A/N:Thanks for the reviews and alerts and favorites! You guys are wonderful! Wasn't sure how people would take to this story, but I'm glad that all of you who reviewed enjoyed it.

I have tried to respond to everyone and hopefully haven't missed anyone out. My hope is to update at least once a week, but I prefer quality over quantity and like to make sure that my story is well edited and proofed before I post it. So it will sometimes take me longer than I'd hoped to update. Also, real life will interrupt occasionally - hectic job and all that!

Anyway, I hope you all like it and I would love to hear from more of you.

Thanks again for reading and leaving feedback.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own SVM or True Blood nor am I affiliated with HBO in anyway. SVM and True Blood belong to Charlaine Harris, Alan Ball and the good people at HBO. I am only using these characters for the purpose of this story. I also don't own Felicity - so please, J.J. Abrams, be kind and don't sue!

Chapter 2: Please, Please, Please

My dear little Sookie,

Today your parents told me that they would name you Susannah and immediately my heart knew you as 'Sookie'. It seems like such a bright name and I am certain that you will be my little ray of sunshine.

As I am writing these words, my Sookie, you are starting on your journey out of the safe cocoon inside your Mama's tummy towards the big wide world. Mind you, at first, your little world will be a small circle of arms who are longing to hold you tight, and you will be safe, sweetheart, and very, very loved. The big world will come later.

This is the tough part right now and soon, very soon, your Mama and Daddy will be holding you close and falling in love with the little girl who will make their lives so magical. They have loved you since you were first created. You are their precious daughter.

I don't know who you will look like, or if you will have blond hair like your Mama and Jason or brown hair like your Daddy and me. I don't know if you are going to climb trees, or play with dolls, or if you are going to sing or dance. I don't know if you'll love cats or dogs. Not yet. But you already fill a big place in my heart made especially for you. And that place will grow, as you do, and as I watch over you. And it doesn't matter who you look like, or what color your hair is. It won't matter if you like country or classical music. You were made specifically for this family and you will be perfect for us, no matter what.

You are a little girl who is infinitely blessed, infinitely loved and infinitely cherished. You have your Mama and your Daddy, your big brother, Jason and most importantly, you've got me, your Gran. You have so many wonderful people who can't wait to welcome you, hold you, and love you.

You also have a two Grandpas and a Grandma, who are in Heaven right now, who may well already know you, and who would have so loved to be here to share your life too. So much love, my little Sookie. This family is ready for celebrations and joy.

You haven't arrived yet, but I feel like I already know you. I have dreamt about you, my Sookie. You will be brave. Braver than anyone I've ever known or will know. You will be strong and fearless. You will be clever. You'll make me laugh until I have tears running down my face and we'll have so many wonderful adventures together. I have piles of books ready to read to you, and ideas for things we can do and games we can play together one day.

Like I said, I've had dreams of who you are and who you will be. You'll be magnificent.

I'm not very good at waiting, you know. I want to see you so much. You have no idea yet, just how much, little one. But soon...soon now, you will know.

Be brave, my Sookie. I am waiting on you and I already love you.

Your Gran

I step out of the taxi and stand on a bustling Manhattan sidewalk across the street from my new college. I take it all in and I'm…terrified.

Taking a deep breath and grabbing my luggage I start across the street and head toward the entrance of the administration building of New York University.

My dad's words ring through my head: "You're making a horrible mistake."

Fighting down the panic, I force myself to walk through the huge double doors.

So, Gran, I did it. I was brave. I mean, I think what I did was a brave thing. I still can't believe it sometimes. I've basically given up everything my parents ever planned for me. Everything I expected…all for a boy. A boy I don't even know.

Forty minutes later, I'm walking down the corridor of my floor in my new residence hall. I can hear music and excited chatter drifting from various rooms. I finally reach the end of the corridor and turn to the room on the right-hand side. It's a corner room. I open the door and spy a wooden floor and large windows. The view from the windows isn't great. It's blocked by a fire escape and looks down into an alley with a dumpster at the bottom.

The left side of the room looks totally lived in. I guess my roommate got here before me. Audrey Hepburn and Jean Shrimpton stare down at me from the walls. Pastel colored clothes are strewn on the bed and about ten thousand pairs of shoes litter the floor, but there's no sign of my roommate anywhere.

I guess what I'm saying is, this all might be a horrible mistake. As my dad would say. But Gran, maybe… maybe it'll save my life or something. Maybe, just once, I'll live a life less ordinary…I don't know…maybe I can finally stop being boring, shy, friendless Susannah Stackhouse…isn't that what college is about? Re-inventing one's self?

I walk over to my side of the room and collapse on the bed. What the hell am I doing? I mean, really? Just because a totally hot guy (a guy you've been crushing on for four years) writes the most insightful and thoughtful thing you've ever read, in your yearbook, you don't change all your plans and move to New York. You don't turn down an academic scholarship to Harvard. I mean, seriously, who does that?

"Arrgh!" I screech and bang my head against the mattress of my bed.

"Who the hell are you? And more to the point, why are you banging your head against the mattress when you clearly aren't engaged in anything remotely sexual, deviant, or sexually deviant?" says a sarcastic and very British voice from the doorway.

I shoot up in bed and push my hair from my face. "What?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself. I hate having to repeat myself. You aren't retarded, are you? I mean, I know this isn't Columbia, but surely NYU has some standards. Come on–"

"Wait. Who are you?" I interrupt, staring at the elegantly dressed, petite blonde standing in the middle of the room.

She sighs deeply, giving off the air of one who's been very put upon. "Pamela Ravenscroft-Swynford de Beaufort. From London. That's in England in case you were wondering."

"Right," I say, feeling terribly confused.

She's cocks an eyebrow and taps her foot impatiently. When I don't respond, she lets out another huff.

"Sorry…yeah," I say, jumping to my feet. "Um…sorry." I hold out my hand, but she just stares at it suspiciously. I let it fall limply to my side. "I'm Susannah Stackhouse. From Louisiana."

'Of course you are,' she says.

"Right," I say, not really sure how to take that.

"I think I'll call you…Dolly. Susannah seems so formal. I knew a girl named Susannah at school and she was a right cunt. Pardon my English,' she smirks. "Well, Dolly,' she carries on, 'in the interest of being fair, I think it's only right that you call me Pam. Only my mother calls me Pamela and I hate my mother," Pam finishes matter-of-factly.

I just nod, not really sure how to feel about my new roommate. I've never met anyone like her before. On the one hand, she seems so confident and sophisticated. On the other hand, she scares me to death.

I open my chest of drawers and start to unpack my bags. Pam is busy hanging up what appear to be incredibly expensive designer clothes on her side of the shared closet. She's grumbling and sighing in a bored way.

"Honestly, I don't know how they expect us to live with this closet," she complains. "Seriously, this closet is like a total violation of my basic human rights," she says.

"And which one would that be?" I ask smiling at her.

"Why, my right to shop, of course," she states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I snort. "O-K. And how do you figure that?"

"Well, Jessica Simpson's less endowed sister, it means that I will not be able to exercise my right to shop to the fullest extent of the law, because, I'll have nowhere to house my beautiful treasure. Now tell me that's not a crime against humanity."

"You're right, Pam. I think you should take your case to the ICJ. I'm sure the folks in The Hague would find your argument compelling," I say with a straight face.

For a moment Pam just stares at me, then a corner of her mouth twitches slightly. "You know what, Dolly? You're alright. I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

I smile. I feel like I've just passed a test or something.

So, yeah, my first day in New York and I've already made a friend. And I know what you're going to say, Gran. How can I call Pam a friend when I've just met her? I don't know. I just feel like she is…We don't have anything in common and she is kind of terrifying...but something about her, Gran...I don't know, we just kind of click, you know. Besides, you're the one who's always telling me to take a leap of faith. Well…I'm leaping, Gran…I'm leaping…

I'm back at the administration building and I'm standing in the photo ID line looking through the endless multi-colored forms in my welcome packet.

The photographer shouts, "Next please!"

I feel the guy behind me give my shoulder a little nudge. "Oh… sorry, thanks," I say, smiling shyly. The guy behind me just rolls his eyes and I move forward to take a seat in the chair in front of the white backdrop.

"Hi, how are you?" I ask the photographer in a cheerful voice, handing him my form. The middle-aged photographer looks bored out of his mind. He snatches the paper from my hand and hands it to his assistant sitting at a desk behind a computer.

"Great," he deadpans. "Just look at the dot, please."

"Is my hair a disaster? Please be honest, because… you know… I'm going to have to live with this photo for like, four years," I say. The photographer just gives me an exasperated look and adjusts the height of his camera.

"God. I mean, who wants to live with an awful photo of themselves for four years?" I ask looking at the students in line. "Right?" I ask, laughing nervously.

"Look, Miley Cyrus," the photographer begins, "I ain't got all day. Just look at the red dot."

"Hey you!" I hear someone say behind me and my heart stops. That voice. I know that voice.

Slowly, I turn around. And there's Eric. He's holding his packet and going through registration himself. I feel my face break into an insane smile.

"Hi!" I say trying to act surprised.

"What…what are you doing here?" Eric asks in disbelief.

"Miss, I need you to look at the dot," the photographer says.

I ignore him and focus on Eric instead. His hair is shorter than it was at graduation, cropped close to his head. Lighter, bleached in parts from the sun. His blue eyes sparkle against the golden hue of his skin. He's wearing a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark slim fit jeans.

Did I mention how beautiful he is?

I swallow. "Um… I just… ah… this is where I'm… this is… I'm here," I explain trying to sound breezy, but knowing I sound crazy. 'I totally forgot you were going here.' I swat his arm in a sad attempt at playfulness.

"This is so unbelievable!" he says with a grin, shaking his head.

"Miss?" the photographer interrupts impatiently.

I hold up my hand to the photographer. "Just one sec–"

I never finish my sentence. I never finish because just at that moment a very pretty red-head walks up to Eric and puts her arm around him.

She holds her face up. They kiss. With tongues and everything.

It's totally gross.

I'd never admit this to anyone but you, Gran, but…sometimes, I think…I think Dad was right. Sometimes, I think maybe…maybe…

"Hey," Eric says in a seductive whisper, looking down at her.

"Hi," she answers back, petting his chest in a possessive way. She finally seems to notice I'm standing there staring at them. She asks Eric, "Who's your friend?"

Eric looks away from her and looks back at me. "Oh, shit sorry. I know this girl from high school," he explains to Red. Red looks at me in a cool, assessing way, calculating. "This is Sophie-Anne," he says to me, indicating Red. "Soph, this is…uh…this is…"

I feel my heart sink down to my feet, broken and bleeding on the linoleum floor of the administration building.

Gran, I think maybe I made a mistake…

"Miss? The dot. Right over here, the dot, please," the photographer begs.

"Susannah," I say quietly. "It's Susannah."

"Susannah! Yeah, right. Wow! Amazing! So I'll… um… yeah. I guess I'll see you around, right?" Eric says, wrapping his arm around Sophie-Anne and walking off toward another line. I absently wave good-bye as they disappear in the crush of students, laughing and kissing.

Devastated, I sit back down and look toward the camera, my eyes heavy with unshed tears.

"Finally," the photographer says. A bright flash goes off. "Good enough."

I get up from the seat and wait for the photographer to hand me my ID. I look down at the photograph I'll have to carry around with me for years.

A permanent record of the very moment I had my heart broken for the second time by Eric Northman.

I can't help it. I run to the nearest bathroom and promptly burst into tears. I look at myself in the mirror. I look a mess. Rivers of tears drip down my face and splash onto the sink.

How did I get into this mess? How could I have been so stupid? Of course he's with someone else. Of course he's forgotten who I am. It's not the first time.

"Stupid, stupid girl," I chastise myself.

I think about the first time I ever met him. The first time his blue eyes met mine.

A moment, you see. One moment can change everything...

"Susannah!" someone shouted. Interrupting my train of thought, I flinched. I blinked a few times, trying to process what I was looking at – nine pairs of eyes staring at me. It took me half a second to remember where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. I was in Franklin Mott's basement and I was supposed to be playing "Seven Minutes in Heaven".

"Huh?" I asked, stupidly. "I'm not playing."

Someone snickered as I looked down. There was an empty spot in front of me. When did that happen? I had purposefully sat behind someone, making it known to all and sundry that I wasn't playing.

"Wait. What's-her-face should be playing, not me."

"Well, 'what's-her-face' went to get a drink. Since she's not here, you're playing," Franklin explained.

I shot him a glare. I wasn't going to crack. "Well, too bad," I said, "cause I'm not playing."

A few people scoffed and others rolled their eyes.

"C'mon," Franklin said, "my house, my party, my rules."

Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to make my next move.

Damn you, Jason Stackhouse! I cursed my stupid brother and his stupid hormones for dragging me to this party. Normally, I'd never even get an invite to one of Franklin Mott's parties, but Jason was desperate to get into Franklin's sister's pants. Salome Mott was head cheerleader at Bon Temps High School. She'd been leading Jason by the nose for three months now. He'd heard her parents were out of town and that she and her brother were throwing a party. My parents wouldn't let Jason out unless he took me with him. I guess they figured I'd keep him out of trouble or something. For the most part, I'd managed to keep myself to myself, but now...looks like I'm the one in trouble.

"Can't you just spin the bottle again and get him to make out with someone else?" I asked Franklin, looking over at Mickey Henderson. He's slim with narrow shoulders and slicked-back hair. I mean, come on! What kind of fourteen-year-old-kid slicks his hair back? He had long fingernails, too, and a sharp face and his eyes were as cold and hostile as a snake's.

He made my skin crawl.

I'd rather eat Jason's dirty, sweaty yellow toenails than spend one minute, let alone seven, locked in a closet with him.

Franklin shook his head and smiled malevolently. "I could, but I won't."

I gulped uneasily, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of there without too much hassle. I was going to kill Jason when I found him!

Then, seemingly from nowhere, a tall, beautiful blond boy plopped down next to Mickey.

"Cool. Thanks for holding my seat, dude. Is it my turn?" he asked grabbing the bottle and spinning it without waiting for permission. When it stopped spinning, it landed on me. Again. I looked up and our eyes locked for the first time.

Suddenly, I remembered his name: Eric. Eric Northman.

He was a transfer student from New Orleans. I'd seen him around school a couple of times and I knew he was on the football team with Jason, but I'd never met him or anything. We didn't have any of the same classes and we didn't share a lunch period. Apart from Holly and Arlene in my AP English class, I didn't really have any friends. I was kind of a loner.

He was beautiful. And in my school, beauty meant popularity and Eric was definitely popular. Too popular to ever give a girl like me a second look.

'Seriously, Frankie,' Mickey whined. 'You're gonna let Northman hijack my turn like that?'

Eric stood quickly and grabbed my hand, pulling me up. For some reason I didn't argue. I guess I was too dazed by what was going on.

And yeah, did I mention how beautiful he was?

I was thirteen, after all, and had never been kissed. Like ever. The thought of my first kiss being with Eric Northman made my heart palpitate almost to the point of heart attack.

He held onto my hand and led me to the closet and opened the door. The closet was actually very roomy. Only a few shirts were on the racks, but there were lots of shoes on the floor. Sadly, it wasn't a walk-in closet, but it was big enough to make out in. Eric indicated that I should go in first. I walked in the closet, careful not to step on any of the shoes and Eric followed me inside. The door closed behind us and the lock clicked into place.

They'd actually locked us inside the closet.

I could hear the crowd outside giggling. They started to yell and scream at us through the door.

"Do it! Do it! Do it!"

It was like forcing two pandas to mate.

"Make out already!" Tara Thornton yelled. She was Franklin's girlfriend. We were best friends up until this summer. Then she'd started dating Franklin and hanging out with the cool kids. She dropped me like a bad habit not too long after.

"We won't tell Felicia!" Dawn Green, resident skank and head mean girl, taunted.

"I will!" said Franklin.

I heard a slight hush. Felicia was one the hottest girls at school. She was only a Freshman, but she was already on the varsity cheerleading squad. Every girl wanted to be her and every guy wanted to bang her. It was the total high school cliché.

Was Eric with Felicia?

"Shut up guys! I want to hear them making out!" Dawn shouted.

"You're gonna make it worse," yelled Tara.

"Will you both just shut the fuck up,' Franklin said impatiently.

"Make out already!" Tommy Mickens, from my AP Bio class yelled.

I smiled nervously. The closet was very hot. I wondered if it had a heat vent or it was just me.

Eric unzipped his hoodie. My eyes widened, and a weird feeling washed over me.

"God,' I said, my voice shaking a little. "We don't have to do this. It's ridiculous."

"Relax," Eric murmured, stepping closer.

I gulped and said, "I…sorry."

"It's OK. Just… breathe. I promise, it'll feel nice," he smirked.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I shifted my feet debating whether or not to make a run for it.

I looked up at Eric and at that same moment, he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. At the first touch of his lips the air rushed from my lungs and I felt light-headed. I sighed softly into his mouth and let my body go limp against his, the way I'd seen in movies.

Never in a million years had I ever imagined that a kiss could feel so magical. In that moment, I felt like I was connected to Eric in every way. It was like I was touching his soul or something.

I know what you're thinking, but seriously, it's true.

I was a thirteen-year-old-girl. Dreamy and romantic. I'd never been kissed before and this kiss with Eric was more than I could have ever imagined. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Eric pulled away briefly and stared at me in wonder. I knew. I knew then that he'd felt it too. That connection. That magic. How could he not?

Without thought or care, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his. The intensity of our kiss increased. He was impossibly tall compared to me, but it didn't seem to present a problem. He wrapped his own arms around my hips, and lifted me up a little. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he pressed my body flat against the closet wall.

Tentatively, I touched my tongue to his lips, licking the bottom one, and coaxed his mouth open. Eric's eyes suddenly widened and he groaned. I felt his tongue move against my own and it was heaven. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel, truly feel. It was the most extraordinary thing I'd ever known. I was on fire, my whole body was burning up and I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach. I could hear my heart thumping loudly in my ears.

"Five minutes left!" Franklin called out.

"Are they kissing?" Tara whispered.

"They've been in there for a while now. I don't think they'd just stand there," I heard Ginger Jones' voice reply back.

"Knowing what a loser Stackhouse is, they're probably just standing there," said Mickey bitterly.

"Yeah, but she's in there with Nortman," Franklin retorted, clearly delighting in Mickey's jealousy.

They said something after that, but I couldn't hear it. My mind was too into the kiss. His kisses were getting harder, and rougher, more demanding.

My eighteen-year-old-self can now look back and appreciate just how skilled a kisser Eric was. No fourteen-year-old-boy should know how to kiss like that.

While Eric kissed me, I felt the sweat on his neck. He wasn't the only one who felt hot. His hands moved down my back, gripping my hips hard. He ground against me and I moaned. I ground my hips against his and his kisses became frantic.

"Three minutes!" yelled Franklin. I heard him sigh exasperatedly. "If you guys aren't making out, might as well come out now."

Eric and I both ignored that. We were full on groping each other in the closet. His hands had quickly moved from my hips to my butt, to my breast, squeezing and rubbing, while I ran my fingers through his hair roughly and down his back. We were both whimpering and moaning, not even caring if anyone outside could hear us.

Our kiss finally began to slow down after a while. As delicious as the sensation of kissing Eric was, I needed to come up for air. I needed to get a grip back on reality. I was boring Susannah Stackhouse, Bon Temps High's resident nerd girl. I didn't make out with hot boys in closets.

When I tried to pull my lips from his from his, Eric pressed his forearm tighter against my waist, and pulled me even closer, kissing me deeper and harder than before. I was lost. Why fight it. I didn't want to let Eric go any more than he wanted to let me go.

"One minute!" Franklin yelled again.

Oh god, in one minute, this will all be over. Please don't let this be over. Please, God, please…

Eric finally let his arm around my hips relax. Slowly I slid down his body and leaned back against the wall for support. My eyes closed, my breathing harsh ans erratic. I thought he'd move away from me then, but he just brought his hand up to my cheek and stroked it ever so softly.

Finally he pulled back, and we were standing about a centimeter away from one another. He didn't say anything. He just kept gazing into my eyes.

Say something, I mentally thought. Please. I gulped feeling awkward and nervous. C'mon please say something.

It looked as though he were going to speak but the yelling of the crowd outside the door interrupted him.

"10…9…8…" they yelled.

Eric leaned in one last time and kissed me. A small kiss, gentle and sweet.

It felt like goodbye.

"5…4…3…2…"

"1!" Franklin opened the door, only to find Eric and me standing in the same spot they'd left us in.

"Dude, seriously? Did you guys just stand there the whole time?" Franklin asked Eric in disbelief. Eric just shrugged.

'I told you,' Mickey said in a gloating tone. 'You owe me five bucks, bitch! Pay up.' He held his hand out to Franklin who grumbled as he pulled out his wallet to pay Mickey.

Eric was the first to leave the closet.

Look at me. Please look at me, I begged.

But he didn't.

He never looked at me again.

And now, here I am.

In New York. Alone, confused...heartbroken.

Gran, I made a mistake...Oh, God, I made a mistake...