"C'mon girl. It's not so bad, is it?"
She looked down, moving the broken shell between her fingers, taking in the subtle but shimmering colors and shook her head miserably. He would never understand her pain, he would never understand her feelings, though she knew it wasn't for lack of care. Well, perhaps not care.
Sympathy?
Certainly not empathy.
Anyway, what did it matter? She didn't know if any of them were capable of truly caring about anything or anyone other than themselves. They were indestructible, the tightest family, their friendship and brotherhood literally forged with blood.
Unbreakable.
Their whole world was the pack; that's where their care went.
Besides...even if they did care, even if by some miracle they did actually care about her...it wouldn't be real.
She would still be on the outside.
Even if she wanted in - which she didn't - she would be on the fringe.
They were so close and she was an outsider; that was what it would come down to.
Even if she accepted the blood, even if she made a kill, even if she fed and turned, she would still be an outsider.
A part of the pack but not a true one.
Something had pulled them together, fate or destiny or whatever it was called. That much she knew; some great force had pulled those wild boys together...she was there out of sheer dumb luck.
...sheer dumb unluck.
She didn't want to be like them, she didn't want to be a vampire but even if she did, she wasn't meant to be with them and so, even if she accepted it all...she would still not be one of them.
Still outside.
Still alone.
Sometimes, the feeling of loneliness was worse than everything else.
Sometimes thinking of her life, the life she was living and the life she seemed cursed to live, she didn't see the point in trying.
She would always be alone.
Sometimes she wondered if death would be better.
Did they care about her?
She doubted it. Everything aside, she didn't think they were able to care.
She didn't think they really wanted to.
They were monsters.
Paul tried, she supposed. She guessed he was trying to care, to muster up the emotion. But whatever it was, whatever he was trying to feel, she knew that he loved being a vampire, he loved the darkness and the pain.
They all did.
Even if they did care about her, they would never truly understand.
Sometimes it was difficult to imagine Paul being so brutal, he was always so kind, so energetic, so effervescent.
He was different.
Sometimes she would think to herself, think that he didn't belong with them. Sometimes she could imagine him as an older brother, joking and sweet, protective and firm. There was goodness in him, somewhere deep down, long since buried and probably forgotten...but she thought it was there.
Maybe.
Maybe if Paul was mortal, perhaps if his curse was broken, he would thrive...
...yet she knew he would consider it hell.
But still, sometimes she found herself mourning for the man she knew he must have been.
When she first found herself with the pack, traumatized and shaken, he used to be able to make her smile, he used to be able to pull her from her sadness, even if only for a short time but recently...the harder it was getting to fight, the more she was trying to save her humanity, to fight the urge to feed...she was feeling it. She was feeling the pressure, the strain, the pain, the frustration, the unfairness, the uncertainty, isolation, sadness and of course the low burning but unrelenting anger.
She found it was becoming impossible.
She couldn't laugh, she couldn't smile.
She felt like she was drowning, screaming, dying...and there was no end in sight.
No hint of freedom, no promise of salvation.
She was cursed.
She couldn't manage a small smile even to placate him.
Yes, sometimes death did seem like the best way out.
"Star? C'mon, girl.." he repeated amicably, passing another shell to her.
This one was broken, too.
Shattered, split.
Just like her.
She wondered when he would give up, too.
Marko and Dwayne had long since abandoned their efforts, David was becoming increasingly withdrawn...which is what she wanted...she didn't want their attentions...
She wanted freedom, mortality...
...she didn't want to be alone but she didn't want them...
She didn't.
The wind brushed her hair and the surf quietly crept to the shore, only to dance back outwards to the rippling sea.
It was soothing and beautiful but still, she couldn't appreciate the sight.
"You don't have to be like us, you know? It's not a requirement to joinin'...I think you'd look mighty fine in some leather, ridin' a bike..." he nudged her softly but when she didn't respond to his attempt at humor, he shifted in the sand, sifting the coarse grains through his fingers and said quietly, "..Star...you can feed however you want"
Feed?
"You mean kill"
"Yeah" he shrugged, shaking his hand a little and letting the sand fall through his open fingers before turning it over, fully dumping the contents back out onto the beach, "you can kill however you want"
She watched as he scooped up another handful of sand.
When would he understand? When would he get it?
"I don't want to kill at all, Paul"
"I know"
"I just..."
What could she say?
She had said it all before and she felt like it was falling on deaf ears.
"It's not fair, I know that but it is what it is. You gotta roll with the punches, you gotta take what life throws at you and make it work for you"
She wanted to scoff but at the same time, she didn't want to hurt him.
He was trying.
She knew that he was trying...but he just didn't understand.
Roll with the punches?
How could she roll with this?
She didn't want to be a vampire.
This wasn't the life for her, this wasn't the life she wanted, this wasn't her destiny.
"This is a blessing, girl, you know that? You have power now"
"The power to kill?"
The first time Marko had made such an earnest reference to her power, her new 'potential', she'd spat the words back at him with such venom she had surprised herself. He had been so sincere and eager, almost excited that she had the ability to kill at her disposal and she'd hated him for it. She didn't want that kind of power; she didn't want that kind of potential.
How could he ever even claim to see that potential in her?
It was insulting, disgusting.
It was cruel.
She was good.
She wasn't a monster; she wasn't like them but he didn't understand it. He'd just blinked at her, shaking his head in disappointment and walked away.
It had stung, a little, that glance of disappointment though she swore to herself that it didn't.
She swore to herself that she didn't want any of their approval.
Over time, the venom had subsided but the feelings behind it remained.
It was the same conversation, the same mindless and useless platitudes that meant nothing to her, that did nothing other than to further add to her pain but now...she was tired.
Tired and alone.
Isolated.
She was weak, she was exhausted.
She didn't have any of that passionate venom left. It was in her heart but she was tired and so in her heart it stayed.
"Yeah. Star...I know you don't wanna talk about it and I'm not gonna pry but wouldn't it feel good? To hurt the people who hurt you?"
"I-"
"-or to hurt people who are doing what was done to you?"
"...what?"
"You think you're the only one in the world that suffered, girl? I'm not dismissin' it here, you dig? I'm not sayin' you didn't have it bad and I know I don't know everything-" he gave a tight little smile at the look in her eyes, but his voice was quietly earnest, "-...anythin'. I know I don't know anythin' about it but you think there aren't countless girls in Santa Carla right now experiencin' what you did? Jesus, we see it all the time. You could help them. You could protect them; you could give them the out that you never got"
He dumped the sand out of his hand, rubbed it clean on his thigh and gave her a smile and in that moment, she knew that he did know everything.
Paul knew her secrets, Paul knew her pain.
He understood it.
Perhaps he didn't understand her need to keep her humanity, she knew that he never would...but yes...he understood her hurt.
She had only confided in him a little in the earlier days, reluctant to open up, scared to admit the suffering she had been through, ashamed of her victimhood...but still, he knew it all.
She could feel her eyes widen, her eyebrows contract and for a second, her heart skipped a beat and she felt tears pricking the side of her eyes...
...for a moment, it looked like he really did care.
His hand met her shoulder, squeezing it gently but with a firmness that she found she wanted to cling to.
"All those assholes in the world...you could find 'em. You'd know. When you're like us, you know everything. You'd know who's bad, you'd know who deserves it and you'd be lying if you said nobody deserves it. You could feed, Star. You could hunt. You could kill and you'd be makin' the world a better place while you did it"
There was a soft, gentle warmth in his voice and Star looked away from his eyes.
He was a monster.
They all were.
He didn't care...he didn't care...but, as his hand left her shoulder and he gracefully stood, some flecks of sand falling from his legs as he did, she turned her gaze away from him and out to the sea.
Maybe he did.
She clenched her jaw and wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
If they cared...if they cared...if they truly cared, it would make it so much harder to fight.
"Think about it, girl...don't push us away. What you got, it's a gift. I know it was forced on you, I know you didn't have a choice, I...I know how violatin' it was, OK? It's fucked up Star...but sometimes, good things can come outta the bad...we're here, Star..."
They had been there.
She could admit that. They had been there for her.
They still were, she supposed. Distant though their relationship was now, they were there.
She hadn't been without food or drink, money.
When the cooler, winter months had descended, who had moved the flaming oil drums closer to her bed?
It hadn't been her, yet there they were.
When a rat or bird or whatever horrible creature snuck about the cave at night tore her lace curtains, her fence, her barriers...hadn't they been replaced?
She hadn't done it.
She had distanced herself from the pack, they had distanced themselves from her in return...
...but still, they were looking out for her.
They hadn't given up on her...even if she had given up on them.
"We're here for you, girl"
David had found her, he'd saved her...frantic and alone, frightened, shivering, shaking, craving blood and not knowing how to fight, not knowing what to do or where to go, who to turn to, petrified of returning to the one who had forced his half-life onto her...
She glanced down at the small collection of shells at her feet, all broken but beautiful in their own way.
"Just think about it, alright? You can't go on like this, Star. It's gonna eat you up..."
Star blinked, swallowing thickly as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She took a quiet but deep, shuddering breath and blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. There was a cup of lightly steaming coffee on the chipped little formica table beside her and she shook her head, blinking away the beginnings of tears in her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping, she hadn't been napping, she knew that. It was impossible. She almost never slept at night; the dark seemed to call to her, to compel her. Almost like an intimate whisper, an invitation to play. No, she had simply zoned out...she had allowed herself to remember...and she swallowed tightly for a moment as she realized that she was reminiscing rather than remembering.
She hated the pack; she hated each individual man. She hated them and everything about them...but it hadn't always been that way.
Sometimes she could remember the good times, few and far between though they had been.
Sometimes her thoughts crept up on her, taking her off guard.
Sometimes...sometimes, sometimes, sometimes...she smiled bitterly.
Could she ever have imagined how terrible things would become? Could she ever have predicted the hostilities, the cruelty, the suffering the pack had caused her and that she had willingly caused them?
Yes, they had been cruel but she had been cruel, too. She could admit that. She had wanted to hurt them in the same way she was hurting.
Could she ever have imagined the hatred she would feel for them?
A hatred that she knew was mutual.
She could remember when David held her, the way he would brush away her tears with his leather covered fingers. She'd clung to him and he returned the embrace, his words hushed, his promises quiet. Then, there was the feeling of riding with him. Girls would stare at him but he would be focused on her.
He had chosen her.
Before the reality of her situation had set in, she had been flattered.
Honored.
Grateful.
Sometimes she could remember the way Paul took care of her, almost taking her under his wing. He would collect shells for her, slipping them into the palm of her hand without attention or fanfare, winking as strolled away. When a drunk creep had stumbled into her, brushing his hand over her breast, Marko had appeared from nowhere, protecting her without prompt. When David had been out and she'd been hungry, starving but too nervous to ask for food or money to buy herself some food, Dwayne had silently departed the cave, returned and deposited a bag of fast food on her bed as silently as he'd left.
Small acts of kindness...but acts of kindness all the same.
And hadn't they laughed together?
...she sighed.
She could have loved them, she supposed.
In another life.
If things were different.
If they were human.
"They're monsters..." she whispered to herself, looking down at the coffee she had made but not touched.
And it was true.
They were monsters.
They were horrible, violent and cruel.
She wasn't like them.
She couldn't live like them.
...and neither could Elizabeth.
When her resolve became apparent, when her refusal to feed, to turn, to even discuss it was set in stone, they had shown her their true selves.
She sighed, looking down at her hands.
She had been pretty terrible in return.
Had she? Had she hurt them? Truly?
She didn't know but she was so tired.
She was so, so tired.
She was tired of fighting, of crying, of hoping, of waiting.
She was clinging desperately onto her humanity but still she could feel it slipping away, faster than ever.
In the darkness of the night, the early and quiet morning, she was her own worst enemy.
Her thoughts seemed to consume her.
She glanced over at the sleeping figure of the man she loved and felt her lips purse into a quivering pout.
She knew that she loved him but still, in her darkest moments, she could hear the cold, taunting words that had been thrown at her.
The accusations, the insinuations, the attacks.
But she knew that her feelings for Michael were true.
Her feelings were real.
She knew that she loved him but sometimes, sometimes she could feel doubt set it.
Cruel, insidious, sly.
Not the voices of the pack but her own inner thoughts.
She would wonder if he truly loved her.
That was worse, far worse than remembering anything the pack had said to her.
Sometimes she could hear them, sometimes their voices floated through her head; sometimes mocking, sometimes playful, sometimes cold and then sometimes...sometimes it was her own voice.
Her own thoughts.
Perhaps he didn't truly love her.
Perhaps she did have a lure. Perhaps she was enticing him, pulling him, forcing him to be with her.
Perhaps he was nothing short of her prisoner...trapped with her the same way she had been trapped with them...
But then he would kiss her.
He would walk past her, brushing her body with his hand.
The playful meeting of lips, the way he would wrap his arms around her body and tickle her stomach, the way he would peck her neck in a fleeting gesture of love.
He would hold her when he slept.
He would graze her hand with his own when he passed her something, smiling softly as he did.
He would whisper to her, promises of the future.
Their future.
She felt her eyebrows furrow.
He loved her. He had to love her; it couldn't be fake.
He stirred on the bed, the light blanket catching on his foot and slipping down from his chest and she felt her heart constrict.
His hands were rough and a little blistered and his body had changed, the muscles in his arms and back becoming defined and strong, his stomach which had been nicely toned before was now sporting the beginnings of clean, washboard abs. His skin was tan, glowing and healthy. He was working hard but he looked good for it.
It suited him.
He was often smiling, he looked so content and happy...how could that be a lie?
She glanced down at the coffee, wondering why she had even bothered to make it, before looking over at the curtained windows.
What was happening in Santa Carla?
How much longer would she be trapped like this? Neither mortal nor vampire, fighting the urge to feed, forever questioning her feelings...she thought something would have happened by now.
Something should have happened by now.
The pack hadn't killed him, that much she knew. She was still a half vampire; she was still cursed. If they had kept their end of the deal, if they had kept their promise, he would be dead and she would be free. They had said they had to kill him; they couldn't have a rogue vampire on their territory but why hadn't they done it already?
Surely the arrival of Elizabeth couldn't have distracted them so terribly.
Were they keeping him alive just to spite her?
The two boys she approached, the 'Fighters of Justice' as they styled themselves had done nothing, either.
Or nothing of note. She was still a half vampire.
They had been a last resort, a desperate act. She had begged them for help only because she knew what they had done in the past and she'd found out about that by accident.
An accidental discovery, one she had remembered and felt thankful for but now she was questioning if it was a waste of time.
The cave had a veritable hoard of treasures tucked away, abandoned and forgotten and she had enjoyed exploring it. It kept her busy, it kept her distracted. She would find the most amazing trinkets, the most wonderful little hints of the past; clothing, scraps of material, jewelry, ornate pieces of furniture. There were modern things, too and the whole effect was charming, even she could acknowledge that.
There was an eclectic mix of old and new, tatty and neat, broken and pristine.
The cave was an amazing place.
Enticing.
While the boys slept, sometimes she would explore. When they left the cave to hunt, she would stay behind and distract herself by pottering around, liberating what she liked to decorate her nook...sometimes it hurt to remember her little part of the cave. It had been comfortable, truly a place that was hers and hers alone. The boys all respected it, even when hostilities had reached their peak, her bed remained her own...
She swallowed, pushing the thought away and instead reflecting on how she had stumbled on the old community newsletter by chance.
She'd actually smiled pleasantly, her eyes roaming the cover. Hand drawn, printed cheaply and with smudging ink it had looked homely and nice, sort of wholesome. She would never have put 'Santa Carla' and 'wholesome' together but that's what she'd thought. There had been a recipe section, a DIY corner, announcements and, as she read it over, the catchment area made her smile.
Away from the boardwalk, comfortably far away from the hustle of the town.
She'd tried to picture the people that put such effort into making something like it.
She'd read it thoroughly, absorbed in the details, trying to imagine a world outside of her own.
It had been escapism.
She'd found a stash of them and poured over them all; surprised to find that the boys had collected them. She had wondered why before realizing it was for insidious reasons - they were probably keeping track, keeping tabs on the town they considered their own.
On the people they considered their prey.
Still, she had absorbed herself in them. Putting the reasons as to why they were in the cave aside, she'd buried herself in reading. Flicking through page after page, putting down the finished ones and picking up untouched ones.
She'd read them with care, too.
They were in wonderful condition. The stack had been tucked away among an uncountable number of books and documents, some of them a bit damp, a few of them rotting but many well taken care of, organized neatly but largely forgotten.
She'd guessed the boys weren't big readers.
When she came to the last few booklets, she had been sad but still read them slowly, trying to cling onto the thoughts of a happy town, a pleasant cluster of streets and houses, friendly people who cared enough about their community to write about it...
...and then they had been ruined.
Destroyed.
The image she had cultivated had been smashed.
The penultimate issue was about two young boys killing a dog, claiming it to be a werewolf. The author had written about the arrest, details of the killing, statements from local residents, outrage from some about what had happened, accusations of bad parenting, insinuations about the home lives of the perpetrators. She had wondered who Edgar and Alan were, the names sounding so innocent. Frog? Frogs were docile, calm and sweet animals.
Edgar and Alan Frog...two young boys...but their crime so shocking...
It had hurt her to read.
Something that had been so wonderful, a community that seemed to stand out as wholesome and traditional and nice in the violent, dark, dirty, rough and tumble Santa Carla...
...and it had all been a lie.
That nice little community was just as messed up as the rest of Santa Carla.
She had cried as she put the paper down, sniffling sadly as she'd picked up the last one left. She almost hadn't wanted to read it but, as her eyes scanned over the largely blank page, she gave a bitter shake of her head.
The newsletter was being discontinued due to unspecified legal issues; the board of editors was to be disbanded and there would be no further publications. All printings of the previous edition had been recalled with the majority being returned and there was a request to dispose of any remaining, along with a vague but firm warning of legal ramifications if the previous edition was to be reprinted or shared in any capacity.
That final edition had been cold and empty; the header replaced with bold, black typeface that had simply read: END OF PRINTING.
The editors had not signed off.
There had been no pretty little drawings, no DIY advice or recipes, no announcements, no births, birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, engagements...
...just a cold legal notice.
She'd put them all back, neatly stacked once more and hadn't bothered to look through the books again.
She hadn't wanted to find anything else to disappoint her.
She had pushed it out of her head, allowed herself to forget about it and she had been successful.
She had enough pain in her life, it was as if her subconscious was more than willing to fog over her sad little discovery but suddenly, with nowhere else to turn, nothing else to do the memory had returned to her.
Sudden and clear she had thought to herself, if two young boys would kill a dog, if they were so sure of their knowledge and the reality of the supernatural that they would actually kill a dog...what would they do with proof of vampirism?
It had been easy to find them; two brothers called Edgar and Alan, with the last name Frog.
Not a particularly subtle, discreet last name.
She had approached them desperately. Without really thinking how she would approach it, she had run to them and told them everything.
...everything that didn't involve David.
Everything that didn't involve The Pack.
She wanted to, she wanted to scare them into killing Max but she couldn't put them in danger like that.
She hated herself for it, after everything they had done to her, she hated that she couldn't bring herself to compromise them...but she just hadn't been able to.
Instead, she had poured her heart out to the Frog Brothers, cried for help, begged them to stop the curse, to free her from the older vampire who had cursed her. She didn't know what else to say, she had said he wanted to make Elizabeth his own.
She needed to force the pack's hand but she didn't know how, so she had lied.
Jumbled, thinking desperately she had simply taken Dwayne's story and replaced him with Max.
What else could she do?
They had promised to kill her master, kill the one who had forced this undead life onto her, to kill the rogue vampire...yet they hadn't done it.
So she had to do it herself.
She had run to those crazy boys and they had assured her that they were more than sellers of comics, they were defenders of justice, they were protectors of the innocent, they were the slayers of evil.
They had experience with a werewolf, they'd told her. They knew about vampires, they'd said.
They knew Sam. They had met Michael and Elizabeth.
They could save the Emerson's. They could save her.
They had been so confident and almost haughty despite their youthful appearance.
They had been so sure of themselves.
She had told them everything and they had believed her.
She hadn't changed, she hadn't had to show the side of herself that she loathed...she had asked for their help; she had begged for their help and they had accepted.
They were excited, even.
Eager.
...eager, willing, ready to save her - a real life damsel! ...and yet, here she was.
Still a half vampire, still trapped.
There was nothing else she could do.
All she could do was wait and hope.
Hope that salvation would find her...because it was getting harder and harder to fight.
"Star?"
She jumped, spinning on the chair to face the bleary-eyed face of the man she loved. His voice was thick with sleep, his hair mussed and he blinked sleepily into the dark kitchen of their little studio apartment.
"What's the matter?"
She smiled softly. He was so tired, he'd slurred a dull, "whazzamatter"
"I was just thinking, I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"Coffee?"
She shrugged, watching him lovingly, "I wanted something to do"
"Come back to bed" he dropped down on the pillow and turned to his side, opening his arm in invitation.
She took a breath, brushed some hair behind her ear and nodded. Perhaps, nestled in his arms, she would sleep.
Perhaps she would dream of happy things.
"I love you, Michael"
The bed was warm and, as she tucked herself against his chest, feeling his chin on the top of her head and his arm wrap around her back, pulling her close, he kissed her head.
Within seconds he was snoring softly and she closed her eyes, praying she would sleep, too.
Praying she would find freedom soon.