I have struggled over this chapter, deleting bits and rewriting them over days. I want to try to convey a sense of dizziness for Sookie, I don't know that I've completely managed it, but keep it in mind as you read through the swings in her thoughts, understanding that she has never had a normal relationship with anyone and that can be overwhelming.
I look forward to hearing from you all..
Merick
Chapter 11
Tears turned into a fitful sleep that was not at all restful and when the sun began to seep in the gauzy curtains that she had not thought to strengthen with the blackout ones tucked in behind, Sookie woke, the images of two very different men in her thoughts: thoughts that had settled in her gut like a knot which she could not banish. In the world that had been framed in black and white, mostly black, the shades of grey were taking Sookie from one almost frantic extreme to the other.
Bill Compton had scared her. His appearance at her door had brought back the knowledge of his offer, the easy death for her, the death that she had been so set on embracing only a scant few hours before it seemed. He had looked at her with lust, she did not need to be able to read his mind to see that; but it was what he lusted after that had her confused. Her body? That was easy enough to understand, many men had lusted after her body. Her blood? That was something Sookie had no knowledge of. She'd heard of the blood whores, as they were called, selling themselves to the vampires. Some folks envied them, and some scorned them. It was one thing to sell your body, but quite another to sell a piece of your life, or your soul they reasoned to justify their disdain. Sookie didn't really see the difference; her life had come to mean nothing, and that was why it had been so easy to make the decision to throw it away. But of course, now she was reconsidering that decision. And that had as much to do with Bill Compton as it did with Eric Northman.
She had never thought about being sexually attracted to men before, sex had always been about as far away from attraction as she could believe. But suddenly, in less than twenty-four hours she had felt things from her body that she had never felt before. That realization had her dreadfully confused. Despite still feeling the exhaustion in her muscles, she was glad for the sunrise, because she knew that she would have time to think, or time to run, whatever it was that she finally decided to do. So she lay in the bed, letting the dreams have her waking moments, trying to make some kind of sense out of every thread that had her entangled.
Bill Compton was not a soft or romantic type of man; he wore his emotions on his sleeve, and something about the fear he provoked in her, and the way it made her shake was exciting, not like the fear of the men on the streets, or the approach of her uncle, more like an amusement park roller coaster. It was fun because there was always a chance that you might actually be killed, and bringing yourself to that very peak produced an adrenalin rush that was the epitome of euphoria. Haunted houses were the same. That was probably a better comparison she thought to herself as she wound the white sheets over her hands. He was dark and dangerous, and he wanted her, and just that knowledge stirred something in her core, something that frightened her. The memory of that kiss; his hands had been cold when he had touched her on the bridge, but everything then had been cold. But to find his lips were cold, the feel of them had been so different, and the quiet, it haunted her because she did not know what to make of it, and she could not push it away like the anonymous men whose beds she had shared for four years. And then there was the other.
Eric Northman was beautiful, she couldn't deny that. His hair was golden, his eyes sparkled even in the muted light, he was thoughtful and handsome and sexy, and she stopped herself at that point. He had told her she was beautiful, but it had been in a chaste sort of way, the way one reassures a child, whether it is the truth or not. He had not wanted to have sex with her, and she had seen that as noble, but doubt began to creep in, and as it does, it began to make her question her own recollections. She wanted to have hope, more desperately than she had wanted anything in four years, except a warm bed and a sturdy lock on her door. She willed herself to think back on his face, his even tone, and his kind words. He had been really kind hadn't he? She hated questioning everything, and she hated the feeling of bile that was rising in her gut. She felt the sting of tears rising in her eyes again, tears she could barely stop because she did not understand what her heart was feeling, and tears because she was afraid of what her heart was feeling.
She threw herself out of the bed and out of the bedroom into the sitting room, feeling suddenly short of air, fighting the urge to let that first tear fall. Seeing the expanse did not help her because it forced her thoughts back to Eric, the one who had set it all up for her, based on some kind of curiosity that she did not understand. A sudden knock at the door startled her and her instinct sent out her mind to discover who it was there. He was human, of that she was certain, but he wasn't thinking about her, only about some hostess at the lounge that he really wanted to get back to chatting up; the concierge had sent him up with some task, and warned him not to ask for a tip or he'd be fired. He was no obvious threat and so Sookie swallowed her emotions, another response of instinct, cautiously opened the door and peered out at him.
"Good Morning Miss." The man half bowed to her with a plastered on, hospitality weekend workshop kind of smile.
"Hello?" Sookie could not help but notice the silver cart he had parked outside her door.
"Mr. Northman wanted to make sure you have breakfast miss, if it isn't to your liking I've been told to get you anything you want." He really didn't fancy being sent back to the kitchen for something else, Sookie could see that in his face.
"What is it?" Her response was hesitant; worried that someone who didn't actually eat might choose something wholly inappropriate for breakfast.
"French toast, fresh berries, orange juice and some bacon?" The breakfast sounded wonderful, and smelled even better when the man wheeled the cart in without actually waiting for her acceptance of it, and took the cover off the plate. He tidied up the dishes from the previous night without another word and left. His rudeness aside, Sookie was actually used to being mostly ignored by people, she let herself smile. Once again Eric, her golden haired angel had provided for her and he had managed to sweep the doubt from her soul without even being there. She sat down to eat, pouring a glass of the fresh orange juice, drinking it as if it alone would sustain her.
Only when she had finished her second glass of juice did she move the napkin to lay it over her lap, spying a white envelope with the Hotel's letterhead. She picked it up carefully, almost as if she was afraid of it. She didn't get mail, not even junk mail at her apartment. She didn't have a phone, and the utilities were included in her rent, so no bills. There was no one else to write to her, she'd looked in her box a few times, the manager had given her a key, but she gave up because it was just one more dashed expectation. Her hands were actually trembling as she tore open one end and dumped out the contents. A white piece of paper fluttered out, but it wasn't that which caught her immediate attention, it was the folded over pile of green bills that landed in her lap. She could not help but gasp. She didn't even have the fortitude to pick them up, or count them; instead she reached for the paper that had landed on top them.
Dear Miss Sookie,
I thought after we spoke, that perhaps the shops here at the hotel might not be to your taste, or might indeed be too limited for you. Wishing to correct my hasty assumption I have asked the manager to have this envelope delivered to you. The car will be waiting for your shopping excursion, you need only call, or there should be sufficient money to take a taxi if you prefer.
I hope you will forgive my thoughtlessness and accept this gift. I look forward to our meeting this evening. I will call you when I am able to escape from my duties at work, should you chose to keep your phone on. I sincerely hope that you will.
Eric
Still trembling fingers picked up the money in her lap, and she counted it out. It was a mix of bills, likely pulled from his own wallet, it counted out to $600.00 and Sookie nearly dropped it again as she finished the math. It was more than a month's rent. Another sob escaped her throat, and again she let doubt creep in, though not of Eric's intentions, but of herself. He was treating her like a princess when really she was nothing more than a whore; used up by the men around her, with nothing to give him. How could there be anything he wanted from her? But yet it seemed that there must be something because he was trying to keep her alive, and trying to ensure that she would see him again. She finished her breakfast through choked sobs, it still tasted wonderful, but not as wonderful as it probably should have, and tears stained the white napkin more than maple syrup and berries.
After a shower she dressed herself back in the blue, because she felt very self conscious about going out in her own clothes, as Bill Compton had noted, not out loud, but his comment about having a new dress for her was more than obvious. She wondered if the blue had been a choice of his, or if it had been on account of Eric's tastes, or if it had simply been the choice of the hotel staff who had prepared the room. She began to wonder if she'd been dressed in that way for the occasion, but then pushed the thought from her mind. There had been enough doubt, and enough tears for one day, even one of her days. She picked up the phone and opened it, it flashed to life with the touch of a finger. She'd never had a cell phone but this one was simple enough to use, and once more she looked over the three numbers that had been entered. Eric Northman, Fangtasia, and Jason. She brushed her fingertips over the words wistfully and then closed it, tucking it into her little bag, just beside the business card from Bill Compton and she went out. She made no calls.
