A/N: A/U-A/H- Preseason 1 - One year before the Vampires came out of the coffin in the Great Revelation

Tara age 20 / Eric age 1000

Song: Invisible By U2

Tara Thornton's life has not been easy and she lets it show. Her deep sadness and self-hatred are masked with attitude and anger. Will this beautifully broken woman ever find happiness?

"Until you are broken, you don't know what you are made of. It gives you the ability to rebuild yourself and start all over again."

Growing up I always felt invisible.

Birthday presents, Christmas gifts or any acknowledgment for good grades and behavior abruptly stopped when my father left my mom and me for another woman. My mom lost all her self-worth, she became an alcoholic and I became her burden.

I was seven years old.

When I was ten my mother started dating a loser who would touch me when no one was around. At the time, I had no idea it was inappropriate until he started trying to have full intercourse with me. I told my mother and responded by calling me a lair and slapping my face. So, I never told anyone else. If my mom didn't believe me- then who would? In addition, I was too ashamed and revolted with myself for being molested to ever speak about it to another person.

After mom passed out drunk for the night, I would hide under my bed when I heard him coming down the hall to my room; he always smelled of booze. He would kiss and touch me and say disgusting sexual things to me, after a while, I gained some nerve to fight. He had no problem fighting me back ad his hits did a lot more damage than mine. When mom asked about my black eye, he'd lie, telling Ma, I sassed him or fell down or some other lie. She always took his word over mine, so eventually, I stopped fighting and at the age of 14, he took my virginity.

Not once did my mother ever doubt my stepdad, not even the time she caught him in my bedroom wearing nothing but his underwear. Instead, she cursed me out and said I asked for it and when I cursed back, she hit me over the head with a Captain Morgan's bottle. I went to school the next day with a lump that looked like a plum on my forehead when the nurse called, she told the nurse my concussion was caused by a clumsy fall down the stairs. The nurse believed it, but Gran Stackhouse sure didn't; she called child services to investigate. They came over to the house a few times but nothing came of it. Mom would always pull herself together, clean up the house really nice and fill the fridge with groceries.

That's all it took, everyone bought it. My desperation, my pain went unnoticed. Besides, the damage was done, the social worker snooping around made Ma furious. Even though I kept my mouth shut to Gran, the nurse, and the Social-worker, she still blamed it all on me. She called me 'trouble making whore' and said I was trying to ruin her life with her new man. The beatings got worse and I continued being molested. No one seemed to notice the bruises, the void of life in my eyes, how withdrawn, temperamental, and depressed I was all the time. No one noticed me unless I yelled, lashed out and demanded to be seen and heard.

And when I did I was quickly labeled the angry black girl.

At sixteen, I decided to run away from home. On a Friday afternoon, after school, I went to Sookie's house. We asked Gran, as we did many times before if I could sleep over since it was the weekend. Gran, being the sweetheart, she is, didn't mind at all. We had a fried chicken dinner and at bedtime, I took a nice hot bath. After everyone in the house fell asleep I 'borrowed' an outfit, it was a purple tracksuit Sookie got for her birthday. I loved it, but Sookie never wore it because she said it wasn't her style, so I knew she wouldn't miss it. I also borrowed one pair of socks, a hairbrush, five rubber bands, a few tampons, and a stick of deodorant. I emptied my bookbag of school books and filled it with the 'lent' items.

Dear Sookie, if you ever read this, I want you to know that I'm very sorry for taking some of your things, please forgive me.

I left that night and never looked back. I walked down to the main road and hitched a ride to Shreveport. The man who gave me a lift was the farmer type, bearded, pot belly, wearing blue jean overalls. The moment I got into the car his eyes kept roaming over my body, especially, my legs. He kept telling me how pretty I was while touching himself. He knew I was a runaway and jail-bait, but it didn't make him much of a difference. I knew right then how I'd support myself from now on. Luckily, he only wanted me to touch him and he gave me twenty dollars and a ride to the Shreveport bus station. I used the money to buy me a toothbrush, toothpaste, a small bottle of lotion, and some healthy snack food items. The healthy food cost more but are worth it. All of my earnings are spent on nutritious meals and cheap motel rooms. In the dingy old room, I can have a little peaceful 'me time' for a night or two.

I realize what I'm doing is dangerous and nasty, but being a homeless teen drop-out, I haven't a lot of options. That's why I learned quickly how to survive on these streets. My first rule is to get as much rest as possible, so at night, you have enough energy to defend yourself or run if needed. I've learned to fight like Tyson and run like a cheetah; I've had to do both on quite a few occasions. Pimps are always trying to own you, that's the main reason I stay away from drugs and alcohol. If you're a drunk or a druggie, you're vulnerable, and I've seen what the streets can do to those weak fools.

I've lived just about everywhere a homeless teen would live, in motels, shelters, churches, and bus stations. A great place to take a hot shower is Shreveport Memorial hospital. I discovered that the hospital has an unsupervised shower area in the south wing. I'd stumbled upon the secluded shower room one day when I'd ran out of condoms and was going to the health clinic for more. I have about ten minutes to shower and get dressed before someone comes by and notices that I'm not a patient. I'm usually done in about half that time. My favorite place to stay is at the Shreveport city mission. The women and kids there are so nice. I always feel safe there. I'd go there for a place to crash, get clean underwear and toiletries when I don't make enough money selling myself on the street.

Last night a light blue pickup truck pulled alongside me in the dark alley where I stroll. I slowly approach it, dressed in my cheap little black dress that barely covers the swells of my thighs, I lean into the window and gasp in shock. I recognized the man inside. It's the bar owner Sam Merlotte; I have no idea what he was doing in this part of town and I didn't stick around to find out. The moment he called out my name I took off. Even though he was in his truck and it looked like he tried to follow me, I know the streets better than him and it wasn't hard to lose him.

I duck behind a dumpster and that's when all the shame of what I've become starts beating me like a fist. I am trying so desperately to hold on to a little piece of my dignity, my sanity, my soul, but the streets stole it long ago. My heart aches and I am just tired. I cannot live with what I am and the judgment that comes with it. It won't be long before the whole town knows what's become of me in the last 4 years. They'll know that I am a whore, an uneducated, uncivilized, piece of trash to be used up and thrown away. If only they could have seen the pain, the despair, the hopelessness that screamed out to them on so many occasions.

No one ever heard my cry, and now, no one ever will.

This is my final entry. The date is April 23rd, 2007. Tonight, I am going to the Red River Bridge and I'm going to jump.

Goodbye,

Tara Mae Thornton

As Tara was about to sign off; a red enveloped illuminated and the 'ping' sound from the computer caught her attention. Her eyes widen at the sight of the red envelope indicating that she has a new message. Tara was shocked. In the four years, she'd been writing her blog, she'd never received any messages. She clicked on the red envelope and began reading the message from the sender who called themselves 'Mr. Fangtastic'.

Dear Tara,

I am a man of many interests. My priority interest is the human condition and all that comes with it. I found your blog by mistake, but after reading the very first entry in 2004, I've been secretly following you. And after reading your entries in your blog, I've come to realize we are alike in many ways.

We are misunderstood, outcast, deemed unfit to live amongst society. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we were forced to live in the shadows. Just like you, I mourn the loss of the life I once had.

I must admit Tara, you fascinate me. Everything you've chronicled intrigued me, as I said, we are alike in many ways. You are strong in spirit, a true survivor. There's a strength in you that you don't realize you possess. You have wisdom and courage that you don't give yourself credit for. I ask you to reconsider ending your life. And allow me to speak with you further.

She read his message a few times, and then she read it again. She sat at her table considerably taken aback. A new-found curiosity swept over her. She wanted to know more about the mysterious person who'd sought her out in such an unorthodox manner. And she genuinely did think about it speaking with him some more. The icon with his username indicated he was still online.

Her response was simple.

'Okay.'

He quickly replied back.

'Thank you.'

She asked.

'What is your real name?'

He replied.

'Eric Northman.'

That night Tara Thornton and Eric Northman exchanged thoughts, ideas, and dreams. He asked her many questions and even though she had no idea who was out there reaching out to her, it felt so nice knowing that someone was there.

Someone was listening.

It had been a long time since she'd allow herself to believe that there was anyone good in the world. But chatting with Eric was serene. It's 10 PM and the café was about to close so Tara said goodnight to her new friend and waited patiently for a response.

Tara, we come into the world alone and that is how we all must leave. What matters is the time spent in-between. Please allow me to share my world with you. Perhaps you will wish to stay awhile. Until, tomorrow night, I bid you farewell.

Tara smiled, she no longer felt invisible.