Bad, bad me for digressing…skip intro if you want the story (again.)
General note to everybody: Er, y'all…I don't want to mislead you about Kyros. Like, he's not going to be popping the question any time soon or anything, but he and Rita will share a lot together, as will Jared/Rita and so forth. But Jared and Kyros, as much as they abhor each other, have one thing in common: they're a bit impetuous; on everything. Actions, words, and yes, even kisses. But don't worry; everything will solve itself (I hope). So don't be ringing any imaginary wedding bells for this girl; they're bad for the ears. Oh and, in this chapter, you'll see Rita in a new environment, so she'll be a bit different from vacation girl. Sigh. Vacations are wonderful. (going through post-summer vacation angst, don't mind me…) Again, most of the things that happen in this chapter are important to the plot later on. And I'm sorry for it taking longer than usual to update…I'd like to blame school. But I've survived first week, and all my guy friends' teasing about my shoes. The things girls go through; shoes, the opposite sex, updates…
Thanks (I figured this format would be less confusing…I hope it's not too copy cattish.)
Littlemissgiggles: Hey, I was a bit worried I wouldn't hear from you. I'm glad the chapter didn't let you down…hopefully this one won't either. Takes a sharp turn from the last events. And, of course, I'd like your opinion about it when you're done. Thanks bunchies.
Maudlinrose: Thanks so, so, SO very much for the criticism. You're probably older than me and has had a lot more schooling (so what's a canon character? We haven't covered that yet.) I think I sorta kinda get the whole accidental/purpose thing you're talking about, but not quite. When I put in snarky comments, it's usually from Rita's point of view (like idiot class mates, idiot parties, blah, blah, blah) and, although she doesn't like to admit it, she's fairly bitter. Understandably, I guess. It was funny, your review I mean. You sounded sorta…hesitant. Please don't be; it makes me feel guilty when people are uncomfortable with telling me something. I realize (or, maybe it's in my head) that most of the story is so serious or dark (car accidents, Daybreaker business) so I tried to lighten things up with Kyros and Jared. You know, like how Shakespeare put something funny after something serious happened. Of course, I can't compete with him, but I tried and if I've failed, I'll try harder. Oh, and about you not reading anything of mine, keep it that way. DO NOT READ ANYTHING ELSE L.J. SMITH-Y OF MINE. Or I shall fall severely from your relatively high opinion. Any who, I'm glad you think Verity isn't weak, but my later chapters are going to show different sides of her…hopefully, you'll still like her. Oh no, I hope I haven't made it obvious about her soul mate, that simply shows lack of subtlety on my part (which, I may add, hasn't been the first time). I hope I didn't make you wait too long and I also hope chapter three doesn't disappoint you. I'll try to fix the problem whenever (and if) I can recognize it. And if I don't, I'm counting on you to tell me. If you hadn't given your review, I would have probably gotten an oversized ego or something. And they're bad for the backbone. Thank you!! Christ, that was long, wasn't it? My bad; as you well know by now…I talk/write way too much.
Aife Bisclaveret: Thanks for reviewing; yours means a lot (er, if you don't know, I like your stories. That's a stupid sentence, of course you know, but well…never mind). And I'm also glad you like Rik and Jared (everybody seems to be in love with Kyros…weird). I've found myself trying to make them tougher, or slightly prejudiced when I realize something…that's your Diablo influencing me!! Argh, why do you have to go and write such memorable characters?! And you have no idea how much I've had to edit from the fox's ramblings…I just don't know where he gets that habit of babbling (look at any one but me). Thanks a whole bunch.
Diomede: Yay, you made the sixteenth (sixteen's a good number by the way…at least to sixteen year olds) review. I'm glad you like it (and it's okay about being lazy. You don't know how long it takes me to take out the trash!) Any who, Maria and Valdis are my own characters from another story (and I thought you would know that…). The other original characters will show up later too. I know; I've been waiting forever for Strange Fate to come out…I hope it's soon. It'll look kinda weird when I'm thirty years old and buying a young adult book. Happy trails!
Person with no name: Hi and thanks for reading…that sounds so cliché, doesn't it? Sorry I can't give you a decently creative response. But I do mean the "hi" part and I also meant the "thanks for reading" part. So I guess I'm trite but sincere!!
Jiana Weasley: Heavens, you're optimistic. Rita's an okay girl and all, but do you really think she's captured Rik's heart too? But I'm glad you think so highly of her. I laughed when I read you can't spell…trust me, I've been there. I've misspelled centaur (of all things!) at a state spelling bee. But you're young…there's still hope for you…sniffle… J
Practikalmagik: Thanks for your opinion. Contemplated about making a Rita a lost witch, but Christ, isn't everybody nowadays? And thanks so much for the last name; I get sort of tired writing Winnie, Winnie, etc. Nothing to be ashamed of though; the Night World is obsession worthy. Thanks!
Lil'ol'me: Still confused as whether to say that or lil'ol'you. Any who, I'm glad you've been such a faithful reader so far… (though I'm not sure I could say that considering it's only been two chapters. Any who) Hope you still read it when there are a few…twists. I can't help putting them in. And I hope my little pre author notes there explains Kyros. I'm glad you're so attached to him. Looks like my time in NY paid off. J (Erm, don't take that as saying "prison time" in New York, because that's never happened…at least not yet)
Martha: well chapter three up, you know the rest of the sentence. I've never tried clam chowder, but it looks good. And it's thick…see? Thick plot…thick chowder…yes, I realize I'm a moron, you needn't rub it in.
Also, thanks to those who may be reading but don't review. And I know you're there…
Vague Verity
Chapter 3
"If everything seems to be going well,
~*~*~*~
Anomina, Massachusetts
The administration went so far as to send a letter with their schedules, reminding their students the actual date to show up. Rita doubted her class mates were dense enough to forget the date. First day from vacation was not very exciting, nor needed for academic performance. For this reason, even the honor roll students skipped. But, just her luck, student council presidents never skipped. Rita suspected fellow over achiever Tracy Cox took the ecstasy just to be kicked off the council. It certainly wasn't a fun job.
Despite Mr. William's persistent advice of her "setting a good example for the rest of the school" and showing up on January second, Rita wanted to stay in bed. It was eight o'clock and classes commenced in thirty minutes. She was not going to make it.
Her radio alarm clock had been on for two hours now. Lifting her hand to turn it off took up too much energy. When she heard a high school drop out request "Ding Dong Merrily on High," or "Angels We Have Heard On High" (nearly a week after Christmas) she decided school wasn't so bad if it prevented her from sounding like that idiot.
Rita took her time however. If she was going to be late, she wasn't going to be late with a dowdy appearance. An hour later, she was walking cutting through a neighborhood, in hopes of reaching Anomina High faster. She decided to let her hair down. To warm my ears, she kept telling herself.
She decided to wear the new clothes her mother had given her. When she had opened it, Rita suspected Kyros had somehow hinted the gift to her mother; after all, she had told Mrs. Glisscielle to buy her nothing. Rita was painfully aware of how the white angora sweater emphasized her thinness. She was not emaciated like some girls, but the looks she received from other females almost made her feel guilty for not gaining weight. Their only consolation was her unconditionally generous, Spanish rear. Rita Glisscielle, they would say, has nothing on top, but a lot on the bottom.
She felt positively naked with the wide boat neck showing so much of her shoulders, which were slightly paler than her neck. The leather flares she sported made Rita wonder where her mother had gotten the money. The pants were not stiff nor squeaky, as Rik's leather jacket had been. But they didn't do much to keep the blood circulating. They were so tight from the knee and up that she momentarily believed asphyxiation was close at hand. But when her mother returned and asked her daughter if she wore them, Rita wanted to please her and answer truthfully.
Anomina High, with its not so creative name, consisted of two five story buildings connected by a large breezeway. Behind it sat the sports fields and in front was the parking lot. It held little beauty and dull tradition, but it was Rita's. By technicality in the antiquated student charter, president of senior student council also owned the rights as student body president. She was the leader.
On her way in the main building, she had bumped into Mr. Williams. Ever since she tutored the principal's daughter in the tenth grade, the man regarded Rita with disturbing affection. Rita supposed one should be grateful to the girl who saved his daughter's academic career, but really. The least he could have done was be subtle. Nepotism never earned anybody a good reputation.
"Why hello Rita!" She flinched and stepped back. Her principal always spoke as if everybody was as deaf as he was.
"Hello, Mr. Williams. I was so busy trying to find the perfect out fit for the first day of this semester I lost track of time." Well, at least the losing track of time was somewhat truthful.
"Oh, that's all right! I know you always think of every thing!" He patted her back pack with unrealized roughness, and walked away. She looked at her schedule and started for the east wing. She had Mrs. Hund again for chemistry. Her greatest and most thoughtful adversary.
She contemplated her relationship with the fifty something woman. To the whole school, her goal in life was to make sure nobody ever received an A in her class. And Rita knew what peeved her the most. By the end of the fall semester, Rita had managed a ninety four point nine. An A. She was the first student to win the chemistry battle. And Mrs. Hund hated her for it.
But, for appearance sake, they got along. Smiling while trying to defeat one another. It was the strangest student teacher relationship the two ever had.
She suspected she had done something wrong to earn those funny stares. Had she asked anybody, Rita would have learned that that was an irrational idea. Not pretty over night, of course because that was impossible, but careless confidence was occasionally attractive in young girls, and Rita had plenty. Wind blown curls that she didn't bother to smooth, face she didn't care to paint, and straight forward gaze that never wavered. She didn't care what they thought, her expression seemed to say, not now not ever. Naturally, Rita assumed they stared because there was a visible booger in her nose, or a bird had left droppings in her hair.
Her door was open, and Rita saw the woman was taking her time writing the scientific method on the board. Quietly, she tried to sneak to the only empty seat in the class while the teacher had her back turned. Hopefully, the woman might not even notice her appearance. But the person who sat behind her would. Rita glared pointedly at Adrian, hoping to stop his grin.
"Well, well, well, Verity Catalina Glisscielle." Rita rolled her eyes and set her book bag on the chair behind her. Mrs. Hund always used students' full name in hopes of embarrassing them. Rita, on the other hand, didn't care one way or the other.
"I guess student body president is good enough for my little old class, aren't you Rita? Do you have an excuse slip?" Still facing her teacher, Rita carefully reached behind her and swiftly ripped the half the zipper off of her back pack.
"I was speaking with Mr. Williams when my book bag broke and all my notebooks spilled out," she explained innocently, her green eyes never faltering. When Mrs. Hund's eyes narrowed skeptically, Rita held up her book bag and pointed to the torn zipper. "See?"
Unable disprove her excuse, Mrs. Hund nodded and handed her some papers. Next, she moved on with a lesson everybody had learned in junior high. Most of the class, as usual, was asleep. Kyros, Rik, and Jared were on the other side of the room; Jared, sleeping.
"Oh I'm sorry, Rita," Mrs. Hund suddenly said as she turned away from the board. "There was a mistake on your report card. I decided to give you a new print out, just so you wouldn't wonder." Her teacher made herself sound like a saint, just for pressing print on her computer.
It didn't matter what assignment the hag unfairly graded. Rita skimmed the paper until she reached the final grade. Eighty eight. Mrs. Hund all but pounced upon her when Rita raised her hand.
"Yes?" Even on the first day, the woman was eager for a fight. She knew Rita always accepted the grades and then worked harder. But, according to some rumors, this was not the same Rita.
Rita's tone would have frozen an active volcano. "I would like to know, Mrs. Hund, how a supposedly missing pre lab can take seven points off a final grade."
"I never received one from you. Labs are really important, Rita. That's why we have so many." Mrs. Hund gestured to the ten lab tables to the left. Rita's expression remained stony.
"You didn't answer my question," she stated.
"And you didn't either," Mrs. Hund returned. "There were questions on your lab that you didn't answer correctly."
Rita gave her an elaborately patient smile. "So then you've seen this lab. Other wise how would you know I didn't answer correctly?"
The woman visibly stiffened and, for a few seconds, appeared at a loss for words. Raymond, one of the high school's quarter backs, let out a bark of laughter. "Mrs. Hund, she got you." His booming voice awakened the other students.
Mrs. Hund ignored him. "You also received a seventy on your last quiz. That must be what brought your grade down."
"Last time I checked it was a ninety three," she remarked with false surprise. Mrs. Hund understood she would not let go of this matter.
"I assigned you the pages in the book," the teacher reminded her. "If you read them properly, you would have known how to do the math."
But Rita refused to lose this one, not after she worked day and night for her former grade.
"Is the book supposed to help us at school, too?" Jared awoke at the sound of Rita's predatory voice. Like a cat cornering her mouse.
"That's why I make you bring it to class everyday, Rita." The woman had the nerve to make it sound like Rita was the stupid one.
"Then if all you do, Mrs. Hund, is assign pages and then test us over it, there is no point. Might as well just give us a piece of paper with the numbers on it. There is no need for your transparencies and your science videos. There is no need for you." The class emitted gasps and giggles. Jared let out a low whistle. Then they waited for Mrs. Hund's reaction.
"What if the administrators hear about your behavior?" she threatened sweetly. Now the class waited for Rita's verbal volley.
Rita's hands clenched. She had never been in trouble, ever. It was another shining record of which she was proud. "Why do we have to bother the administrators? Let's go straight to the principal."
There. She played the principal card. She had always been above that before, but then again, she never had Mrs. Hund before. "Well, Mrs. Hund?" Rita stood up casually and pulled her bag to her shoulder. "Are you ready to go? Mr. Williams is usually pretty busy, but I'm sure he'll make some time for me."
"Show down at Anomina High," she heard Jared mutter.
Forty seconds slowly ticked by. Rita knew because she counted each one. Finally Mrs. Hund looked away and said, "Sit down, Rita. I'll look at your grades later."
There was a silent applause from her class mates when she took her seat. She could tell by their little smiles, or the glimmer in their eyes. Rita had said what every other student wanted to say. Four months of being their president, and now I get their respect by mouthing off to a teacher. But she smiled back any way. Next to the principal, Rita practically ruled the school when she chose to, and allowed her to get away with anything.
Not that she would do anything illegal to get away with, of course…well, I just jinxed myself again.
Her enjoyment was short lived when she felt somebody tug on her hair. Irritated, she turned and met glacially blue eyes. "Stop that," she hissed. He smiled.
"It's just as soft as last time," he murmured, twisting a lock around his finger. "Just as shiny."
His knowing touch drove her to immediate anger. "Let go of my hair, you freak, before I tell the teacher."
"Call me crazy, but I don't think she'd take a bullet for you right now."
Rita ignored the childish pang to say, "All right, Crazy." Sighing, she turned back around and pulled all her hair over her shoulder. None of the tresses was going to be touched by that…that…man. For the rest of the uneventful period, she could feel his eyes on her, their tiny icicles drilling into her skull. She shuddered when she felt his breath on the back of her exposed neck.
"You shouldn't have worn white," he whispered, pronouncing each word with effortless sensuality. Without asking for permission, Rita abruptly gathered her things and moved to a laboratory table. Mrs. Hund said nothing, much to her dismay. Another argument would have taken Rita's mind off of her former husband. Rita smiled to herself; she never would have guessed she would worry about a former husband in the middle of class.
"Girl, what has gotten into you?" Samantha Rochert asked her excitedly when it was time to go. Sam, or Sammy T as some people affectionately called her, was a petite girl with beautiful black braids cascading to her waist. And she did. Not. Shut. Up. Rita tolerated her because she knew it was not out of snobbery, just inconsiderate fickleness. Plus Samantha Rochert had photographic memory, and Rita always asked her for turn out details for student council's planned events.
Rita shrugged as they separated. Wasn't it obvious to everybody? She simply needed that A.
Lunch was a trying ordeal. With the new schedules, nobody knew just who they were going to sit with. But Rita did not worry, she fully intended to break bread with Ophelia Brown. When she squeezed her way through the double doors, lunch bag in hand, somebody had already planned her seat.
Jason Riley grabbed her arm and propelled her to his table. Rita guessed that Jared would call the people who sat there the "popular pricks." There were three homecoming queens, and four girls who won a beauty pageant at least once. In the males, there was the general ne'er do well pranksters, self proclaimed gardeners, and moody boys who always thought of themselves.
Jason was too dumb to think of pranks, too rich to dare touch soil, and so that left one thing; perpetual anger. "Will you please sit with me?" He asked redundantly even as he dragged her to an empty chair. "I don't get this whole moles thing, that woman is such an evil whore." Any other girl would have been thrilled if a boy, who looked like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine, dragged her to the popular table asking for help. But Rita disliked being any other girl.
"Sorry," she said, refusing to sit down, even when he held the chair out for her. The beauty queens stopped their conversations with the boys and looked up at her expectantly. "But I have some other people to sit with." Only her palpable tension kept the people from rolling their eyes. During the last three years, Rita always sat by herself, unafraid of anybody's judgment.
"But I need help," he repeated. "If I don't understand it now, I'll fail senior year." Jason looked like he was going to forcibly make her sit down. Just so he could graduate to some party college.
"So sad, too bad. I hate to break it to you, Jason, but the world doesn't revolve around you." The fact that she said it didn't shock her; she just forgot to keep her voice down.
Victoria Bullen laughed. She was a woman who could over take Russia if she wanted to. By no means did she hold any intelligence, just sheer determination. "She's right you know. Just let her go and I'll teach you about the Avagadro's number."
"But you're too stupid," Jason snapped, eyes darkening. "Rita knows what this crap is all about."
"But maybe I don't want to spend my entire lunch period teaching a sullen boy something he should have learned last year. If you will excuse me-"
"Problem, Rita?" Kyros appeared out of nowhere. She was about to smile when she remembered he had kissed her and then left her high and dry. Not to mention alone on Christmas. Now he just breezed in, and expected to be her knight in shining armor. What am I supposed to do, swoon? Over my dead body. Rita shook her head and sat down.
"No. I'm just going to help my friend, Jason. You could leave now," she dismissed him brusquely. Jason smiled at Kyros as if he just won the prize. The shifter merely glared and then stalked away, thinking the girl an ungrateful wretch; after all, he had secretly hinted to Mrs. Glisscielle to buy the clothes. One would think she'd at least look at him with a friendly eye.
Rita's eyes followed him, and made a mental note that the Daybreakers sat in the corner of the cafeteria. She turned back to her lunch, emptying the contents viciously; she was probably the first girl to use the "popular pricks" to make the new boy jealous.
"Who was that?" Marjorie asked with obvious interest. Rita did not fully understand why Marjorie was so popular, with neither beauty, brains, or apparent talent. She was certainly friendly. She guessed it was her sense of style, for boys always stared at her blouse when Marjorie spoke to them.
"Ky… Bob Steve," she replied shortly and took out her science note book. She handed Jason her notes, ones in her own words and not Mrs. Hund's. Still affected by Kyros' sudden appearance, she harshly slapped Bryan Smith's hand away from her cookies.
"Is he yours?" Trina Malbet asked hopefully. The red head without a cause. Rita swallowed a mouthful of goldfish before answering.
"No, thank heavens. I'd rather own a rabid hippopotamus." Matt Joldin laughed so hard fruit punch squirted out of his nose. This was the partially schizophrenic, partially comatose junior-senior. All the girls leapt from the table as if the fruit punch was a mouse.
"Sorry," Matt giggled. "I just suddenly got a vision of a rabid hippo. It was really funny." Rita rolled her eyes and turned to Jason to explain the importance of the mysterious mole.
But during the last ten minutes of lunch, Jason closed her note book. He only shrugged when she received a paper cut from his rude action. "I get it now," he explained conceitedly. As if he learned the whole thing all by himself, Rita noticed with disappointment.
Bryan Smith asked, rather abruptly, "Who was that naked guy you were with at Scott's?"
He could not have been any more random. Other conversations came to a screeching halt at the word "naked." Once again, she found expectant eyes on her.
"Jared Luna," she answered, looking down at her food. "And his clothes were nearby." The juice box. She just had to focus on the juice box, and all the nervousness would disappear. And yet the one hundred percent fruit drink did nothing to stop Bryan's queries. Stupid store brand juice box.
"Who's Jared Luna? Is he a senior?" Rita nodded at Bryan, trying to ignore the other girls' curiosity. With one paralyzing look from his orange eyes, the others turned away. Rita was one of the few who could meet that look. More than once, he had thrown it her way during warm debates of Current Events class. The two never agreed.
"He has been for almost three years. C'mon, Bryan, concentrate. He pulled your gym shorts down in the middle of P.E. last year?" Rita couldn't help but smile at the memory. Jared had snuck up behind just as Bryan attempted a lay up, resulting with Bryan furiously chasing after the wolf. Her newfound knowledge of their species certainly explained why it took so long for the coaches to catch the pair.
His amber eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, Jared Luna. God, I hate that dog." Rita stiffened at the word dog, but she tried to keep her face neutral. Bryan was nothing compared to Jason and Scott's well toned muscles. He was thin, with only slight indications of strength, with hair that reached past his ears. His skin was paler than the snow, and yet managed to avoid the sickly look. When provoked, he exuded more menace than the wrestling team.
She had known him since she was five and he six. But she would have never have guessed that Bryan Smith was one of them. Probably a vampire by the way he spoke of the werewolf. How many of her childhood her friends were one of them? How many had left her front yard after a day of playing only to start hunting? No; she refused to think of that now.
"Yes," she agreed. "Nothing is more irritating than a flea bag." It wasn't betraying Jared exactly; after all, she said a flea bag, not that flea bag. Bryan smiled, approval coolly glinting in his eyes. He had been sitting a seat away from her, with Jason between them. Because the spoiled brat was not about to move from the newly bloomed socialite, Bryan stood up and shared her seat.
"This would not be so uncomfortable if you scooted over," he told her, quite serious. The boy, as far as she knew, was always serious. Her face showed she didn't like such close contact. Her calf was against his calf, knee against knee, and hip against hip. The original belief was that the only warmth Bryan had was in his eyes, but Rita learned she was completely wrong when she felt his unavoidable heat against her body. She couldn't comprehend how the other girls flirted this intensely every day without breaking into a sweat.
"But I sat here first."
"I assumed you were interested in our conversation," he replied icily. Rita was not offended; he displayed this sort of friendly attitude to every one.
"I still am. And I could hear you just fine from your original seat." But even as she said it, Walter appeared and took the vacated spot. Again, Bryan smiled.
"Tell me something, Rita…"
"I never listen to things that begin with 'Tell me something'."
He frowned, but continued. "Tell me why you don't have a boy friend." Rita blinked several times, unable to answer. He looked around them, not caring if some girls were still listening to their private conversation. "Stiff competition?"
"From what I've heard, the competition is fairly flexible. You should know." As soon as she said it, Rita's hands flew to her mouth. It was something Jared would say, but not her. Not the mature senior-junior president.
"Too true," he admitted wryly. "We have a few talented contortionists here."
"Please," she interrupted, "Even if you don't have to eat, I do." Rita held up her last cookies as proof. "Don't spoil my appetite."
Bryan snatched the cookies and stuffed all three in his mouth. "Still want them?" he asked spitefully, his cheeks resembling a chipmunk's. Rita frowned, disgusted. A little rumble from her stomach mourned the loss.
"Oh, you're an evil boy," she told him, rising from her seat. It was as if they reverted back to the days when he pulled her hair. "There, have the chair all to yourself." She began heading for the exit.
"Where are you going?" he asked, a few steps behind her. Instead of answering, Rita waved graciously to the Math Team table. The vegetarian club, she noticed, scowled at her leather pants. Something to deal with later.
"I don't want to tell you."
"I'll follow you then." This was said as she passed by Jared and Kyros. Both their expressions darkened. Their reactions brought much spiteful pleasure to her, and to her professed stalker.
"I'd like to see you try," she murmured as they walked down an empty hall. Rita knew what to do when a man stalked her in a public place. Smiling sweetly, she breezily entered the girls restroom, fully expecting him to stand agape while the door slammed into his face.
One could not possibly imagine her surprise when she saw his reflection behind hers as she carefully smoothed her hair.
"This is the girl's bathroom, Bryan. It's the only place where we don't have to deal with the stupider sex. Get out." He began to respond when a toilet flushed and Ophelia Brown stepped out. And she was smiling, nervously. Poor, ignorant little thing.
"Hi, Rita," she managed. Bryan smirked while Rita initiated small talk in hopes of driving the boy out by boredom.
"Ophelia, get out," he ordered easily. The round face fell blank and she nodded submissively. "Oh, and I wasn't in here." Again, Ophelia nodded before quickly retreating.
"We were speaking," she said, peeved at his chilly loftiness. "One does not use mind control in the middle of a private conversation." Smith shrugged as he locked the bath room door.
"Do you have a date to Anniversary Soiree?" Her eyes narrowed to green daggers. The formal event was a few weeks away, on the date Anomina was first founded. The soiree was peak of the senior year; something the lower classes longed for and the seniors reveled in preparing. She and her committee had been planning for it since day one. It was not something purely platonic couples attended.
And now, Bryan Smith, a boy who only noticed her when she fully disagreed with his views, was asking her if she had a date.
She leaned against the wall, attempting aloofness. "Why? So you can taunt him till Doomsday?"
Rita was not afraid to be in a locked bathroom, alone with a vampire she barely knew any more. A paper cut to boot. But if he was with the Night World, he wouldn't have sat with the popular human clique. And she didn't believe he could very well kill a child hood friend. Nobody was that heartless.
With admirable grace and elegance, he advanced upon her until their bodies were a few inches apart. "No. So I can beat him into letting me take you. We'll go on other dates before the soiree, of course, to get to know each other…"
"Bryan Smith, you're a shallow, superficial creature," she exclaimed heatedly before she could help herself. Bryan stepped away, taken aback by the unflattering words. He had fully expected a shy acceptance.
"What on earth is going on? I wear a dress to a party, squeeze into leather pants, wrongfully mouth off to a teacher, and all of a sudden I'm the belle of the school?"
"I wouldn't say belle, exactly…"
"You're as deep as a drained lake. Why are you asking me to the AS, Bryan?" Rita demanded, hands on hips. Which she regretted, for his eyes lingered on that unfortunately round body part until she cleared her throat.
"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."
"And why is that? Are you stunned by my intellect? Are you impressed by my GPA? Or is it my variety of extra curricular activities that seduces you?"
"For some time now, I've admired your debating ability and leader ship qualities. And your ass, no matter how baggy your jeans were," he answered truthfully. The reply was merely a way to irritate her further; it succeeded.
"Ha! I knew it, I knew it! And what stopped you from asking me before? My loose sweaters and glasses?"
"Actually, no. I've been trying to figure out whether you're a lesbian or not." Rita's hands dropped from her sides around the same time her jaw dropped to the floor. That wasn't something she expected. But it did explain the enigmatic stares he had been giving since school commenced.
"Don't look so surprised. After all, you showed no interest in males and you only really talked to other girls. The lack of feminine fashion, as you mentioned, also made me wonder."
"If I supposedly only talked to other girls, it's because this school is rampant with idiot males like you. So if a girl doesn't wear skin tight clothes, she's a lesbian?" Rita had nothing against lesbians, but his stereotypical ideas of them sparked her indignity immediately. Bryan held up his hands in surrender.
"Fine, fine, it was wrong of me to think so. Forgive? After all, you already categorized my group as popular pricks before you even sat down."
"You read my mind!?"
"Umm… Come on, Rita. Be my date or I'll spread a nasty rumor about you and Jared." She hoped he was joking, but she couldn't tell by his expression.
"There are plenty of other girls willing to go," she said quietly, not exactly refusing. Her mind wandered to the popular humans, and then the to-die-for Night World citizens. She was just Rita Glisscielle.
"Yeah, to be seen with me," he said, his repugnance for them apparent. "They're only good for midnight snacks." His faintly hungry look ignited suspicion in Rita's green eyes.
"And on these pre-AS dates, am I going to have to wear turtle necks?"
"Of course not," he snorted, irked at being thought of as an uncontrollable parasite. "There are plenty of other blood banks around here. If it bothers you that much to help a friend, I promise I won't take a drop."
"Or a quart, a pint, a gallon, and any other unit of liquids," she warned. "I have friends in high places, you know. They'd hurt you." Rita pushed aside the fact that she hadn't spoken to them in nearly three weeks.
"Yeah, so do I. Very high," he chuckled at his own joke. Rita watched fascinated as his amber eyes glowed into a reddish fire. Then he straightened, his expression returning to the gravity with which she was accustomed. "I promise not to feed on you. You have my word."
She guessed being a vampire and such gave him and his people the right to give their "words" without looking ridiculously traditional. "And don't be surprised if I cancel suddenly. I have lots of things going on, here and at home."
"Things like what? Organizing your pocket protectors?" Rita knew, although he joked, that questions of her schedule would pop up eventually. It would be better to tell him now, so her hopes would not raise with these future rendez vous.
She took a deep breath and began. "Remember Melissa? Well, she's turned into a mentally disabled sister at home, her condition a result of the infamous drug dealer years back and a car accident. My mother, the nurse, and I take turns taking care of her. After school one Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have Math Team, Beta Club, and tutoring sessions. I'm relatively poor, so I can't pay for any of these dates. There. Still want to take me out?"
"You talk rather quickly," he replied immediately, not missing a beat. "But I think I got the gist of it. All right, I'll play this game. You know I have one very rich father, and one extremely spoiled little sister. And I don't give a damn if she fell off a cliff and landed in a pit of pointy sticks. Lamia, if you haven't guessed. My mother ran away, with another woman, when I was thirteen. Yeah," he confirmed, seeing her expression, "those rumors were true. That explains my questioning your sexuality, I guess. On all the days of the week, I hang out with John Otis and company to laugh at their herbal influences. Seeing as I'm fairly rolling in money, I don't see a problem in buying your affection. After all, my father bought mine and my little sister's. There, still want to go with me?"
Rita did not at all feel special. It was certain nobody else in the whole school knew this, but she guessed the only reason he told her was to win this "game." Of course, his sob story paled in comparison to hers. She shook her head, smiling.
"Buddy, that is nothing. My father died of lung cancer when I was two, remember? I win this game, by a long shot."
"Dammit," he swore softly, but grinned. "I guess you do. Even if one is off living her bisexual fantasy, both my parents are alive."
Rita had no expectations for this developing relationship, but decided it would be useful. Although estranged, Bryan Smith would have his connections to the Night World. If she learned how to "butter him up," perhaps Rita guessed she would be more of a help to Circle Daybreak; and let them leave as soon as possible. "Another thing," she said. "No swearing. I can't stand it when people swear."
"On one condition." Rita raised one eyebrow questioningly. "A kiss."
"Goodness no," she exclaimed, blushing as she walked to the door. His tempting smile disturbed her to agitation. "We haven't even gone on a date yet. And, even at the end of our first, it isn't proper to kiss. Second date, maybe."
"Oh no," he groaned as they ambled out the door. "You're traditional, too. I guess I won't be getting lucky on any of our nights out." Rita didn't answer; outside the door stood a long line of girls, antsy to enter. Two of them Winnie and Fayth.
~*~*~*~
It was a dull, unimaginative theater. White walls, white pillars, and a black carpeted sloping floor. The only noteworthy quality was the size, and the impressively large entrance way in which the audience could mingle and discuss the piece. But during school hours, nobody except the drama class was allowed in there; one could not afford distractions during the rehearsal. There was, of course, one student who would not face punishment if she sat in the back row.
Rita and Adrian were the only ones in the audience. One second the seat beside her was empty. In a heart beat, Adrian Amaro lounged lazily in it. If she wasn't so absorbed in the rehearsal, she would have squeaked in alarm.
"What are you doing here? From what I've heard, you're the model student." Under other circumstances, she would have quivered at the whisper in her ear. It ruffled her hair, and warmed her cheek. She suspected listening to his voice evoked the same feelings as kissing his lips. Rita pinched at her hands, trying to extinguish the hot tingles in them.
"Ssh," she said immediately, and her eyes followed the drama students' feet. Not exactly in time with the beat, she noted disappointedly. If Mr. Nowlan didn't fix it, Rita refused to advertise the play in the morning announcements and upper class men bulletin board.
It was a play based on the myth Pygmalion, complete with plaster life size statue. Rita cringed at the thought of the total expense. For some reason beyond anybody's comprehension, the crazed teacher decided to set it in Ancient Rome with contemporary artists' songs. He had called it, "Realistic with a little bit of un realism." Rita had no inkling how it how "realistic" it would turn out considering half the girls involved were platinum blondes. Susan Phyrne's voice barely did the songs justice, but she would have to do. No other female singer was willing to bear the tyrannical director's temper.
When Mr. Nowlan ordered everybody to take five, Rita faced the impudent boy beside her. His long legs rested on the seats before them. Amaro looked like a snake basking in the sun, relaxed but ready to strike.
"Hello Gitana. Remember me?" The boy was absurdly pleased with himself.
"It's hard to forget a boy who constantly harasses you, Adrian."
He smiled, a suggestive curve that could have shattered rainbows. "I see your memory improves. Care to repeat history?" He moved closer, forcing Rita farther into her seat.
"I don't remember everything," she whispered violently. "And I'm glad I don't remember your kisses."
"You did not seem to think so before, querida." Her eyes focused on the empty stage, safely away from his smoldering gaze.
"Stop calling me that. Don't you see that I hate you? I've never met a man so in love with himself. The mirror is probably you're only friend." And that barb struck.
"After all I sacrificed for you—" he began.
"Let's see, Gitana bravely chooses to stay in the burning stables for her almost love and you…" she thought hard for his so-called sacrifice. "Lose the hay?"
"My pride, for one thing. And my common sense."
Adrian eased into his own seat. For a few minutes as the crew repositioned the stage lights, the two sat in silence; Rita in intense discomfort and Adrian in deep thought.
"The wedding was beautiful, you know," he murmured. No trace of amusement, snobbery, seduction, or arrogance. Just a neutral remark. Despite its seemingly harmlessness, she didn't answer. Sooner or later, the conversation would return to disagreement. But…she was curious, for she had never been to a wedding.
Somehow, Adrian sensed it and continued with, "You truly dripped with jewels. The envy of every woman in the church. Misa lasted three hours. Naturally, I wanted you to wear red, but you insisted on white. Probably the only girl in the whole village who lived up to the color's meaning."
Cautiously, her eyes slid to his. But he took no notice; Amaro was somewhere very far away, where their love still burned brightly. "You worried that you wouldn't be able to walk down the aisle without collapsing. Diamonds are heavy on a dress, I presume. But I wanted diamonds, no matter how frail you were. And you were frail, Gitana, very delicate…"
Up until he said those words, Rita swore he had no emotions other than self adoration. But his words played such a tragic note, his voice grasping at something long dead. But, even more disturbing, something he wanted to revive.
"After the wedding and before the dinner, I held out the over coat for you, because it was very cold again. You, childish little chit, said you didn't want to change dresses because your white one was satisfactory. Didn't even know what an over coat was," he laughed softly, ocean eyes lost in the past. Rita resisted the urge to laugh with him. His rich voice sounded so tender, so sad…
Heavens, was he a smooth one. Quicker than lightning, but as stealthy as the darkness. Rita had never met a person quite so skilled with playing emotions. Amaro belongs on the stage, she thought bitterly. She stood up, her expression as dark as her hair. "This was supposed to be my free time," she snapped, annoyed. "Now I've wasted it with you."
Rita stood and began to walk away. He grabbed her elbow and she twisted it to escape his grasp. She ignored the pain it caused, for it was nothing compared to living Gitana Amaro's life again.
No matter how soft his voice became and no matter how vulnerable his expression looked, Rita refused to fall for the act again. It wouldn't be fair, after all Gitana endured and sacrificed, to let herself become the victim again. One wife was all this man deserved.
She made it as far as the door way. Unfortunately, out of anybody's view.
~*~*~*~
Prior Past
The impact of the metal bars threw off her balance. Instead of scratching at his arm, she leaned upon it, not wanting to slide to the ground. It would ruin her pretty dress.
Her world spun cruelly, not caring if she ached so much she was sure she'd die. The nobleman dropped his arm, standing before her with wild amazement. Although his hand no longer held her prisoner, his eyes demanded her stay. Fearfully, she complied and watched with quiet terror as he paced.
"Did you feel that?" He asked, pointing an accusing finger at her. His eyes, as dark as the night, some how blazed with wild wonder. Angrily, Gitana raised her head to meet them.
"Of course I felt it, estupido. I was the one who couldn't breathe, remember?" If she was going to die tonight, she would do it saying all the things she wanted to say.
"No, no, no," he snapped, running short of patience. The boy's hands cupped her head, holding it up so that her eyes could not avoid his, the nearly black abyss that was supposed to be the windows to his soul.
"This." Pain, anger, confusion, astonishment, frightening impatience…she could feel it in his lips, in a kiss that should have seared her to smoky ashes. He did not wait for her to understand, that much was obvious as he forced her mouth open, demanding an equally passionate response. His teeth scraped against hers, his tongue promising to teach her what she obviously did not know. Gitana had never received a kiss before in her life, and, after this scorching touch, she was sure she would never be satisfied by any other.
Damn. Just when she thought he had enough advantages over her, she forgot to put witchcraft on the list. What next? Talking animals?
Because he didn't say anything. The man had felt it. And she felt him feel it. She was so shocked it would have taken a gentle breeze to knock her over.
"What did you do? How did you…"
"No," the boy interrupted, speaking to himself. "I suppose you wouldn't understand. But you did feel my mind, correct?"
She nodded dumbly. "And…you felt mine?"
"Of course I did. Don't you see what's going on?" Gitana tried her best to appear informed, but failed miserably. With an apologetic smile, she shook her head.
"We are what my people call soul mates," he explained impatiently. "We're stuck together." With another impatient shake of his handsome head, he scratched his chin, deep in thought.
"Soul mates," she repeated. "But I don't even know your name." Before she could blink, the forward manner vanished and in its place came the proper gentleman's demeanor.
"Adrian Amaro," he said, with no trace of emotion. "I would kiss your hand at this introduction, but apparently you don't enjoy my touch."
Gitana opened her mouth to question the reason he was offended. He was the one who nearly strangled her and then forced his advances upon her. And now he was annoyed with her. It was the first time she ever heard of the victim at fault during an assault. "It's true," she agreed, trying to imitate his cold voice, "such privileges are given with my consent. Not taken by some barbarian who claims he is my soul mate."
"Claims? Of all the men you've touched, how many have been able to read your mind? And have any read yours?"
His logic held no faults; that very fact caused her to snap, "I don't know. I've never touched any men…perhaps this is something all men can do and women don't find out until they're attacked."
"Or married," he added, his sudden smile warning her to tread softly. "All soul mates, of course, are supposed to be married." She took a moment to register the change of mood; he changed his emotions like one changed dance positions.
"Well, good for them," she huffed angrily, fists clenching. "Is that your rule or God's?"
His shrug indicated he neither knew nor cared. "Would you rather live together, in sin?"
"Who said anything about living together?" she roared, head pounding with indignity. Gitana fought back the urge to stamp her foot. But her rancor had blown past boiling point, and she no longer cared if she received a whipping for her words. "You act as if, because I am of a lower class, I can be pushed around like furniture. But I'm telling you now, Adrian Amaro, I'd rather wallow in the mud with the pigs than ever kiss you again. At least they don't speak like that!"
"Fine! Go, if you never want to see me again, I have some pigs of my own around here. You are welcome to their pen."
"They are most likely as disgusting as you, you…you repulsive devil!"
His arms darted out like cobras and encircled her, pinning her arms against her body. As she struggled, her captor merely constricted until she thought her heart would burst at the lack of room. Gitana kicked his knees, stamped on his foot, and even tried to bite his ear. All the while, his embrace held tight until she leaned on him exhaustedly, black hair curling against her damp forehead.
"I'm not giving up," she informed him breathlessly. "I'm just resting. Wait a few moments while I catch my second wind." He only nodded, obviously amused.
Then, after they realized the second wind refused invitation, the arms squeezed tighter. "You do not want to be with me?"
"After all that I've said, you're asking if I don't want to be with you? I've never met a man so stupid!" she professed to the sky, exasperated. Hopefully, angels would come and knock this man into a deep, perpetual sleep.
"We are soul mates. We understand each other. And I know you are tired of traveling, and not knowing when or where the next meal comes. I could help you." He shook her lightly when he saw her suspicious eyes.
"If you will not marry me for love, then use reason. What sensible girl would turn away a chance to join the aristocracy? To turn in her plain white dress for ball gowns? The back of a merchant's cart for a carriage fit for a queen? Your mother even told you so, Gitana. Live with by your stomach and not by your heart. What will you do if you cannot dance? Starve to death?"
"It's not fair to use my mother's words against me; she was either drunk or delirious at the time." Which explained Senora Benevita's lack of imagination for her only daughter's name. "I demand you release me at once, or may the Lord strike you dead."
"Strike me with what?" he laughed, obviously not understanding her earnestness.
"I don't know," she admitted, flustered. "Whatever he has. And, believe me, Dios has a lot of things."
"Really? And how was that trip to the Holy Arms chamber? However did you manage to get the master to show you around heaven?"
"I don't like to be mocked," she warned belligerently.
"And I don't like to be refused," he replied, his voice losing the taunting tone. "Your wish as a child, and possibly presently, was to marry young and have many children. Even your dying mother wished she had grandchildren. I am granting that wish."
"Without my consent!"
"Is that all that bothers you? That is the silliest reason I've ever heard of for refusing a proposal."
"Oh," she remarked with false surprise, "there was a proposal somewhere between the commands? I must have been so short of breath I never noticed it."
"Do I have your consent, or will I have to hold a knife behind your back at the altar?"
"How can a girl refuse such a passionate offer?" Gitana asked flatly. "Can you hear my answer as my ribs are being cracked?"
"Exactly what I'm wondering. Have you any idea the number of women seeking matrimony with me?"
"And a good number of them are crazed, blind, or mute. What are you going to do? Keep me in this crushing embrace until I relent?"
"If that's what it takes…"
"Then I hope you had a long siesta. Because we are going to be here all night!"
"Then it is a night well spent," he returned gravely. His blue eyes pierced directly into hers, shining so brightly she was certain the very sky envied him. Senor Amaro had beautiful lips, she noticed distractedly. Lips that belonged a sculpture, and eyes that belonged to the heavens. Their children would be stunning. Godly and well fed children, living with their godly and well fed parents. The thought brought pleasant euphoria to her.
"I haven't a coin to my name," she whispered. Which was true. All she owned in the world was a few dresses and a good luck, faceless rag doll her mother gave her. "And people say not nice things about me."
"Then I will kill them." Gitana knew he meant every word. "If you do not say yes, right now, I will find a way to keep you in Morta Vitez. No merchant will take you any where. Stay with me, Gitana, my little gypsy. What is a man without his complete soul?"
~*~*~*~
Without the lights of the stage, the theater entrance held shady silence. Strange how the thespians' voices didn't reach the her ears. Because her anger reached theirs.
"You never knew," he realized quietly, stroking her cheek. Poor ignorant thing, he thought sadly. "Up until now, you never knew why I was that important. You actually believed the stable boy was your soul mate."
She did the only thing that came to mind. Rita punched him. All the anger and confusion he planted drove with her fist. The unexpected blow sent him reeling to the opposite wall.
"You knew!" she accused, eyes hysterical. "You knew from the beginning. You knew and you still hurt me! I was your other half and you hurt me! You knew," she cried, chest heaving.
Rita wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her. She wanted to see him flinch, she wanted to see him cowering in a corner. All Rita wanted was to see him cry. Nothing would bring her more pleasure than hearing his heart break; just as hers had. When she spoke, her lips poured forth a sound far too hateful to be sane.
"What is a man without his complete soul? You, Adrian Amaro. And I hate you. I have never hated any one as much as you." All the while, her hands reached for him in frenzied motions, not caring where or how she hurt him. A nail scratched at his cheek. Her thumb jammed into his throat. She tried anything just to see him wince.
"Gitana, lower your voice…" His anger bounced in rich booms throughout the entire theater.
"And if I don't?" she challenged defiantly. "Will you hit me again?"
Adrian's eyes darted from her face to the teacher swiftly heading towards them. The incline of the floor made it difficult for his wheel chair, but the unfolding violence made Mr. Nowlan determined on stopping them. It would not do to have blood spilt on the carpet. And, more importantly, they interrupted rehearsal.
"Have you nothing to say? Is Adrian Amaro, the great and the hated, speechless? Good. I am glad-"
"What is it you want? An apology?" The manner in which he said it suggested disbelief. As if there was no reason for her fury.
"No. I wish to see you burned. Tortured, in some way, but burning is all that comes to mind."
"What the hell is going on here?" Mr. Nowlan hollered as he pulled up behind her. She paid him no attention.
"You knew," she repeated, voice breaking, "and you never told me. You never told me what you are and or why we never had a family. Your own soul mate, Adrian."
He didn't respond; his eyes remained on her, the unreadable expression meeting her tearful anger. Mr. Nowlan asked again, and Adrian tore his gaze away.
"That was an audition, Mr. Nowlan. I am a new student here, and an old friend of Rita's. I was just helping her with her lines; she wishes to be in the play."
"It's a lie," she contradicted venomously, and ignored the warning in his eyes. "I have no time to be in a play."
Mr. Nowlan appeared puzzled. Who was he to believe: the responsible student body president, or the mysterious strapping young man…
"Of course, she's too bashful to admit it. It would be ridiculous to think all those things she said was true, right Rita?" She saw there was no point in contradicting again; Mr. Nowlan's opinion had already been swayed by Amaro's good looks.
"Of course," she echoed, suddenly feeling hollow. "Being soul mates with this man would be entirely ridiculous. If you will excuse me…" Rita ignored Mr. Nowlan's calls of rehearsal times; she had no intention of supporting Amaro's lie. And if she didn't maintain her guarded expression and glowering eyes, she was afraid she'd cry.
~*~*~*~
"He's what?" Jared stared at her as if she'd just told him she set the school on fire. Fearful and worried of her sanity.
Rita sighed sorrowfully, eyes cast down. When school was five minutes from ending, Rita spotted Jared among the sea of cars, sitting on the Yota without a care in the world. She gravitated to him, hoping to find some peace of mind from the only untroubled person she knew. And she wanted a ride home.
"My soul mate," she repeated dully. Another wistful sigh escaped her as Jared lit a cigarette; for her fate and for his with the Marlboro. "As if life wasn't complicated enough."
"Aw…fuck," he swore, unable to avoid the oath. Then Jared shook his head. "Never fails. Every damn Daybreak mission, there has to be a soul mate ship involved…We're gonna hafta think about this." Jared, with his usual declination of asking, pulled her onto the car hood next to him. Deep in thought, he exhaled the smoke as Rita felt her limbs go numb.
"So…we can't kill him?" he asked as casually as possible.
Rita rolled her eyes and gave an irritated hmph. Something she had a tendency to do quite often, he observed. "Of course you can. As a matter of fact, I forbid you of not killing him. Heavens, I hate the very thought of walking down the street and simply killing someone, but I think this is necessary."
"Heavens," he mimicked in a high voice. "It won't be easy, you know. Amaro's old, I mean really old. Might be as old as that bitch Mya."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Listen, you want a ride? I was supposed to wait for Rik and Fayth but since they're not here…" Rita grinned, reluctant to mention the dismissal bell had yet to ring. "I figure they got a ride from the fox. Let's go," he said decidedly, not waiting for her answer.
They sat in silence as he pulled from the lot and put the teenager trap far behind them. Unlike his people, Jared drove at a relatively careless speed, either fifteen below or above, indifferent of the direction and time. With one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the back of her seat, he occasionally glanced at her as if she were a riddle waiting to be solved. Finally, out of irritation, she lightly tapped his knee.
"What's up with you? Tell me why you keep looking at me."
He shrugged and threw the cigarette out the window, causing Rita to frown. An unresponsive litter bug. She understood his lack of words; like herself, Jared didn't like being told what to do. Rita relaxed in her seat, resignedly waiting for him to answer. They knew he would take some time before he replied, just to show he did so without obeying her.
"I heard from Winnie that you and Smith were locked in the girl's bathroom for ten minutes."
"You heard right," she told him succinctly. Jared gradually slowed to an imperceptible halt. Rita took in their surroundings: the crumbled edge of the road, the startling beginning of the forest. Fittingly named, the Almost Dead End was where students, who desired to avoid a night in jail, settled their differences with violence until near death. And, in technical terms, the road was not a dead end; there were many nature trails that would snugly accommodate a car.
"What'd you talk bout?"
"The progress of cloning. Have you noticed how rabbits rapidly reproduce? We were beginning to think they don't do that all by themselves."
"Seriously."
"An overpopulation of rabbits is a very serious matter. Think how obese wolves will get with all these animals running around."
"Rita," he warned, voice low. He had said it before, but not like that. Never so…intimate.
"He asked me to the Anniversary Soiree," she answered in one breath, looking down at her hands. Anywhere but those eyes. "I accepted."
He gave a low whistle and fiddled with his key chains. For a moment, Jared reminded Rita of a disappointed child, whose rosy dreams were rudely annihilated. "I would have preferred you talkin bout rabbit cloning."
"Why? Were you going to ask me?" she asked jokingly. Trying desperately to lighten the blanket of gloom his expression had created.
"Don't worry, I got plenty others ahead of me," he mused, staring intently out the window. Then, with his usual lack of warning, he asked abruptly, "Just be careful, understand me? Smith has a habit of switching sides every once in a while." Because he looked so earnest, Rita nodded quickly, although she didn't fully comprehend. With every sad emotion conveyed on his adorable face, Rita felt she would have done cartwheels just to make him feel better.
"Why aren't you talking to Kyros and them?"
"You mean why aren't they talking to me." Jared shrugged, not really knowing the difference.
"They sent my family away," she sighed, a tinge of sadness creeping into her voice. "On Christmas, Jared, of all holidays. Can you believe it?"
"I don't celebrate it. Aiming for atheism."
"I can certainly understand that," she said bitterly. "After all this crap God puts me through, I'm seriously pondering whether I should ignore him or not."
"The fact that you want to ignore him says you believe him. That didn't exactly scream atheism. Learn the rules before you join my cult; I am the only god," he grinned.
"But then that's not atheism, if you worship yourself. And it's gonna be sorta hard to disbelieve His existence, but I'll try for you sake. Don't think I'm going to make the next group suicide though," she answered mock pensively.
"Yeah, well, I might hold it off, just for you." The two stared at each other, then smiled over their earnest silliness.
"Goodness, you always find a way to make me forget my problems," she sighed without thinking. "I should buy one of your kind and put it on the refrigerator."
"Yeah," he mumbled, with what Rita could have sworn was bashfulness, "well, you always make me forget what we were talkin' bout. So spill it."
"I told you," she said, shifting uncomfortably, "he sent away my family. During a time in which America's suicide rate is the highest."
"And who is this 'he'?" Jared queried with interest in the change of pronouns.
"Oh," she smiled sadly, with a bit of shame. A betraying blush crept to her cheeks. "Kyros. I thought he would, you know, understand things…"
"Why? You met him only a few days before."
"Because he kissed me." The reply popped out before she could stop it. Fearfully, she waited for his reaction. The werewolf merely raised his eyebrows and then faced his window again.
"Lucky bastard," he chuckled softly. Rita heard the sound, but knew his heart was not into it. "But you know what?" he said, taking a brighter tone, "You shouldn't worry about that. After all, your family's gonna be home soon. The point is, you're Amaro's soul mate, and he obviously wants you back."
"So what?"
"So…use it against him. Find out what makes him tick, then use it, and while he's distracted with you, I'll kill him."
"I refuse to be an undercover prostitute."
"You want him to die, don't you?" Rita stared at him, for he hadn't said the words with the coldness one would expect a hunter would have. He sounded like a child encouraging a violent game, promising the pain would be worth the pleasure. Unstable eagerness burned in his chocolate eyes.
"That's true," she confessed slowly. "But how will getting him angry keep him from hurting me?"
"Good point," he admitted, scratching his head. Rita sighed, relieved to see the good old confused Jared again. "Maybe you should—"
He didn't finish. The hand that crashed through the window and around his neck effectively stopped him.
~*~*~*~
you obviously don't know what the hell is going on."
Murphy's Laws
Hint: Any time Rita jinxes herself…it's pretty important. Slaps head Well, duh, you've already figured that out!
You've probably guessed whose hand it is. Any who, if anybody's surprised about Bryan Smith, I'm severely disappointed in you. I totally and blatantly foreshadowed it; er, well, maybe I meant to and I forgot. Please don't think this is one of those stupid stories where plain girl over night becomes Cinderella and every body falls madly in love with her. You'll see what I mean later on. And please review, and I'll adore you forever plus a year after that. All opinions welcome. Also little side extra note to Maudlinrose that I hope doesn't make the other reviewers feel like Jan Brady: nothing is supposed to be funny-funny in this chapter, only small moments whenever I could fit them in. I hope it's not too obvious; is it?