Eyewitness

Chapter 1- Welcome to my Life

Author: Minerva (The Blind Assassin)

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I know, I know! I'm starting yet ANOTHER fic. Don't kill me! I'm working really hard on my other fics, but I couldn't wait to post this, because it is SO much fun to write. I am a little nervous, as it is modern day and Kel is pretty much… umm… completely OC. Heh. But even so, I hope you like this!

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If there's one things every woman enjoys, it's a good tale of romance. Nothing warms the heart like the story of a beautiful young woman, swept off her feet by a man too perfect for words named Damien or Sebastian or Dimitri. There's nothing like reading about how sweet, virginal Adriana or Brianna's stomach flutters with the butterflies of attraction when her man strides into the room. There's nothing more satisfying then when Mr. Right waltzes in and gives our heroine a breath-taking, nearly orgasmic smooch. Yes, those romantic tales are perfection in and of themselves.

Sadly, this is not one of them.

Oh sure, I'm swept off my feet by a rich, gorgeous, sex god with an unusual name quite a few times throughout the course of this tale, but unfortunately, it generally involves fainting, falling off rooftops, or slipping on a glob of spinach artichoke dip. Not exactly what I would call prime romance novel material.

But as obstinate and unexciting as my love life tends to be, it does happen to be my life, and it's all I know to write about.

You see, most of my encounters with romance have been less than exciting. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy. He asks her on a few dates, and bang, a relationship arises. Girl ends up driving boy away with her clumsiness, insane family, and unhealthy obsession with school or job? Ok, so the last part is not so ordinary, but that's the way the story goes for me, time and time again.

In high school, I dated a boy in the grade above me named Cleon Kennan. He was tall, red-haired, funny, played football, and introduced me to the wonderful world of backseat firsts and sloppy seconds. But, as most high school relationships go, he was out of the picture as soon as his graduation cap was off his head and soaring above him at his high school graduation.

Then, in college, I made the mistake of dating a guy named Dom, a psychology major with a goatee who thought he was related to Jean-Paul Sartre. I used to have to drown out the sound of him quoting existentialist theory when I was trying to enjoy my post-coital breathlessness. Enough said.

And then there's my roommate, Nealan. Neal and I were dating casually for a few months before he decided that he didn't like women. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I turned a perfectly good, sperm producing man GAY. So sue me. Don't get me wrong, Neal is a terrific roommate with cute buns and great fashion sense, but he gotten to be so flaming homosexual that he makes The Village People look straight as arrows.

Then there was Richard, who was cheating on me and then had the nerve to call me a crazy, psycho bitch after I keyed his Z3 BMW convertible. There was Daniel, who ended up dumping me after my father tried to get him to smuggle weed from Colombian drug lords in his glove compartment. And Brian and I hadn't even made it to our fourth date when my heel caught on the base of his sister's wedding dress and it unraveled until I sent her flying, half-naked, into her wedding cake. Needless to say, he never called for a fourth date.

And then there's Joren.

I don't even know where to begin with Joren Mason.

He first waltzed into my life in high school, when I, the perfectly naïve Catholic school girl that I was, could be charmed by anything with a penis. He went to the Jesuit boys' school down the street called Blackwell, and was every girl's dream. In tradition of the Mason men, he was blond, blue-eyed, smart, athletic, popular, and had stuck his tongue down the throats of at least half my classmates by the time we graduated. I, much to my own chagrin, had the privilege of playing tonsil hockey with Golden Boy at the impressionable age of 15 as well.

He gave me my very first kiss in the tenth grade, just weeks before Cleon asked me out. See, in high school, I was sort of a misfit in my class. Not to say that I was a total dork or anything, but I wasn't quite the average Norwood Academy for Girls' student. Whereas most girls in my class would go the Blackwell boys' school's football games and hang out at the Country Club, I tended to spend my free time working on the stage sets or tagging along with my brothers at my Uncle Marty's garage.

So when I did decide to go to a Blackwell football game at the end of Sophomore year, it must have been as weird as seeing Mahatma Gandhi at a NRA meeting for the rest of my class. I sat uncomfortably next to my best friend Virginia, who had dragged me there in the first place, as this annoying boy on the bleacher behind me kept pulled at the ends of my long curls.

By the third quarter, I had had enough. "Hey, cut it out!" I snapped finally, turning around to give him a deathly glare.

He flashed a perfect white grin at me. "Sorry."

I rolled my eyes. Sorry my ass. He doesn't look sorry at all. When Blackwell made a touchdown and the entire crowd was on it's feet cheering, Virginia elbowed me in the ribs and whispered roughly in my ear. "That was Joren Mason behind you, Kel!"

"Yeah, and?"

"You don't snap at Joren Mason, ok? It's just unheard of."

"Well, he was pulling my curls!" I whined, loudly enough so that he could hear me. "Who the hell pulls a girl's hair like that?" At that point, I didn't care that he was brutally hot, I was pissed off. Virginia gave me the glare of death and shrank into her seat, hoping not to be seen.

At the end of the game, Joren yanked at one of my curls again while everyone was walking away. I took a deep breath and turned around. "What is wrong with you?" I snapped.

He shrugged. "I like girls with curly hair," he said, a smug smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "Think it's sexy."

I could feel myself turning red, and had no idea what to say to that. It's a perm—it was the eighties, give me a break—but still. He thinks my hair's sexy. Oh my God! He thinks my hair's sexy. He's a senior, and he thinks my hair is sexy. What should I say? He's so hot! "Yeah?" I managed to utter.

"Yeah," he said in a low, rough voice as he looked me squarely in the eyes. I had never flirted with a boy in my life, and certainly had never spoken to anyone as beautiful as Joren. I gulped, simply staring at him. "Sorry for pulling at them, though," he continued. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

At the point, I would have shaved my head for him if he asked me to. "What do you mean?"

He grinned. "I mean, would you let me take you to the Diner and buy you a shake?"

And from then on, I was putty in his young, womanizing hands. Joren bought me a shake, draped an arm over my shoulder when we sat in the bright pink booth, and let me wear his varsity letter jacket when we walked out to the parking lot. He offered to take me home and gave my first French kiss in front of the cherry blossom tree in my front lawn.

I was leaning back against his brand new 1988 Cherokee when he did the deed, launching me into the fascinating world of making out. His warm hand crawled up my thigh and under the short skirt of the school uniform I was still wearing. I had never even been kissed before, but he was so smooth that I probably would have lost my virginity then and there, in the back seat of his Jeep. But, being the clumsy idiot I was, I leaned into the handle of the passenger seat. The car alarm went off, causing us to spring apart and for Joren to drop his keys in my driveway. As Joren and I fumbled for the keys, I apologized profusely until my mother came out to see what all the ruckus was about.

"Keladry, honey, is that you? Who's car is that going off like an ambulance! You know that Mr. Kadinsky will bite our heads off for disturbing his sleep! Keladry? What are you doing on the ground?" I could have died of embarrassment then and there, as my mother charged down the driveway in her bare feet and bright pink bathrobe.

Joren found his keys, grinned tightly and bid me a quick goodnight before driving away

I had given him my phone number, but after a few weeks without a phone call, I stopped hoping. I actually listened, though, when his name was tossed around in the hallways at school. I found out that Rachel Clark, Sarah Berry, Larissa Ottenstein, Becky Newman, Kelly Adams, and Whitney Dorrick had all slept with him, that nearly twice as many girls had been victims of his charms in other ways.

When I started dating Cleon, a football player, my social life exploded, and I went to parties every weekend, I saw him in passing quite a lot. One night, we were all hanging out at the Diner and Cleon had gone to the restroom when Joren slid onto the stool next to me at the bar.

"You dating Kennan now, hmm?" he asked, not bothering with any sort of greeting.

"Yeah," I replied, not looking at him. I was determined, despite his devilish good looks, to hold onto my anger.

"Lucky him. You kiss like a pro," Joren said with a wink. "Too bad my car alarm went off, eh?"

"Whatever." I said, trying to look disinterested, though I'm sure I was blushing.

Joren chuckled. "Don't get all worked up about it, babe. It was all just a bet anyway. You're not really my type." And with that, the son of a bitch disappeared from my sight and from my life for a good twelve years.

Twelve years later, the only men in my life are my gay roommate and his cat, I have a dead end job, my car is shit, and I am the only unmarried Mindelan kid of all my six brothers and sisters.

But that's just me, Keladry Mindelan. Welcome to my life.