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Chapter Four
(Sookie is Fourteen)
I am sitting on my bed, combing out my hair. It has gotten the longest I've ever managed to grow it before; I haven't cut it in a little over a year. It goes down my back in thick strands. I like my hair. I think it is about the only thing about myself that I like. Today at school, a boy called me ugly. It really hurt me, at the time. In fact, it still does. Boy's can really suck. I think Eric is the only man who I like. Even my brother ticks me off; He keeps saying cruel things to me about my appearance that makes me feel even more self-conscious than I already am with myself. Eric is sitting in the armchair near my window. I have made a little nest for him out of spare pillows so he can be more comfortable. Right now, he is listening to my iPod, the ear buds pushed in his ears, and he is playing the music so loud, I can hear it all the way from where I sit on my bed. He likes listening to my music. He finds iPod's a funny little invention (his words, of course; Not mine). He came to my window a few hours after dark. He likes doing that, I've learned. He still likes to wear black, too, which is funny. Tonight he is wearing a padded zipped-up leather jacket, old jeans, and massive leather boots. He reminds me of a blond, powerful imitation of Danny from Grease.
I made sure to keep my window unlocked for him this morning before I went to school just so I wouldn't forget and so here he is.
I brush my hair as I watch him fiddling with my iPod, switching songs. He likes the real loud rock music best. One of these days, once I get a job and can afford it, I'll have to buy him an iPod. It is definitely on my to-do list.
"Eric, do you think I'm ugly?" I ask nervously. It's been haunting me all day.
He pretends not to hear me, which is just plain bull, because I know for a fact he can. Vampire hearing is meant to be really good. I know for a fact that Eric is capable of hearing from miles and miles away.
"Eric," I call, raising my voice a notch. He still pretends not to hear me, so I wave my arms around to get his attention. Finally. He rolls his eyes at me and yanks one of the ear-buds out.
"What?"
"I asked you a question."
"Repeat it. I did not hear you."
Liar, liar, pants on fire. "I asked if you thought I was ugly?" I tuck my hair behind my earlobe and tilt my chin silently, trying to see if that will make me look pretty in his eyes. "Am I ugly, do you think?"
His look turns suddenly defensive. "When did I say you were ugly?"
"No, not you. You didn't, but this boy at school did. He said I was ugly. Is that true?"
He shrugs and then yanks the other ear-bud out, sitting up in the chair. "It's subjective."
I start to panic. "What's that supposed to mean? I am ugly, or what?"
"Not everyone will find you the prettiest girl in the world. If they don't, fuck them. There will be plenty of others that will."
"So you don't think I'm pretty? That's what you're saying here?" I am flooded with certainty over the expression on his face. Oh, God. Even my vampire friend who has been in my life since I was eight-years-old things I'm ugly. What hope is left for me now? "You do, don't you?" I ask, worrying. "You totally think I'm ugly!" I stare at him miserably. He just picks at my ear-buds with his fingernails. He looks very uneasy. If I only could read his mind, how much easier life would be.
Finally, he looks at me. He raises one eyebrow. "I never said I thought you were ugly, Sookie. You're putting words into my mouth. I never said that."
"Then just tell me," I demand uneasily. "Am I ugly or not?"
It's obvious he doesn't want to answer that question. He crosses his legs and stares down at his shoes, like a man stuck in a tricky and dangerous situation. I sigh and crawl off my bed. I move over to where he is sitting, and sit on the arm rest, pulling my feet up into his lap. My socks are a striped pink. He leans away from me to create some distance. I ignore this.
"Tell me!" I slap him on his thigh. He doesn't flinch or give out a noise of pain or anything. "Just tell me, Eric. Please. Otherwise I won't be able to sleep, and I won't wanna have to go to school ever again. Am I ugly? Yes or no?"
He won't look at me, so I resort to staring at him. He doesn't like it when I do that. It makes him frustrated, and restless. After only a few minutes of dead silent staring, he cracks underneath the pressure. I win. Finally.
"No," he mumbles quietly.
"What?" I can hardly hear him.
"I said, no. You aren't ugly."
I grin so hard it hurts. "Then what's the most prettiest thing about me?"
"Your smell," he breathes anxiously. He still won't look at me. He keeps his eyes to the ground. I think he's embarrassed.
I make a face at him. "My smell?" I repeat, in outrage. "I ask you what you think is the most prettiest thing, and all you can say is my smell? What?"
"I need to take a leak," he says decisively, pulling himself out of the arm-chair to his feet. I know a liar when I spot one. He doesn't even need to pee. He's dead.
"No, you don't," I argue, "You don't need to pee. You can't. I'm not that silly."
"Actually, I do. And I can." He keeps his back facing me.
"Bullcrap," I laugh. "You've been in my life since I was eight-years-old. That's six years, and not even once in that time frame did you need to excuse yourself to pee! You're just trying to avoid answering my question!"
He turns swiftly to look at me; His hands on his hips. He doesn't like being called a liar. He gives me one of his looks that I've come to learn throughout the years well. It is supposed to be his intimidating look, but since I'm used to it he fails big time. It's a look he gets where he curls his upper lip slightly in a way to show his fangs, and then he widens his eyes deliberately so they get a crazed look about them.
It has completely the opposite effect on me that he tries for each and every time. Instead of getting scared, I always end up a quaking mess in silent laughter.
"Your look doesn't work on me," I tell him smugly. "You don't scare me. You can't glamour me either. I am immune to all your superpowers!" I throw my fist in the air to congratulate myself, and he doesn't look very impressed by that.
I know he hates that he can't glamour me. Everything, all my actions, are out of my own free will. I can't be hypnotised to do anything at a vampire's beck and call. I'm real pleased I can't be glamoured, though. Reaching behind me with my hands, I push one of the cushions higher up my back to support my spine in the arm-chair. Then I lean over to my table and grab my art-book. I've really grown into drawing this year at school. It seems to relieve my mind of all stress, and keeps me preoccupied. It also helps make it easier to put my mental shield up, which Eric taught me, too, like most things. I've gotten a bit better at it too; Before, I used to just draw silly stick-people with no faces. Now, if I really out some effort into it, I can sketch out real looking head shapes and eyes.
"I'm drawing you," I announce to Eric happily, and he groans. Eric hates when I try to draw him; He is my art subject all the time. I just find him fascinating for some reason. His face, his features. His fangs, especially. Fangs are always a real thrill to draw. He just has this brutal yet sweet quality to him. I love attempting to draw him best.
"Do you want to draw me like this?" He keeps his mean look in place with some skill.
"Nope. Just look normal. Maybe even smile a bit."
"You know I am not much of a smiler, Sookie."
"Why not, though? You have a nice one." I reach down and select a pencil. I think the ultimate reason I like drawing Eric so much is because he has mastered the art of stillness. I swear, he could remain still for hours. I start sketching lightly the outline of his face, but then he goes and makes a horrible noise on me that makes me jump by accident. "Don't move, I said," I warn him, using my eraser frantically to rub it all out. "And please stop making terrible noises while you're at it. I hate it when you do that!"
He sighs deeply without moving his lips.
"Thank you," I mutter, poking out my tongue at him.
"I forgot to tell you: Niall wishes to see you tomorrow." I feel a surge of excitement with that news; I've only seen my fairy Grandfather once, and that was when he appeared the first time when I was younger and told me all about Eric and the dangers I was in. The mysterious danger hadn't happened for me as yet, but I always kept my eyes open and my silver bracelet on. In fact, I hardly ever take my bracelet off. Only when showering, of course. If that isn't dedication to protecting yourself, then I don't know what is. "He wishes you to come by him at dinner. There is a restaurant he made a booking for."
"What'll I tell my Grandmother, though?"
"I don't know. Anything you can think of, I suppose, as an excuse to allow her to let you be away for a few hours."
"Why don't I just tell her I have a date with you?" I ask. It seems like an awesome idea to me.
"Of course." He gives me a wry look. "Your Grandmother would find nothing suspicious at all that you're going out on a date with an older man who could easily be mistaken as your father." His tone is very sarcastic. "I hardly think she would let you out of the house if she thought that. She would assume I was a paedophile for taking out a fourteen year old girl half my age aesthetically."
"Oh, please." I snort. "You really don't look that old. Gran wouldn't probably think anything of it."
"If you say so."
"What? You actually would?" Well, tizz. I certainly wasn't expecting that.
"I guess. Why not?"
I grin happily. "Cool. Pick me up when its dark out- obviously. Then you can drive me there since I don't have my license."
His expression turns into a mix between incredulous and mirth. It totally wrecks my drawing. "What? You think I would actually let you behind the wheel of my car? No fucking way."
Eric's right, of course, about my Granny finding it odd I have an older man taking me out to dinner. I can hear her thoughts, so -believe me- I would know. It certainly doesn't help when Eric shows up in his convertible and the way he dresses, a bit like a creeper. Tonight he wears dark tinted sunglasses even though it's dark out, and a black trench coat with the collar loosely tucked up around his neck, with denim jeans and his huge boots. He looks like a hipster pathetically trying his hardest to look younger than he actually is. I don't know if I'll actually have a sufficient enough dinner tonight to fill my tummy, so I bring a bag of candy with me, just in case.
I'm going through an odd phase of loving candy bananas. Eric often jokes I am turning into a monkey.
Although he's a thousand-year old vampire, and I'm way way younger, surprisingly somehow we've developed a great friendship. Our personalities clash from time to time, and he doesn't like to smile much; whereas I'm a happy-go-lucky type of girl who laughs at things and doesn't take herself too seriously.
"If you're not a rich vampire," I say, as we drive along the dark highway, "Then how did you manage to afford such a cool car?" His red Corvette really is the coolest car I've ever seen; You can even have the roof down automatically at the click of a button.
"I'm not rich, believe me."
I give him a side-long look. "You would have stocked up on a whole lot of money since you're so old, huh?"
"I'm not that old," he complains. He's funny about it. I always say it to tease him. He doesn't find it very funny, though; He always gets grumpy when I do.
"Why're you wearing glasses at night?"
"Because I can."
"You look like a C.I.A agent or something. It's silly."
"C.I.A agents don't go around escorting and mentoring annoying little fairy children, I bet."
"Ha-ha. You're the annoying one."
"I beg to differ on that. You're a pain in the ass."
"Right back at you, bud." I shove three bananas into my mouth, sucking on them loudly. I see Eric cringe in disgust.
"How is Tyra?"
"Tara," I correct easily. "And yes, she's great."
Tara and I are still best friends. Eric hasn't met her- of course he hasn't- but I talk about her all the time.
"Her Momma gets on her nerves, though. She still has her nasty little drinking habit. Tara fears she's gonna die soon, because she's that addicted."
"Death would be a blessing for her, I'm sure."
"A blessing?" I scoff. "That's harsh, you dead meanie."
"Now who's being harsh?" he mutters, pretending to be wounded.
"Well, that's what you are. How is your girlfriend, by the way?" I know she isn't really his girlfriend, but I love getting him annoyed by saying it.
"Pamela isn't my girlfriend," he argues, just like I'm expecting he will. "How many times do I have to tell you that? She's my progeny."
"Your prognay, whatever."
"Pro- geny," he says, slowly and carefully.
I ignore him. "What does my Grandfather want from me, anyhow?"
"He wants to know of your progress," he tells me informatively. "I have filled him in, but he wants to witness it for himself just how you are progressing with your skills. Also, he wanted to treat you to dinner."
"Well, that's very... sweet of him, I guess."
Once we get to the restaurant, he unbuckles my seatbelt for me (like I'm incompetent to do it myself) and out of his car we go. It doesn't look very busy; There is only two cars parked in the lot, excluding Eric's. We go through a back entrance, and I peer up at Eric's face as he opens the door for me. He looks nervous, and as if he is biting the tip of his tongue. It makes me feel nervous in return, and I clasp my hands out in front of me as I look around curiously. It's a dimly lit restaurant with only one couple midway through eating their food. We walk to a table where a man is sitting all by his lonesome, resting his palm on his walking stick. I instantly remember him from that one only meeting as a younger girl. He hasn't changed one bit; He still has the pointy ears and the white hair. He smiles as he sees me and gets to his feet stiffly, like his knees are hurting.
"My child," he greets, opening one arm out to me while the other stays planted on his walking stick to support himself and keep him upright. "Alas, we meet again! How is my granddaughter?"
A bit awkwardly, I hug him, and he swoops down to kiss me on the cheek. His lips feel all puckered and wrinkled, like crinkled tissue paper.
"Hey there, Grandfather." It feels weird on the tip of my tongue, but it's true. He is my grandfather, not sure how, and he's a fairy. Exactly like me. He pulls out a chair for me to sit, so I do. Eric pulls out the chair near me, and sits too, crossing his arms over his chest and looking solemn, like he is my bodyguard.
"Now, how about we get down to business. How is progress?"
Suddenly, I feel as if I'm sitting down to start a major school test.