Rating: Light M/heavy T :o. I'm warning you. And yes, I'm guessing since you guys watch True blood, you can handle this. Plus in comparison, it's rather fluff.

Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood, if I did, I'd probably have this show last like 5 hours instead of one (how does Ball do it?).

Characters: Tara, Franklin, and a little Terry.

A/N:Before I talk about this chapter, some reviewer had said that they didn't understand the little break in the story where Terry says, "number 4". I was going off the list he had said in the third episode –It Hurts Me Too- where he names three things prior of why he can be trusted with Arlene's kids. I was taking creative license and added more to the list :D.

Related to this chapter: I didn't mean to make the motel scene to be so long, but when a muse comes, it comes and you accept its gifts. So, yeah criticism/feedback is loved and welcomed when it's constructive! If anyone wants to listen to music while reading this or wants to see a wonderful vid of Tara/Franklin (or generally, Tara herself) I suggest:

a) (just the song) Search for Massive Attack's 'Psyche" remix

b) ()/watch?v=oXNz-5qJ8tg (song plus fan video) or search for "Tara's story"

Beta: BooksCatsEtc! She is so fantastic and has helped tremendously with the editing of this chapter!

***Enjoy this update on a sunday, hours before the next episode-9 crimes- (It Hurts Me too will have one more part till the addition of 9 crimes to the list of chapters)

It Hurts Me Too, part 2

"Oh no…" Terry threw away the bags that were beginning to tear at the bottom, leaking food waste into the dumpster. He had heard a commotion, but as he was about to push open the back screen door Arlene had called him, asking him to tell her the rest of his list and that she had something to tell him when they both got off of work. He could've sworn he had heard Tara and others out here….but then again how many times has he thought he heard something that others didn't? Quiet. It was so quiet with him standing under a street lamp, looking at the empty and unmarked parking lot void of people and a one way street. He looked down to scan the ground as he had been trained to do in the army, looking for anything to give away a sign rather than headpins of mines. He saw an empty broken whiskey bottle, glass shards spread haphazardly by low-tread tires and shards that seemed kicked further from the rest, and others that were stepped on and broken into dust-like pieces under the weight. Tara was gone. He swallowed. "Shit." He knew the verge of going off on the deep end, he had seen it in many a soldier, and she had that look when she saw Eggs' body, but less of it when she returned to Merlotte's. Should he notify Lafayette, who'd be furious at her leaving, and worry with him? Or should he say that Tara is fine, make up a lie about knowing where she was, and hope that everything was truly fine. He had one hour till Lafayette had his break and he had to think of something and said something –whether the truth or reformed lie- had to be thought up before he bumped into Arlene again, because seeing her would force him to tell her every strain of truth. So, in actuality, he had only a few minutes to come up with something.

"I should walk you home." He was close. Too close. It felt like walking down a dark alleyway not seeing the end of it, not seeing behind yourself, but when looking down, there'd be a shadow alongside you, and it wasn't your own. She swallowed. Looking at his shadow beside her own, made it seem all the more daunting, the feel of the cold air against her neck like breaths against her skin didn't help either. She should run now. She should scream, even if she wasn't much for playing damsel in distress with high pitched wails for a rescue, how long would her fists help her if he got bored with her struggle? If she didn't know he was a vampire, she'd say she could take him, but she saw what he did back there and she could only imagine what he could do. So why couldn't she run? Her footsteps kept trudging along, grinding the pebbles of gravel, making the only sound around her. Why the fuck was he so close. Why did he want to walk her to her home? Why didn't he just drain her, leave her, and go on his merry-fucking way. Why did she wait for him at the bar, a place that had people, witnesses.

She couldn't tell if she was leading him or if she was following, there'd be times when she felt like he was behind her, but every time she glanced to see their footsteps, she noticed that hers were slightly behind. Her mind thought of worst-case scenarios, of her blood-drained body being tossed into the bayou to be left to 'loosen' for the gators. She swallowed. What on earth would make her take him to her house….where her mother rested, where else would she go?

She stopped, her eyes looking ahead, still glancing for someone, whether a driver in their car, or a drunk trying to figure out where they lived. She bit her lower lip, thinking of what to say, what to do, to get this vampire to go away. And he stopped behind her, looking at her with an eyebrow arched, in mockery or perhaps curiosity. She couldn't figure it out and the confusion grew along with her anger. The confusion was at his unpredictability, and that unpredictability scared her. Not being in control of a situation was the scariest thing she could think of.

"I'd like to thank you for what you did back there, which doesn't come often from me. And I appreciate you wanting to walk me home" –and drain me in my fucking house, she thought- "but, I think I got it from here." She began to walk away, her eyes not once locking onto his for fear that he'd read her, read the anxiety behind them. By the time she blinked, he was in front of her, staring at her, daring her to look away.

"I don't think that's what you want." His voice almost got drowned out by the sound of locusts in the trees, buzzing like active power lines. But if she didn't hear what he had said, she made no effort of telling. And his smirk returned, the grin that was somewhat cocky, and somewhat unfortelling.

"The fuck I don't. I appreciate your offer of wanting to suck me dry but-" and here she paused, her lips almost forming the shape for the next added word, but hearing him laugh, cold, chilling, but amused stopped her. Dead. He interrupted.

"If I wanted your blood, I would've taken it already." He stepped closer, and she stood her ground. She might've not known vampires as well as Sookie, but she had an inkling that a chase would only please them more.

"Well, what do you want then," she said, vexed. Eyes narrowing. Did he think she was some plaything to toy with, to amuse him till dawn?

He stood over her. His eyes held some sort of emotion that she thought she had seen in someone else, but couldn't name. His pointer finger ran along her jaw, causing her to exhale at the coldness of his touch and make her wonder if she felt like lava to him. It traced a journey from her ear to her chin, and he tilted it, to make her look into his eyes once more. She couldn't breathe at the touch. And she wondered if it was the fact that he was so close, if it was because he was so cold, if he was a vampire, all three, or something else. And as he bent and his lower lip barely touched the rim of her upper one, he whispered against her lips, "I think you know."

Time halted. The locusts that had frenzied wings, stopped their buzzing, and the faint music she had heard down the road drew to a deathly silence. He didn't exactly kiss her. His lip still making a sensation that made her light-headed and all the more confused. And when she thought she had some bearing on identifying said sensation, his lip was replaced with his tongue, as if trying to innocently make entrance and connect with her own. It was then that she wondered what vampires tasted like. If all they drank was blood, wouldn't they taste like blood?

When she was 8, after being hit by an empty bottle by her drunken mother, blamed for drinking the alcohol that Lettie Mae had forgotten that she had slammed, her split lip gave her the chance to taste blood for the first time. It tasted…metallic. It was like licking the inside of a copper and iron infused pot, but of a liquid that was warm and deep against her tongue. Now, she would liken it to copper pennies mixed with sangria. But as she gave into his kiss, felt her lips respond to his, in a kiss at first light, she didn't taste blood or a faint hint of it, but It tasted…and she was never the poetic one or the one with depth…but it tasted like rain and fresh earth -sweet, damp, and fresh,

Her mind screamed many things. Some valid-Eggs just died; Lafayette will be fucking pissed; you don't know this guy; go home and pray-but when one of his hands grasped her neck, attempting to pull her closer, to let his tongue explore her mouth more fully, the only thing she thought vividly was: Release.

She managed to break away, hearing sharp breathes that might have been her own or might have been his or might have been both of theirs; she felt the coolness of his forehead resting against hers, and managed to murmur, "Motel. Now"

She would never understand vampires' abilities –numerous and mysterious as they were. How did they both get there so fast, had he grabbed her hand and her feet merely went on their own volition, barely touching the pavement? Or had he carried her? She remembered saying the words, remembered his lips prior-the taste and feel of them, but when she blinked, she somehow managed to get from the middle of the road to being outside of one cheap motel labeled 'Ricky's Motel' with the lighted marquee on a fritz and an unilluminated "M". It wasn't romantic, but then again she wasn't looking for romance.

The man at the register looked pissed, but she guessed she'd be too if she had to work those crappy ass hours, hearing all sorts of noise, and being forced to say pleasantries that he for sure didn't mean. He glanced at them, not even saying the 'Welcome to So's-in-So's Motel" that littered Bon Temps and other Louisianan cities. Actually what she saw in his glance- not a glance, but a glare-was hatred concealed behind dark brown irises. Was he sneering at the thought of the idea of interracial intercourse or was he seeing fangs that the man had chosen not to hide, and the thought of a vampire and a human woman, a fangbanger, repulsed him. She didn't have to say anything, however, as a key was tossed-no, thrown- at her, and she saw the no-name stranger toss money at the man, right before grabbing her hand and practically rushing towards room 122.

There's still time to leave; To get the hell out of here, that little voice returned, and she closed her eyes as if that action could shush it. She knew she shouldn't be here…with a stranger, let alone a dangerous one, but everything she knew before this went to hell, so why couldn't she let go to the urges when they naturally came and weren't driven upon her by Maryann. The door was pushed unceremoniously open and as soon as it closed, she felt her body being slammed against the hard wooden surface. Somehow her hands managed to be pinned above her, and she felt motionless, as he leaned closer, mischief in his ice blue eyes, and raw heat. She shuddered and had to breathe in shallow breathes as she felt his breathe-cool- against the lobe of her ear, and forced her eyes closed as his lips touched the rim of said ear to murmur, "You should tell me to stop." She couldn't answer. It felt like her tongue was in some horrid knot that could not unwind itself and only seemed to twist into a more elaborate shape when she could feel his smile. How could she tell him no, tell him to stop, how could she not to?

She had an ounce of control, even if said control was not speaking. She wanted this….urge, wanted him, but couldn't…wouldn't let it get the best of her. She might be doing a bad thing right now…might actually relish at the thought of what would come afterwards…of seeing what the 'hype' was all about with vampire sex after hearing light remarks from Sookie about her lovemaking with Bill, but she wouldn't give him all control.

His tongue trailed along her neck, down to her collarbone to run along the ridge, only to dip down in between the crevice of her breasts. It felt colder in this room and part of her was convinced it was the goose bumps he caused when his tongue touched her scorched flesh, and the other part believed that it was the lack of clothing now laying in heaps about the floor. She didn't even realize when she lost her clothes. Her head would involuntary tilt back as a gasp escaped her lips and when she forced herself to open her eyes, she noticed the shirt-buttons barely connected to the shirt front-, the unclasped bra, his shirt, his jeans, and her jeans unzipped, being tugged. But it was only when she felt cool sheets meet her naked back she realized she was no longer bound to them.

He was above her, his forearms letting him have distance from her and he just stared at her. The smile was gone and in his eyes, besides lust, she saw something else. And, no matter what she did to think of attempting to turn away, she couldn't. The goosebumps he caused when his tongue met her flesh were singed and turned ablaze as sensitive fingertips explored, probed, and begged to conquer while roaming. Her heart beat quickened, pulsating like some voo doo –inspired drumming and she swore she heard the vibrations and she wondered if he could hear it too, but much more intensely. Her hands reached for him hungrily, not careful or sanctimonious, but desperate, and eagerly searching. The room previously thought of as being colder, seemed like a sauna. She arched against him, the back of her head pressing firmly against a white pillow as she could feel his fangs graze across the skin, sharp like little needles. If she was wrong about what vampires taste like, would she be wrong about what it would feel like to have those 'things' press against her, to see him drink from her?

She felt his length press against her as their legs entwined, feeling the welcome weight of his body as it pressed down on hers. She felt her fingers slide through his hair, only to fist the locks as another wave hit her. Now, she could hear it, his own gasp of need, masking her own. She slid further beneath him, clamping his hips between her legs, and the loud sounds of the locusts outside were incomparable to the ones being made now. She had no idea how long this intricate position lasted, till they tried another, and another, but she felt the little voice that used to be her conscience twist and mold and misshape to the point where it wanted a different release. Whereas earlier, whenever earlier was, she was afraid to feel those sharp prongs against her skin, now that voice was hoping for it, no, begging for it. Sookie had said that when Bill had bit her, it felt amazing, and the way she said it, the way Sookie looked off at some unfixed point in reflection, breathing in, and saying it slowly as if to savor the phrase, made her wish that she could feel that feeling, taste it. Just when she couldn't handle it any more, that little voice pressing upon her skull, pressing against her being, she turned her head exposing her neck to him. And she said in a faint whisper, hoping he'd hear, "Go ahead bite me." And she saw them, saw them so close above her neck, her body voluntarily arched in suspense. Her voice sounded more rushed, but more audible when she said halfway into the pillow, "Fucking do it!"

He was given permission. The very first time that he was actually told that he could bite someone. He felt conflicted. Part of him liked the idea of having her run, of having to actually restrain her until he tasted her, tasted her blood and could truly feel her, and the other part, the part that he couldn't identify, found it highly erotic thinking of this woman, giving herself freely to him, not knowing what he would do, but knowing what he could do and being powerless to stop him. It almost hurt, having his fangs out and so close to something so vital and essential. He could practically hear her heart beat and wondered what would happen if he could feel it. But the way that she turned her head, the way that she closed her eyes, and the way that her fingernails ran across his skin told him that if he bit her, if he tasted her, he would lose control. His fangs retracted and he looked at her, looked as her face contorted into confusion as she said, "What the hell, I said you could bite me."

"No," was all he needed to say, what he should have only had to say

"Why not?" Her confusion only grew, and he could've told her the entire truth, but a part seemed better.

"Because you want me to" His hand began to explore under the loose and halfway covering sheets, searching for areas deemed 'favorites' already. His eyes fixed on the window sill, looking at the moonlight illuminating hidden parts of the room. Satiated. "You lost yourself to the void. I'd claim it was a gift but actually it's quite common to most vampires." He smiled. And he wondered what the source of it was. It wasn't cynical nor demeaning, but something more, and he glanced down to see her smile. He felt himself breathing faster, he had to remind himself that the sun would come up soon. She broke his reverie

"I never do this"

"What, one night stands? Cheap Motels? Vampires? " he paused. He waited. It seemed rather long. He didn't like the thought of one night stands being plentiful, cheap motels were unbefitting, and the thought of her having an attraction to him because she was a ….what was the term? Fangbanger, would get old. Fast. He felt himself breathe with a surprising relief when she said:

"No, none of it, No offense.. .actually the cheap motels, yes. But only once. Come to think of it, why do you need a motel room. Don't ya'll sleep in the ground." And that reiterated all three of her answers without blatantly stating them.

"it's a nice place to shower, to shave, to ravage you." An hour and a half till sunrise…

"Fuck, did this all happen because we beat the crap out of a couple of rednecks tonight?"

"You did. You would've killed them if I hadn't stopped you." His lazy hold on her became almost nonexistent as she began to distance herself.

"I wanted to," and there was despair and anger in her voice and he had to ask, even if he shouldn't have cared and even if he kept telling himself that he didn't.

"Where does all that come from?" Could he glamour her into telling him if she resisted? Did he want so much control that he could make her say or do anything without any choice on her part?

"Nope…you don't want to get into that"

"I think I'm entitled to a little curiosity. I hardly know a thing about you. I don't know if you have a husband or a boyfriend…" And that's when she pushed herself up, away from him, moving his arm that was holding her safely to his side. She felt weak then and he wondered if she could physically mask or mimic the disintegration of the strength she had hours earlier.

By the time he got over his confusion or he hid it, she was already frantically grabbing clothes, forgetting to put on the bra and throwing her shirt over, and buttoning her jeans as if she was being timed. She reached into one pocket, feeling the mound that was a cell phone. The lit up screen told him it was text messages or voice mail. The fuck she exclaimed meant that it was either her boyfriend/husband or someone else. He wanted to ask who it was, what it said, he felt himself being curious. And curiosity unrelated to his objective in Bon Temps was deadly.

"This was great and all ..okay mindblowin' but lets not make it into something that it wasn't. Just take me home."

"Can I at least ask you your name?

"Even better, I'll walk".

He was amused at this situation. This wasn't his first time at a cheap motel with a human woman, although the ending results were different-very different-, he was definitely used to being the one leaving, uttering something useless and feign, being on the receiving end was….unusual and unpredicted. "My name is Franklin…." Maybe if he started first, she would feel inclined to tell him hers. He shouldn't have cared about her name, but not knowing it was making him feel…..something.

"Please give it up, knowing my name isn't gonna make you feel any less dirty or me any less. Just" she breathed, opening the door and looking outside before turning towards him and smiling…for the first time in a sincere way, " Thanks Franklin…"

And she was gone. He laid there for however long, under the sheets, not bothering to put on clothes wondering what happened, what her name was, and when he would see her again, because there wasn't a doubt on if, but a when.

To be continued…

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