall so I could maintain as much space between him and myself.
"Here, maybe you'll sleep better up here, but keep your own blanket." I tacked on. I felt his weight press upon the bed and gravity edge me closer to him seeing as I was rolling downwards. But that essence of fear kept my clinging to the edge, before I drifted back to sleep I remember him saying one thing that almost startled me out of sleep itself.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Yes." I responded to get him to stop talking.
"You're lying." Patrick's voice was determined, as if he knew, and I was almost sure he did. For that was the truth, I was lying.
Sleep was peaceful, uninterrupted by dreams, or at least ones I could remember. I awoke somewhere in early afternoon or late morning. Rolling over and causing the futon itself to let out a hollow creak. As my eyes opened I found the spot next to me empty.
I wasn't sure whether it had all been a dream, a figment of my imagination or not.
As I pushed my feet over the edge and they made contact with the carpet that now felt raw in comparison to my flannel sheets, my knee's cracked, I moved a bit to where my bean bag sat, inspecting it I noticed that the small hole was still there. I stood puzzled lost in the depths of my own mind.
There! Now, if you would like an update as quick as this one, I would suggest reviewing, that always makes me more in the mood to write: ) oh and there is a picture of Patrick in my profile.
And princessciara, it would be great to hear back from you soon!
-Mel (alwayssmile877)
