WHAT AM I!?
You always hear these stories about that girl, the one who isn’t exactly gorgeous beyond compare, but can manage in the simplicity of average. Having an unusual talent of some sort, maybe falling in love with the crème de la crème (or however the Jesus you say that) guy; that mysterious, handsome, and mouthwatering boy. Whose eyes embody sex yet stop for love, and the strong jaw with the short spikey hair and the perfect shaped lips…well you know the story or you wouldn’t be reading this.
I however am nothing like this girl, and my story is far more realistic than that. Shit id be lucky to be in love without killing the guy every time I couldn’t control myself. And I’m not a damn vampire either. I hate those fucking things. Flesh is so gross when it’s dead and cold. Its better when it’s warm and alive; Pulsing with adrenaline, glistening with sweat, and the scent of fear. And it’s always better when they run; the chase makes it fun and sensual and makes you feel free and powerful. They say not to play with your food but I can’t help it. I can’t help a lot of things like the rage, it sucks to always be mad and pissed of at the world. Even when I’m calm and “sobered” up there is still that feeling that I could fly off the handle at any second and rip some ones heart out…scary.
I live in Wine Crestor. It’s a little suburb town attractive to rich families and the lonely housewife’s who fuck the mailman, the occasional bored housewife’s who like to be nosey and poke around in other peoples business. Then they go and call the Mrs. Who-the-fuck-ever and say “guess what so-and-so did” so sometimes, if your careful you can keep your secrets. The key to that is not to tell anyone. Guess that was probably what got me into the mess I’m in now. And believe me, your not going to want to miss this, once you know what I’m talking about, you may think differently about the world. No, probably not but it’s a pretty bad ass tale. But, as I was saying sometimes secrets are spilled. Like when that innocent old lady saw me eat one of her cats. (I rather like cats too…) and I just couldn’t have her blabbering about it…besides she was almost dead anyways. I couldn’t have my cover blown.
I was seventeen turning eighteen here in a month or two. I had auburn hair about shoulder length and bangs that were cut to swoop over my left eye and bleached white. My skin was a cream color like a vanilla frappe chino. With a small mole under my right eye, my lips were a burnt pink and very thick, like a medium version of Angelina Jolie’s lips. My face was thin and round an my eyes were an honey brown which was one of the “side effects” of being what I was. My neck was long and thin, my bust was plump and round. Not too big though, and my shoulders were small and round connecting to my long and thin arms, but I had a good amount of muscle on me.
I had a flat stomach and a heart shaped ass. My body was curled perfectly with nice wide hips, which the perverted boys around me liked to point out often. With their odd tireless attempts to get me to sleep with them, but I didn’t blame them. My legs were long like my arms and I wore a size nine in shoes. I stood about five foot six so I guess you could say I was petite. And that would have to end this weird introduction of myself. I was staring into the mirror of my windowless bathroom. It was small and basic; your simple white toilet, simple white sink with a silver faucet and two white nobs with the famous ‘C’ and ‘H’ on it, along with the manufacturers name “Moen” etched into both of the clear white nobs. I stoop in my navy green t-shirt and white sweat pants brushing my teeth. Before now, when I first changed and feasted on living things, I brushed my teeth till my gums bled to get the taste out.
After a while I got used to it, started to accept whatever it was that was going on. I still brush my teeth really well after I feast. I couldn’t have my parents smelling the dead squirrel , or whatever else I had devoured for my last meal, on my breath. After scrubbing my teeth, which always stayed a perfect peal white, and never got cavities, I walked back into my bed room. My room was a mess, I had Bras and shirts and undies (yes undies...maybe a thong or two) scattered everywhere. My dad always complains about stepping on things when he walked in. I think it bothers him to think about me wearing big girl things.
My bead was in need of a good making. My navy green fleece blanket was ratted and wrinkled, my pillow was on the floor and on the corner of my bed…
“Spencer what the hell are you doing here!?!” I yelled at him. I was glad I hadn’t undressed yet even though Spencer is gay, it’s still awkward.
“well, Actually I scaled the wall” he said with a smirch at his big achievement.
“yeah?, that answers the how, but I asked the why” I replied as I looked through my closet fo the cloths I wanted to wear. Spencer was eighteen and had black hair. It was short in the back and long in the front like a reverse mullet. He had snake bites and the same honey brown eyes that I did. He had a single pink streak of hair in his bangs that swooped over his right eye, opposite of mine. His skin was pale and ivory and his jaw, straight. He had high cheek bones, thin pink lips and a thin face. His neck was normal sized, and you couldn’t see a defined Adams apple but you could tell it was there, a long with the muscles and the blue blood veins in his neck…But only Barely.
He was wearing all black. Starting with his shirt, it was a black shirt and the end of it hit just below the button of his jeans. The jeans were skin tight and showed of his long strong and thin legs. Spencer was skinny and tall, he was wearing black leather high top converse and his signature zip up black leather jacket. He had it unzipped, with torn up sleeves near his hands in the form of a thumb holes that I had done myself. He had a book bag hung over his shoulder and the pack sat on his hip.
“Well…another morning fight with Joe and Monica” he said, letting a little bit of sadness leak out in his voice turning the corners of his cute smile to a frown. Spencers parents died when he was young and he was taken in by his uptight Aunt and her husband (the were churchy people and Monica was that breed of house wife that called and gossiped with the others). They didn’t like Spencer’s style or his sexuality. I sighed and pulled out a tight black T-shirt and stained blue skinnies. I walked back into the bathroom so I could get dressed.
“Did you eat last night?” Spencer asked through the door.
“Yeah did you?” I replied pulling on the shirt.
“yup. I’m still getting used to all this though” Spencer said. By this time I was already pulling up my pants and buttoning them when I said:
“hey, you asked me to change you” I opened the bathroom door and walked into the room headed for the sock drawer.
“I know” he said smiling. Spencer was my only friend and the only one who knew that I was like this. After all, he is smarter than people give him credit for.
It was just a month ago. Spencer found out about my secret the night I had to cover up with the old lady. After that he was always following me around. I tried to be an ass-y bitch, but he didn’t give up. The only kid who wasn’t scared away. The boy has guts and heart. One night while I was out on my nightly dinner run, I found a group of Lacrosse players grouped up beating on some kid. I recognized the voice, and well I guess there was a little humanity left in me. I pulled off all the boys and scared them away. Keeping my face hidden with a bandanna(probably thought I was a vamp) Anyway, Spencer was dying and he knew the only way he would live if I changed him. It was simple actually, well after I was told about it. all I had to do was mix some of my blood into one of his open wounds. And WALA instant uh…whatever it was that we were. I was never able to find out what I was, but I knew I wasn’t a vampire. Hell, the vamp I met didn’t even know what I was. But she did tell me how I could change someone. “That’s usually how it’s done...” she said. But I know she knows more than she is telling. She wouldn’t know how to change a human into what I am if she didn’t, and I’m not stupid enough to take her on, she is kind of my go to gall for information.
Anyways, it would come up sooner or later. After I pulled on my socks and my black high tops, Spencer said something that made me think
“What about a Werewolf?” he asked. I turned to pick up my tan back pack
“What do you mean?” I replied as I slipped on my navy green hoodie
“Well, are we Werewolves maybe?” I thought about it for a second.
“Well, it’s a good theory” I concluded.
“What about your change?” he asked. I knew we would have this talk eventually, I only wished I didn’t have to go through with it.
“yeah” I replied looking at him, his face was waiting to change expressions. His face was prepared for any emotion that would manifest itself. His whole body was hanging on the anticipation of my story.
“Well…?” he said.
“I don’t remember” I replied. And I wasn’t lying either I really had no idea how I had changed.
“all I remember is going for a run one night. It was a regular human routine. (and now it was done to satisfy what I was) i just remember falling, blacking out and when I woke up, I was different.” That was almost a year ago and I had no one to show me the ropes or tell me the rules to the sick game that I had to play. So it was sort of an experiment.
“Weird” Spencer said. Still puzzled and looked disappointed in a way.
“Seriously, do I look okay?” I asked turning for spencer to look me over.
“you look fabulous” Spencer said in an intended girly fay lisp.
“Okay, Spence don’t try to be like that. It’s kind of weird” I said half laughing. Spence laughed and smiled a little. At least he smiled which was good. Spence was the only person I actually cared about. It was nice to have him around it made my life a little more interesting.
“Agreed, I’m too masculine” he said hoping up off my bed and following me out the door.
Spencer and I walked down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Mom Spence is here!” I called to the empty hallway that lead to the living room.
“Moms outside with Dad” came a small perky voice. She was four foot two and had platinum blonde hair. She was wearing he Hanna Montana ‘LETS MAKE IT ROCK!’ T-shirt with Miley Cyrus wearing that blonde wig and dressed in some dazzled sparkly cow-girl slash slutty pop singer outfit. She was wearing blue jeans and (you guessed it) Hanna Montana boots
“and was Spencer in your room?, huh Elie?, boys are not allowed in your room” she lectured. I reached around her and grabbed the keys from behind the blue-eyed devil.
“Stacey, that’s only if the boy likes girls” I replied and proceeded to push Spencer out the Kitchen door.
My parents were outside under the car port. I headed over to my little white 2000 VW Jetta. It was a few years old but still ran great. There was mud splatters on the tires and the rims. I told Spencer to get in, while I went to talk to my parents. My mom’s name was Joan and she was just as tall as me. With bowl cut platinum blonde hair. She was wearing a ladies suit that was grey, she wore black tights and grey heels. I always thought my mother was a little bland. My Father’s name was Rick. He was hevy set unlike my thin mother who still held her high school shape. My father had the same hair color I did. His face was worn and always full of exhaustion.
“hey mom I’m giving Spence a ride to school I’ll see you guys later” I said waving at them as I walked back towards my car. Whatever they were talking about I sure as hell didn’t want to get into it.
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