Hi! This is my second fanfic. Even though technically I never finished the
first. For anyone who took the time to read my first, I'm extremely sorry.
I'm going to be taking it down, but I will repost it. I am going to make
some serious revisions! Well anyways on with my story. Oh it's rated R for
violence, and graphic scenes (violent type graphics not um.sexual) So far
that's all it's being rated R for.
Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Sailormoon! Please don't sue! This goes for all the rest of my chapters too!!
"Goddamnit! Where the hell am I?!" A string of curses could be heard coming from a car speeding quickly down the road. A trail of dust was the only evidence of the car and it's owner's existence. An extremely handsome man, in a beautifully tailored Armani suit was sitting in the driver's seat. Every once in a while his unusual ice blue eyes would drift to the map on the passenger side seat.
He was driving down a country road. It was mid afternoon, the sun was behind him. There was a light wind making the pine trees sway and blowing the seeds of dandelions into the spring air. But all of this went unnoticed.
Darien Shields. America's top lawyer, accepts nothing and gives nothing but the best. Born into a wealthy family, he had all the connections needed to make his life very comfortable. But through the years he saw what that power did to his family, mostly to his father. The man who taught him how to catch a football now occupied his time with cheap women and gambling. His mother died when he was just fourteen. The doctors say there was no way to save her.
Watching her husband's, the man she loved with her heart and soul, obvious affairs had left a deep crack in her heart. It came as no shock when they found out the man had squandered most of their riches away. Damien Shields turned to alcohol to erase reality. He couldn't accept the responsibility of a family. How was he supposed to support his wife and son when they had hardly any money? It came as a devastating blow when the same man then began getting violent towards his wife. He'd come home late and completely drunk.
At first it was just a slap across the face now and then, but it soon turned worse. Darien would see his mother constantly applying concealer to the bruises adorning her dainty features. Rage burned through him at seeing his mother wearing sunglasses when there was no sun. The beatings she endured were getting worse and worse.
Darien came home one evening after football practice to his mother lying in a pool of her own blood. The house was a mess. Pictures on the floor, the broken glass panes encircling the fallen memories. His mother's favorite vase was on the kitchen floor, shattered to a million pieces with the flowers he had bought for her shredded. She was unconscious and loosing a lot of blood. But it seemed, all Darien could do was stand and stare as if he were in a stupor. A piercing scream broke him out of his reverie. His head whipped towards its origin. His next door neighbor, an elderly woman named Mrs. Withers, was staring at his mother, eyes wide with horror.
Darien ran to her, his nerves getting the best of the situation. His hands shaking immensely as he checked for a pulse. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he found one, he failed to acknowledge how weak the pulse was. He quickly yelled to Mrs. Withers to call 911. He grabbed dishrags from the linen's closet and wet them. Gently he dabbed at his mother's wound. From his position at the front door he hadn't seen the severity or the depth of the gash on her head. It was deep, he was almost certain she had a cracked skull.
Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to prolong the inevitable. Her death had never even been an idea let alone a possibility to him. He couldn't lose the one person who was always there for him, always loving him. He scanned the rest of her body to see if there were any more injuries. He gasped when he saw her wrist, it was twisted in a inhumanly possible direction. There were burns on her thighs, they looked like cigarette burns. He started crying even harder, his whole body shaking from the strength of the sobs erupting from him. It seemed like hours, days, years before he heard the shrill sound of the ambulance sirens. Three people came bursting through his front door. The first man had a name tag, 'Mitch,' another man and then a woman, his eyes lingered on her. She was precious, every woman was, no one should be treated like this, no one except the one who induced this torture. Darien was going to make sure that that someone paid dearly.
The ride in the ambulance was a haze. His memory still to this day is fragmented. He remembered seeing the man named 'Mitch' stick a tube down her delicate throat, and the slow beeping of the heart monitor, assuring her still existent life. Then as steadily it had been there it, stopped, no more beeping, just a constant ringing. His mind didn't register this new sound as anything wrong. Not until two metallic paddles were place on his mother's chest, the shout of "Clear!" and the jolting of her body in the air. Two more shouts of "Clear!" and the beeping began again. Nothing made sense to Darien, he was like a little boy lost in a crowd.
They finally arrived at the hospital. The stretcher carrying his mother was wheeled into an area labeled 'Emergency Room.' He had only been in a hospital once. He had, had to get stitches after falling off his bike, there was still a scar on his chin. He followed her body until he was halted at a pair of swinging doors by a man in a white smock. He couldn't completely understand what the man was saying, he caught "Stay..we'll do what we can..fill out some forms." But everything else just sort of drifted through his ears.
He was directed towards a waiting room, there were lots of people already sitting in there. A little girl sitting criss-cross on the floor coloring a picture, she only had three crayons. She seemed to have devised a plan of dividing the picture into three sections. Across the room was a boy about three or four years younger than Darien. He held a bloody rag to his nose, his head tilted backwards. Grass and blood stains dotted his soccer jersey. He found an empty seat, in a corner, he sat quietly for sometime.
A woman with bright red hair, and wearing a pair of green pants came over to him carrying a clipboard. He jumped up, wringing his hands, waiting anxiously for news on his mother's condition. He wanted to start crying all over again when all the woman needed was for him to fill out insurance cards. 'They don't wanna save her life unless they're gonna get paid,' he thought bitterly and fell back into his seat. About forty-five minutes later a man with jet black hair came swaggering into the waiting room. His dark blue eyes scanning the crowd of people until they locked onto a pair of ice blue eyes.
If the man hadn't been so drunk he might have noticed the decreasing distance there was between the two. However he did however notice when the hands attached to the body with ice blue eyes were around his throat and getting tighter by the second. Already swaying under the influence he was easily knocked to the floor. The rest of the body with the hands strangling him, straddled him, pinning him to the ground with his air supply decreasing every second.
It took two doctors and two security guards to release Darien's iron grip from the man's throat. When Damien was finally released he began gasping and wheezing, greedily sucking in as much air as his lungs would allow. He looked up, sneering at his son, he lunged at the form doctors and security guards were trying to hold back. His added weight sent all six of them to the ground. Damien had landed on top of his son, swearing and spitting. His breath was horrid, the wretched stench of alcohol and vomit was still ever present.
He began slamming his fists downward, not really aiming, just trying to release himself of the intense anger he was feeling. He wasn't atop Darien for long. He was rolled onto his back and soon he felt himself being pelted by hard hands. The two kept rolling on the ground. Damien had finally maneuvered himself back atop Darien. This time there was no way for Darien to push him off. His father had somehow managed to pin both his legs to the floor. Darien felt blood dripping from his face. His father's punches were getting more and more intense. Until his fists stopped.
Damien had heard a click, a click indicating the safety on a gun was no longer on. If Damien Shields had had any doubts they were confirmed when he felt the cool metal of a gun on his temple. A loud and stern voice demanded for him to get up and place his hands behind his head. He did as he was told, but his still drunken state was telling him he could easily wrestle the gun from the security guard. His movements were slowed, his reflexes no longer existent. As he swirled around throwing his hands out, trying to grasp the gun. Then there was a loud shot heard and moments later the sound of a body thumping to the floor. Screams filled the room, the smell of smoke was inhaled by all.
Darien lost both his parents that night. He only cried for one. He was admitted to the hospital the same night. A doctor had found him in the bathroom, huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth. Darien had somehow come across a scalpel. He had sliced both of his wrists and there was blood quickly oozing from his self-induced wounds. The doctors couldn't get him to stop moving or screaming. They had bound his hands and wrists to the bed and injected him with a strong sedative.
He was in the hospital's psych ward for three months. He had been in a state of comatose. He didn't respond to anything. His vital signs were good and he was healthy. But his eyes were vacant, if someone looked close enough they might have even said his eyes were cloudy. No one is sure what brought him back, but soon his eyes were clear and he was responding to everything. He seemed to have blocked a lot of the past traumatic events from his memory. All Darien clearly remembered was his mother and father's death and the rest was a blank. Slowly, over the course of seven months the details of his gory past were revealed to him. Luckily though, he didn't have a relapse. He dealt with his past, grieved for all he had lost, and moved on. He had accepted what he couldn't change. At least he accepted most of it.
"Jesus Christ! This is the last time I listen to Andrew! 'Oh take the scenic route! It's just beautiful!' Well thanks you bastard! I'm in the middle of nowhere in Hick town U.S.A.!" Darien cursed his friend some more before he returned all of his attention back to the highway he was on. If you could even call it that. It wasn't paved and there were wheat grains growing about six feet in the high on both sides of the "highway." About five miles back he had passed an Amish family in horse drawn wagon. A wagon for Christ's sake! Darien slowed his speed from 87 m.p.h. to 50. The last thing he needed was to hit a cow.
That thought made him realize his car has been making a really odd screeching noise for some time. 'Just great now what!' As if fate had been planning this all to the last wheat grain his car gave one last screech and slowly rolled to a stop. "No! No! No! Come on baby! Start for daddy! Please!" He tried again and again to start the ignition but every time it made a grinding noise and died down again. Birds flew away as they heard the loud screams of a man with the worst luck.
Darien slammed his head on the steering wheel at least five times until he realized how much it actually hurt.
"How come it never hurts in the movies?" he asked the air as he rubbed his red forehead.
He sighed and got out of his car, slamming the beautiful red painted door shut. He opened the hood and a cloud of steam shot upwards. He jumped back coughing and trying to fan the steam away from his face and the engine. When it finally cleared out he stood leaning forward against the car. He just stared at the engine. He stared for about ten more minutes before completely giving up. Who was he trying to kid? He knew nothing about engines!
He opened the driver's side door again and plopped down in the leather upholstered seat. Leaning his head back he closed his eyes and tried to calm his temper. After another ten minutes he grabbed his cell phone. He angrily punched the numbers 4-1-1 on his cell phone. He was waiting for it to ring, when he realized it wasn't. He looked at his phone and read the flashing words, "No signal." Extremely aggravated, he threw his cell phone in the back of the car, then fell sideways with his face buried into the passenger seat and screamed.
He just laid there, his eyes closed, listening to the silence when a loud "moo" caught his attention. He jumped up and over the divider, into the passenger side seat. He looked towards the sound to see a cow staring at him through the car window. It stood there, chewing the grass it had in it's mouth, staring at him. It must have found him boring because it soon moved on. Darien started laughing, 'so there are cows out here.' He shoved his face into his hands and scrubbed his face. He then got out of his car, pushed it off to the side of the road and began his walk in the same direction the cow had gone.
About a quarter mile down the road he saw a sign, "Millsbury-2 miles. Hotels, restaurants, and gas stations." Darien was already sweating, and tired, he almost fell over when he read the town was two miles away.
Sure he was in shape but that didn't mean he enjoyed walking two miles in the middle of nowhere with the sun beating down on him. After about a mile, he had to stop. A line of ducks waddled in front on him in a straight line, right across to the waiting pond. The mother duck leading the way, while the baby ducks quacked the whole time behind their mother. He watched until they were all in the pond. First the mother, then the rest of her babies. He watched them paddling their little feet and then they disappeared behind a bush. He lingered there a few moments longer, as if he were trying to sort through his own memory, then continued on his way.
It was already 6:45 p.m. when he reached the town of Millsbury. He was dusty, sweaty and extremely parched. He stopped at "Mom and Pop's buffet." He had always hated buffets. They were just teaming with bacteria! Like sneeze guards really guarded anything. Little kids running around everywhere, touching everything. Then there are the old people! It was just so disgusting, he couldn't even bring himself to step into a buffet! But he was so hungry he would have eaten a sandwich a bum spit on.
He had never eaten at a buffet and was completely confused when he entered. He turned beet red when the waitress got the weirdest look on her face when he asked her for a glass of Merlot. So he had to settle for a salad, a coke, and some jello. When he was finished he asked the cashier where he could go for a tow-truck and she directed him to a garage shop down the street called, "S.L.A.R.'s shop." She told him he'd better hurry. Apparently this place called S.L.A.R.'s closed at eight' o'clock and it was already 7:45.
Darien thanked the woman and hurriedly rushed out the doors and down the street. The sun was just starting to set but there was still plenty of light. He made it to S.L.A.R.'s in three minutes. He gave the place a long, thorough scan. Grease stains were everywhere. There were pictures of very beautiful women on the walls and newspaper clippings about various things that really made no sense to him.
There was one clipping of a woman with chestnut hair and emerald eyes winning some type of cooking award. Then another of a woman with blue hair and a matching pair of blue eyes making some type of discovery. The sound of a metal object hitting the floor caught his attention. He turned around and noted it was a wrench. There was a body under that truck. He quickly strode over to the pair of legs sticking out from the truck.
"Um excuse me sir. Sir, I need your services. My car broke down about three miles out of town." If the man under the truck heard him he made no acknowledgement. Getting a bit angry at being treated so rudely he started again with a little more force.
"I said excuse me sir! I need your services."
Whatever the man had been doing he had stopped. Darien heard the wheels on the board rolling. He expected to see a balding man without his front teeth staring at him. What he didn't expect was to see the most gorgeous blue eyes he's ever seen, they seemed to sparkle. But there were two more important details he noticed, the owner of the blue eyes was very angry and very female.
Ok well I hope you like it. If u did leave me a review eh? Feel free to make suggestions. I have plans for this story but nothings set in stone. Until next time! ~Snowflake~
Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Sailormoon! Please don't sue! This goes for all the rest of my chapters too!!
"Goddamnit! Where the hell am I?!" A string of curses could be heard coming from a car speeding quickly down the road. A trail of dust was the only evidence of the car and it's owner's existence. An extremely handsome man, in a beautifully tailored Armani suit was sitting in the driver's seat. Every once in a while his unusual ice blue eyes would drift to the map on the passenger side seat.
He was driving down a country road. It was mid afternoon, the sun was behind him. There was a light wind making the pine trees sway and blowing the seeds of dandelions into the spring air. But all of this went unnoticed.
Darien Shields. America's top lawyer, accepts nothing and gives nothing but the best. Born into a wealthy family, he had all the connections needed to make his life very comfortable. But through the years he saw what that power did to his family, mostly to his father. The man who taught him how to catch a football now occupied his time with cheap women and gambling. His mother died when he was just fourteen. The doctors say there was no way to save her.
Watching her husband's, the man she loved with her heart and soul, obvious affairs had left a deep crack in her heart. It came as no shock when they found out the man had squandered most of their riches away. Damien Shields turned to alcohol to erase reality. He couldn't accept the responsibility of a family. How was he supposed to support his wife and son when they had hardly any money? It came as a devastating blow when the same man then began getting violent towards his wife. He'd come home late and completely drunk.
At first it was just a slap across the face now and then, but it soon turned worse. Darien would see his mother constantly applying concealer to the bruises adorning her dainty features. Rage burned through him at seeing his mother wearing sunglasses when there was no sun. The beatings she endured were getting worse and worse.
Darien came home one evening after football practice to his mother lying in a pool of her own blood. The house was a mess. Pictures on the floor, the broken glass panes encircling the fallen memories. His mother's favorite vase was on the kitchen floor, shattered to a million pieces with the flowers he had bought for her shredded. She was unconscious and loosing a lot of blood. But it seemed, all Darien could do was stand and stare as if he were in a stupor. A piercing scream broke him out of his reverie. His head whipped towards its origin. His next door neighbor, an elderly woman named Mrs. Withers, was staring at his mother, eyes wide with horror.
Darien ran to her, his nerves getting the best of the situation. His hands shaking immensely as he checked for a pulse. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he found one, he failed to acknowledge how weak the pulse was. He quickly yelled to Mrs. Withers to call 911. He grabbed dishrags from the linen's closet and wet them. Gently he dabbed at his mother's wound. From his position at the front door he hadn't seen the severity or the depth of the gash on her head. It was deep, he was almost certain she had a cracked skull.
Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to prolong the inevitable. Her death had never even been an idea let alone a possibility to him. He couldn't lose the one person who was always there for him, always loving him. He scanned the rest of her body to see if there were any more injuries. He gasped when he saw her wrist, it was twisted in a inhumanly possible direction. There were burns on her thighs, they looked like cigarette burns. He started crying even harder, his whole body shaking from the strength of the sobs erupting from him. It seemed like hours, days, years before he heard the shrill sound of the ambulance sirens. Three people came bursting through his front door. The first man had a name tag, 'Mitch,' another man and then a woman, his eyes lingered on her. She was precious, every woman was, no one should be treated like this, no one except the one who induced this torture. Darien was going to make sure that that someone paid dearly.
The ride in the ambulance was a haze. His memory still to this day is fragmented. He remembered seeing the man named 'Mitch' stick a tube down her delicate throat, and the slow beeping of the heart monitor, assuring her still existent life. Then as steadily it had been there it, stopped, no more beeping, just a constant ringing. His mind didn't register this new sound as anything wrong. Not until two metallic paddles were place on his mother's chest, the shout of "Clear!" and the jolting of her body in the air. Two more shouts of "Clear!" and the beeping began again. Nothing made sense to Darien, he was like a little boy lost in a crowd.
They finally arrived at the hospital. The stretcher carrying his mother was wheeled into an area labeled 'Emergency Room.' He had only been in a hospital once. He had, had to get stitches after falling off his bike, there was still a scar on his chin. He followed her body until he was halted at a pair of swinging doors by a man in a white smock. He couldn't completely understand what the man was saying, he caught "Stay..we'll do what we can..fill out some forms." But everything else just sort of drifted through his ears.
He was directed towards a waiting room, there were lots of people already sitting in there. A little girl sitting criss-cross on the floor coloring a picture, she only had three crayons. She seemed to have devised a plan of dividing the picture into three sections. Across the room was a boy about three or four years younger than Darien. He held a bloody rag to his nose, his head tilted backwards. Grass and blood stains dotted his soccer jersey. He found an empty seat, in a corner, he sat quietly for sometime.
A woman with bright red hair, and wearing a pair of green pants came over to him carrying a clipboard. He jumped up, wringing his hands, waiting anxiously for news on his mother's condition. He wanted to start crying all over again when all the woman needed was for him to fill out insurance cards. 'They don't wanna save her life unless they're gonna get paid,' he thought bitterly and fell back into his seat. About forty-five minutes later a man with jet black hair came swaggering into the waiting room. His dark blue eyes scanning the crowd of people until they locked onto a pair of ice blue eyes.
If the man hadn't been so drunk he might have noticed the decreasing distance there was between the two. However he did however notice when the hands attached to the body with ice blue eyes were around his throat and getting tighter by the second. Already swaying under the influence he was easily knocked to the floor. The rest of the body with the hands strangling him, straddled him, pinning him to the ground with his air supply decreasing every second.
It took two doctors and two security guards to release Darien's iron grip from the man's throat. When Damien was finally released he began gasping and wheezing, greedily sucking in as much air as his lungs would allow. He looked up, sneering at his son, he lunged at the form doctors and security guards were trying to hold back. His added weight sent all six of them to the ground. Damien had landed on top of his son, swearing and spitting. His breath was horrid, the wretched stench of alcohol and vomit was still ever present.
He began slamming his fists downward, not really aiming, just trying to release himself of the intense anger he was feeling. He wasn't atop Darien for long. He was rolled onto his back and soon he felt himself being pelted by hard hands. The two kept rolling on the ground. Damien had finally maneuvered himself back atop Darien. This time there was no way for Darien to push him off. His father had somehow managed to pin both his legs to the floor. Darien felt blood dripping from his face. His father's punches were getting more and more intense. Until his fists stopped.
Damien had heard a click, a click indicating the safety on a gun was no longer on. If Damien Shields had had any doubts they were confirmed when he felt the cool metal of a gun on his temple. A loud and stern voice demanded for him to get up and place his hands behind his head. He did as he was told, but his still drunken state was telling him he could easily wrestle the gun from the security guard. His movements were slowed, his reflexes no longer existent. As he swirled around throwing his hands out, trying to grasp the gun. Then there was a loud shot heard and moments later the sound of a body thumping to the floor. Screams filled the room, the smell of smoke was inhaled by all.
Darien lost both his parents that night. He only cried for one. He was admitted to the hospital the same night. A doctor had found him in the bathroom, huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth. Darien had somehow come across a scalpel. He had sliced both of his wrists and there was blood quickly oozing from his self-induced wounds. The doctors couldn't get him to stop moving or screaming. They had bound his hands and wrists to the bed and injected him with a strong sedative.
He was in the hospital's psych ward for three months. He had been in a state of comatose. He didn't respond to anything. His vital signs were good and he was healthy. But his eyes were vacant, if someone looked close enough they might have even said his eyes were cloudy. No one is sure what brought him back, but soon his eyes were clear and he was responding to everything. He seemed to have blocked a lot of the past traumatic events from his memory. All Darien clearly remembered was his mother and father's death and the rest was a blank. Slowly, over the course of seven months the details of his gory past were revealed to him. Luckily though, he didn't have a relapse. He dealt with his past, grieved for all he had lost, and moved on. He had accepted what he couldn't change. At least he accepted most of it.
"Jesus Christ! This is the last time I listen to Andrew! 'Oh take the scenic route! It's just beautiful!' Well thanks you bastard! I'm in the middle of nowhere in Hick town U.S.A.!" Darien cursed his friend some more before he returned all of his attention back to the highway he was on. If you could even call it that. It wasn't paved and there were wheat grains growing about six feet in the high on both sides of the "highway." About five miles back he had passed an Amish family in horse drawn wagon. A wagon for Christ's sake! Darien slowed his speed from 87 m.p.h. to 50. The last thing he needed was to hit a cow.
That thought made him realize his car has been making a really odd screeching noise for some time. 'Just great now what!' As if fate had been planning this all to the last wheat grain his car gave one last screech and slowly rolled to a stop. "No! No! No! Come on baby! Start for daddy! Please!" He tried again and again to start the ignition but every time it made a grinding noise and died down again. Birds flew away as they heard the loud screams of a man with the worst luck.
Darien slammed his head on the steering wheel at least five times until he realized how much it actually hurt.
"How come it never hurts in the movies?" he asked the air as he rubbed his red forehead.
He sighed and got out of his car, slamming the beautiful red painted door shut. He opened the hood and a cloud of steam shot upwards. He jumped back coughing and trying to fan the steam away from his face and the engine. When it finally cleared out he stood leaning forward against the car. He just stared at the engine. He stared for about ten more minutes before completely giving up. Who was he trying to kid? He knew nothing about engines!
He opened the driver's side door again and plopped down in the leather upholstered seat. Leaning his head back he closed his eyes and tried to calm his temper. After another ten minutes he grabbed his cell phone. He angrily punched the numbers 4-1-1 on his cell phone. He was waiting for it to ring, when he realized it wasn't. He looked at his phone and read the flashing words, "No signal." Extremely aggravated, he threw his cell phone in the back of the car, then fell sideways with his face buried into the passenger seat and screamed.
He just laid there, his eyes closed, listening to the silence when a loud "moo" caught his attention. He jumped up and over the divider, into the passenger side seat. He looked towards the sound to see a cow staring at him through the car window. It stood there, chewing the grass it had in it's mouth, staring at him. It must have found him boring because it soon moved on. Darien started laughing, 'so there are cows out here.' He shoved his face into his hands and scrubbed his face. He then got out of his car, pushed it off to the side of the road and began his walk in the same direction the cow had gone.
About a quarter mile down the road he saw a sign, "Millsbury-2 miles. Hotels, restaurants, and gas stations." Darien was already sweating, and tired, he almost fell over when he read the town was two miles away.
Sure he was in shape but that didn't mean he enjoyed walking two miles in the middle of nowhere with the sun beating down on him. After about a mile, he had to stop. A line of ducks waddled in front on him in a straight line, right across to the waiting pond. The mother duck leading the way, while the baby ducks quacked the whole time behind their mother. He watched until they were all in the pond. First the mother, then the rest of her babies. He watched them paddling their little feet and then they disappeared behind a bush. He lingered there a few moments longer, as if he were trying to sort through his own memory, then continued on his way.
It was already 6:45 p.m. when he reached the town of Millsbury. He was dusty, sweaty and extremely parched. He stopped at "Mom and Pop's buffet." He had always hated buffets. They were just teaming with bacteria! Like sneeze guards really guarded anything. Little kids running around everywhere, touching everything. Then there are the old people! It was just so disgusting, he couldn't even bring himself to step into a buffet! But he was so hungry he would have eaten a sandwich a bum spit on.
He had never eaten at a buffet and was completely confused when he entered. He turned beet red when the waitress got the weirdest look on her face when he asked her for a glass of Merlot. So he had to settle for a salad, a coke, and some jello. When he was finished he asked the cashier where he could go for a tow-truck and she directed him to a garage shop down the street called, "S.L.A.R.'s shop." She told him he'd better hurry. Apparently this place called S.L.A.R.'s closed at eight' o'clock and it was already 7:45.
Darien thanked the woman and hurriedly rushed out the doors and down the street. The sun was just starting to set but there was still plenty of light. He made it to S.L.A.R.'s in three minutes. He gave the place a long, thorough scan. Grease stains were everywhere. There were pictures of very beautiful women on the walls and newspaper clippings about various things that really made no sense to him.
There was one clipping of a woman with chestnut hair and emerald eyes winning some type of cooking award. Then another of a woman with blue hair and a matching pair of blue eyes making some type of discovery. The sound of a metal object hitting the floor caught his attention. He turned around and noted it was a wrench. There was a body under that truck. He quickly strode over to the pair of legs sticking out from the truck.
"Um excuse me sir. Sir, I need your services. My car broke down about three miles out of town." If the man under the truck heard him he made no acknowledgement. Getting a bit angry at being treated so rudely he started again with a little more force.
"I said excuse me sir! I need your services."
Whatever the man had been doing he had stopped. Darien heard the wheels on the board rolling. He expected to see a balding man without his front teeth staring at him. What he didn't expect was to see the most gorgeous blue eyes he's ever seen, they seemed to sparkle. But there were two more important details he noticed, the owner of the blue eyes was very angry and very female.
Ok well I hope you like it. If u did leave me a review eh? Feel free to make suggestions. I have plans for this story but nothings set in stone. Until next time! ~Snowflake~