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Chapter Fourteen
I wanted to die. Like honestly, sincerely... die.
Eric probably never thought much of it anyhow, if he even did see much of me in the bathtub; I was certain, in his one thousand years of being a vamp, he more than likely had millions of girl's throwing themselves all over him. He sure was good-looking enough. Really, what's another girl's body gonna count any?
Still, that way of thinking did nothing for my nerves. I felt the blood surge up to my cheeks, when I wrapped my pink silk bathrobe more securely all over myself, and wrapped my damp, stringy hair up into the towel to soak in all the moisture. I was super hesitant when I unplugged the bathtub and exited the bathroom.
"Well, that was awkward as hell," I muttered, abashed, just for something to say, when I noticed Eric standing around in the hallway. "I don't think I've ever felt so embarrassed in my entire life! Well, aside from that one time in Church, when stupid Jason decided to put a whoopee cushion on my seat..." I was babbling nonsense, but it did well to alleviate me. "And, God, you should have seen everyone in attendance! They all turned around in their pews, and looked right at me, like I was some disgusting animal or something...all because of Jason playing some silly trick on me! I really wished the world would have opened up and swallowed me whole right then. Much as I do now, with how-"
"World open up and swallow you whole?" Clearly, he wasn't familiar with that euphemism.
"Yeah, it's like a euphemism. Like, you know, I feel so embarrassed I could just about die. Kind of like that, but-"
"Sookie Stackhouse," he said firmly, interrupting me. Whoa, well. That was a surprise. First time I'd ever heard him actually call me by my official name, rather than Tiny. It was kind of... nice.
I stared up at him blankly, blinking."Yes, Eric Northman?"
"Shut up."
"Touche, Eric," I whispered sourly, rounding the corner towards the stairs. He was just standing there, staring, in his skin-tight, black jeans and nothing else. I considered him in silence for several moments, then realized just what it was that would have done him wonders. "I know what you need," I said, matter-of-factly. He stared after me, perplexed. I went into Jason's room, and was instantly smacked right in the face with mess.
It almost looked as if a nuclear bomb had went off in his room, causing chaos and destruction.
Jason always had a messy room, ever since I could even remember. His walls were covered from floor to ceiling in photos of women with mussed-up blonde-hair, scantily clad in bathing suits with their breasts all pushed up towards the photographer. He had a bundle of dirty socks and underwear in the middle of his bed, and he had an open box full of condoms with the packages scattered all over his desk near his lamplight. Pretty gross.
I think that's why Jason was funny about either Gran or I coming into his room, though. He would tell Gran off and warn her constantly that his bedroom was off-limits and, jokingly, I think, that any trespassers found entering when not permitted, would be tasered or lethally shot.
No wonder. Jason ought to be well and truly ashamed of himself. I know Gran would have been over the uncleanly state of his room had she ever gotten the chance to enter.
I pulled open his drawer and rummaged around through his shirts, praying to God that most of them were clean. I found one of his old ones; a light blue band T-shirt with the Aerosmith emblem on the front, and held it up to my nose. I took in a big whiff, and judged it smelt clean enough to be worn, if yet a little dusty. I checked it thoroughly for any unsightly stains, before I decided it was definitely good enough for Eric to wear. Whether he would willingly agree to wear it, was another matter altogether.
I turned towards the door to flee from Jason's disgusting room and yet, before I knew it, I was almost smacking face-first into Eric's arm. He had his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, while his eyes took in all the skanky swimsuit models on the wall opposite Jason's bed. He had somehow followed me into Jason's room, and the look on his face, it made me almost positively giddy. He clearly didn't know what to think over the state of my older brother's room. Or all the millions of cut-out model pictures on the wall, either.
His eyes widened. "It is peculiar what mortal male's believe to be both fuck-worthy, and appealing to the eye. Vampires and breather's... we are much different."
"Well, alrighty then," I murmured slowly. I didn't know whether to laugh, or to take him seriously or not. "Here, you should put this on so you're not just some nameless shirtless guy hanging around my house and in my yard all the time! People might start getting suspicious."
I handed the shirt to him, and he tilted his head down to look at it curiously. "Aerosmith," he stated, reading the logo on the front. "Cannot say that I am a fan."
"Are you for real?" I puffed out a gush of air, royally shocked. "I'm a closet-fan. They're Jason's band, but... I think, I secretly like them, too. Janie's Got A Gun, anyone? You're really not a fan?" And then, I burst out giggling because I realized how much of a rambler I was being. Must have been the lack of decent sleep from last night and the crying that did it to me, though.
Everything was so strange. Why on earth was I talking about Aerosmith with Eric Northman, and trying to convince him that they were one of the best rock-bands in the history of music? I certainly had better things to be talkin' about, that's for sure.
I watched Eric as he slipped the shirt on over his head and then, completely out of the blue, I was laughing so hard it had the potential of shattering glass at the shrill sound that exploded from my mouth.
Jason's shirt was way too tight on Eric. The fabric was straining against his broad shoulders, and I swear, it almost about looked ready to burst at the seams. Not to mention, the sleeves looked as if they had somehow magically shrunk in a washing machine and hardly covered the start of his muscular shoulders.
Eric was not pleased by my giggling, to say the least. I could tell I had royally annoyed him because a second later, he tore the shirt off by clutching at the thin-necked collar with his large hands, there was a loud rip of material, and, in the next, he was storming out of the room, leaving Jason's favourite shirt two wisps of damaged fabric that slowly floated to the carpet.
I had definitely bruised Eric's ego, and once my laughter died down into an awkward silence, I felt so guilty inside. But it was just something I had no ounce of controlling whatsoever.
My guilty but well-meant giggles turned, just as rapidly, into little sobs and tears were streaking down my face.
Jason's favourite shirt was now ruined. all thanks to Eric. And, even more importantly, something else that would get him into such a tragic, angry mood... to top it all off, we no longer had Gran in our lives, either.
Her body was gone. I had no clue what Eric did with her corpse and, while it was unbelievably helpful of him, it did not soothe the predicament I was facing any less.
Now, I had to figure out what the hell to say to Jason once he finally arrived home from staying at Hoyt's. It was not a question of keeping Gran's death a secret; Her absence was everywhere around the house. All Jason needed to do, was walk through that front door, and her absence would be screaming at him loud and clear, like a bellowing siren making it obvious as day.
I didn't even know where to start on telling him about Gran no longer being with us. No less, how to even make the attempt to explain why the massive vampire we came across on our walk, weeks and weeks ago, was hanging around me like shadow sticking by my side half the time, once it was dark and daylight was over.
There wasn't any possible way of knowing what the hell to say, or how to even say it, without making my brother all frightened and full of despair.
Was I even meant to tell him, I'm some type of Faerie thing that all these vampires and supernatural creatures are coming for, in the hopes of bringing me to this Russell Edgington, Vampire King of Louisiana?
While I think now I, at true last, finally grasped just how gravely serious the entire ordeal was, there were some parts of it I still did not understand myself. Like, for instance, how come I'm supposedly a Faerie when I have no other, out-of-the-ordinary, special talents aside from somehow being able to read mind's when touching whoever it was I dared to touch and intently listen in on? More so, biggest mind-riddling question of all, why was Eric even bothering to assist me, like this?
He made it downright obvious he hated being stuck with me- a teenage girl- and I would have to be truly dim-witted not to notice just how much I frustrate him and pinch his nerves, even simply just by talkin' my silly, little heart out whenever I got nervous or uncertain of something.
To me, he sure seemed like one of those guy's who wouldn't agree to doing something wholeheartedly, unless they got something meaningful in return. Something that was beneficial to them, and maybe... maybe, there lies within itself the answer to that very question I've found myself so often wondering about.
He wasn't protecting me because, somehow, he felt he could sympathize with me. He wasn't doing it out of plain, old goodness in his heart, either. No, he was doing it because he was getting something in return, something... he wanted, or needed, even.
Now, I didn't quite much know what that certain thing was, but... Really, it could have been any single thing in the entire world.
I felt even courageous enough to ask him, and I was sorely determined to. But when I stepped down the staircase and looked all over the downstairs rooms, to my utmost surprise, he was nowhere to be seen. He didn't even leave a note, or nothing. And, I was coming to quickly learn that, when I was alone like at current in Gran's house, it affected me in staggering ways. I didn't like the mind-numbing silence, at all. Or the sheer awareness that I was completely all by my lonesome in the two-storied, weatherboard house. Eventually, I forced myself to sit on the couch, huddled up in a heap load of Gran's afghan blankets. Though I felt toasty warm underneath them, I could not quit shivering and, for the life of me, I couldn't understand why.
It wasn't out of mere coldness.
I think it was out of fear; Fear of the unknown, of what was waiting for me and getting ready to approach, from out there... in the darkness, somewhere.
Mr. Compton.
The King, Russell Edgington. Maybe even more flocks of vampires. Maybe some more Were's too.
I think it was my own bodies way of admitting defeat then, and of accepting the hard truth.
I was alone in this. No one could help me, but myself. Not even Eric Northman.
000
I woke up to a bright and early morning leaking through the open curtains into the house, the light hitting my skin from where I laid on the couch, warm and satisfying.
For a moment, I sat there peaceful thought, trying to convince myself that today would be a better day and that, as each and every day progressed, it would get more and more better.
More easier to live without Gran.
More easier to accept the fact I was literally crack to a vampire King who was gathering an army to come for me, sooner or later.
More easier to- -
All of my peaceful, and motivating pep-talk was shot instantly to hell, when I heard a loud commotion coming from the side of the house. I heard men talking, as well as a machine going off. Was that a... bulldozer? Or was that just my imagination playing cruel tricks on me?
I hopped to my feet, and tightened my bathrobe more securely over my body, then tied the string that held it all together more firmly. More shouts came, and I was positive I heard a man giving out directions on where to place something.
Curiosity getting the better of me, as always, I pulled on my slippers and padded my way through the hallway towards the entrance of Gran's house. I unlocked the front door, pushed through the fly screen net, and when I stood there on the porch, I was left immediately flooded with confusion.
Apparently, my hearing hadn't been playing tricks on me, afterall.
Several workers were outside by their pick-up trucks, with their hard-hats on their heads. One man, who looked roughly in his mid-forties or fifties, held a clipboard in his hands, and he was waving his hands around this way and that way to give out orders to these workers.
The haze of dirt being blown and scattered across the yard came next. Clearly, they were working on Gran's house. Why, I hadn't the slightest idea, but when I raced over to the side railings to investigate, I saw that they had cleaned out half of the bottom infrastructure of the house. Gran used to place old tires and junk underneath the house, simply because she didn't know where else to put it, and now, the workers had removed every single piece of junk to make room for something else to go underneath there.
I hesitated on asking one of the worker's what they were doing with Gran's house, because it dawned on me just as suddenly, that I was still only in my pink bathrobe and it felt a little embarrassing. But with a defiant jerk of my shoulders, I decided, What the hell does it matter if there's all these worker's around? At least, I'm wearing my bathrobe. I'm not naked, and that ought to count for something.
"Hey," I called out to the closest worker I could find. He shot me a look before glancing away quickly, and going about his business again. How darn rude! "Hey, excuse me!" I yelled, extra-loud at him. This time, luckily for me, my shouting was not one he could ignore.
He looked surprisingly anxious, when he came to stand across from me on the other side of the railing. Honestly, he looked quite like he wanted to be nowhere near me right about now. It was almost as if someone had warned him, beforehand, to avoid the young girl that lived inside Adele Stackhouse's house.
How friggen frustrating.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I screamed down at him, through all the noise. He glanced up at me blankly, as though he couldn't understand a single word I was saying. Which, I knew for a fact, was complete and utter bullcrap. "What are you doing to my Gran's house? Who gave you permission to do this? Because my Gran, she sure as hell didn't! What gives you right to come here, and do that to my Gran's house? Who's your employer?"
He shrunk away from me like a stunned rabbit, which was even all the more surprising. Since when do full-grown men get scared of a teenage girl, like myself?
He said something to me- something I couldn't catch, over all the rowdy noise- and then started making gestures frantically, pointing over at something to the side of the house. He looked like he was on the dangerous verge of a panic attack, brought on by my interrogating.
"Who's your employer, I said?" I repeated, not at all in the mood. "I want his details. So help me, I will sue whoever gave you the power to do this! My Gran wouldn't have wanted this, at all!"
Suddenly, the worker started searching around for something in his pockets. First, his trousers. Then, the pocket on the side of his shirt. And then, confusing the hell outta me even more, he thrust his cell phone up at me.
What? Is someone on the phone for me?
He motioned for me to put it up to my ear, and when I did, a little reluctantly, suddenly my panic was fuelled by content and relief.
"Tiny. To your right." I opened my mouth, about to shoot off some words of my own, and yet, he wouldn't let me have that. The connection was cut a second later.
I growled in frustration, and stomped my feet against the porch. Everything automatically clicked into place, when I brought my eyes over to the big truck on the right side of the driveway.
There, in the back of the truck, was a long, shiny black coffin glinting in the sun.
They were putting it underneath the house and creating a neat contraption to hide it.
Which meant...
Eric would be underneath the floorboards.
That did not settle well with me. At all, because it was bound to make room for even more awkward moments.