Grown up and leading her life the way she'd always seen it, Raven lives in 'Hipsterville" working in the Coffin Club. Suddenly a tragic event brings her back to "Dullsville," where she's confronted by the Soccer Snob she hadn't seen since their shared kiss.
Ten Years Later, And Yet...
Chapter 2: Or Maybe They Have...
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and no, I haven't read VK5 yet... Hell, I barely remember events from VK4... This is just a continuation of Your Monster... Ellen Schreiber's characters!
"Why won't you say anything?" I demanded haughtily of Trevor Mitchell as he drove at too-fast speeds through the oddly-deserted streets of Dullsville. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that odd... It was a work day, after all, and we all know the work ethic of the residents is extremely... Beyond what I'm capable of.
My parents were off work for obvious reasons... And Trevor's parents pretty much had it easy. "Why aren't you working?" I finally asked my ex-nemesis, turning to stare at his profile in awe. "Did you really need to take off work in order to see my mother through her tragedy?" I added snidely, feeling suddenly defensive.
Trevor stomped on the brakes, ripping the emergency brake up when we were fully stopped. I felt like my eyeballs should have popped out of their sockets with how violently we'd stopped.
"For Chrissakes, Raven! You've been gone ten fucking years!" he exploded, making me cringe back into my seat. I averted my gaze shortly, but Trevor was having none of that. "No! Look at me!" he demanded angrily, reaching over to seize my face and violently wrench it around to face him.
"Get your damn hands --" my outburst was cut off by Trevor's lips on my own, and I inhaled suddenly, yanking my head out of his grip as anger welled up in my chest. "You had no right to do that," I hissed darkly, feeling ever so much like the Monster Girl nickname I thought I'd been able to escape.
Yes, it's true. While I didn't much like the typical Dullsvillians, I'd grown up enough to be able to tolerate them, though only a bit more. I hadn't had a reaction this bad since... Well, high school.
"The hell I didn't, Madison!" Trevor growled, lowering the e-brake and speeding off, toward the country club, where he squealed up to the valet parking lane and threw the Mirage into Park. Immediately regaining his composure, Trevor jumped out of the car and handed the valet his keys – and I assume a hefty tip as well – before circling around his car to open my door. Huffing, I hopped out of the car and stormed past him.
I heard an aggravated sigh behind me and smirked to myself, loving how I could still make him angry all too easily. But why do you enjoy it so much, Raven? I thought to myself, scowling down at the ground. I looked up in time to collide with the doors leading inside, and reeled backward in a vain attempt to regain my balance.
Let's just say it didn't work.
"...Very graceful, Monster Girl," Trevor whispered, having squatted down beside me with a satisfied smirk on his gorgeous face. "Would you like some help up?" he asked, his grin growing by the millisecond.
"No, thank you. I'd rather get up alone, if the only other option is the likes of you." Ouch. "Thanks anyway," I added, using a tinge of sarcasm so he wouldn't think I was actually thanking him. As if...
"Suit yourself," Trevor muttered, rising to his full height as I scrambled up from my embarrassing position of lying flat on my back. Dusting off the back of my dark blue jeans, and shrugging out of my black leather jacket to brush it off as well. I was wearing a white, lace-edged, spaghetti-strap shirt beneath it, and was grateful I had been wearing the jacket, or else the shirt would probably be ruined...
I glanced up to find Trevor staring at me, his green eyes darkened beneath furrowed eyebrows. "Why are you dressed... Well, normal?" he asked softly, eyes dancing up from my chest to meet my gaze. I felt my face heat up, but shrugged, draping my jacket over my left forearm as I moved to lean against the door I'd just run into.
"I can still be Gothic, even dressed like this," I muttered, somewhat embarrassed, and certainly out of my comfort zone. I attempted to joke, "Hey, my jacket and boots," I motioned down to my pointy-toed black leather boots – four inch heels – with my right arm, "are black. Goth enough for you, Soccer Snob?"
Trevor turned on his heel and entered the building without answering, though I saw his jaw move. I wonder what he said, I thought, biting my bottom lip again. Suddenly I was glad I always wore heavy-duty lipstick, that would pretty much stay on no matter what. Well, at least, it seemed to be holding up for me so far.
Following him inside, we waited for the hostess to return to her post. After fifteen minutes, Trevor angrily pounded his hand on the podium that served as the hostess's station, and shouted, "Damnit! I had a reservation for... NOW!" Quickly, a blond, busty girl who appeared our age, at least, rushed around the corner, tugging at her rumpled outfit, and attempting to hide a few hickeys on her neck, that both Trevor and I clearly saw.
"Oh, please don't tell my supervisor!" the girl pleaded, wiping her lips carefully, only succeeding in further smudging her already-smudged ruby lipstick. I glanced at her nametag and did a double take.
"Jennifer Warren?!" I exploded, laughing so hard I lost my balance and had to lean on the wall near her podium. "Oh, my Goth, you're stuck here?!" Trevor rolled his eyes and pressed his tan hand over my mouth, smiling wryly at Jennifer, who'd been staring at me with her eyes slitted dangerously.
"Trevor, you finally showed," she whispered, and Trevor tensed. Jennifer immediately shut up, grabbing two menus from the shelf behind the podium, motioning for us to follow her. She weaved in and out through the tables expertly, leading us to the darkest portion of the restaurant, that was only lit by strands of lights.
I stared at the area in awe. It was somewhat secluded from the rest of the tables, and the table was draped with a black tablecloth, versus the white ones draped over the rest. I stared up at Trevor, a question in my eyes: Why had he reserved a table that clearly didn't belong here?
Trevor turned to look down at me with a sigh. "I've had this reserved for ten years... Don't ask how I afford it, you'd probably just hate me," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice as Jennifer set the menus down in front of the chairs, one of which Trevor was pulling out for me to sit in. I slowly settled into the comfortable chair, reaching out to finger the petals of the single black rose that was in a crystal vase in the center of the table.
Had Trevor Mitchell... The Soccer Snob, of all people... Waited for me? Oh, my Goth.
Or Maybe They Have...||End
