Oh how I hated my life. Why must I be cursed to live in this dump of an apartment? I don’t think I will ever find the answer. Scratch that, I already know the answer, i’m just too much of a pu**y to face it. Glancing at the mailbox, shuddering from the chill, my eyes locked on the name tag. Alice Taylor stared back at me in large bold lettering. How I despised that name. I wish I could be anyone else, just not me. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to endure the life that has been dealt to me. Noticing the darkening sky out of my peripheral vision, I slumped and trudged upstairs. Taking the key out of my jeans pocket and inserting it into the doorknob, I entered my lovely little home. Yeah right. More like shitty miniscule apartment. I will never call this place my home. Dropping my tote bag on the floor by the door, I stripped off my clothes. I live alone so I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in. After throwing them in the hamper in the bathroom and making myself some canned soup (yummm) I retreated to my bed. Exhausted from the days workout, I was instantly submerged into my nightmares.

“HURRY”, A deep baritone voice bellowed from outside my door. Then I hear feet scrambling on our dirt floors. My door swings open, exposing a tall silhouette of a man. His long legs quickly eat up the distance between the door and my bed. Then two more men. He hurriedly picks me up, lifting me as if I weighed no more than a feather. His skin is freezing, and I can’t suppress the shiver that rakes through my body. In a blink of an eye i’m kneeling in my livingroom, facing my parents. My mother has blood matted in her long blond hair, and tears streaming down her face. My father has a busted lip, and multiple cuts along his face and arms. He sheds no tears, yet I can see the panic dance through his eyes.
“Leave her out of this! It has nothing to do with her!” My mother screams, hysteria lacing her words. One of the men quickly yanks her by her hair, enticing a yelp of pain from her lips. Just as fast as he grabbed her, he drops her on the floor, silencing her. My father crawls toward her body, anger and worry exuding off of him in waves. His hands, which are bound together behind his back, do nothing to help him. For a split second I think that she’s dead. Then I notice the slight rise and fall of her chest. Just as my father nears her, he is yanked back by the shirt. A whimper escapes my mother's mouth, and I try to race across the floor, only to realize that my arms and legs are secured as well. As I struggle, the door slams open, and a man in a long black cloak strides through, throwing the door closed with a bang. I can clearly see the hilt of a sword at his side, fear and adrenaline start to pump through my veins. Two of the men pick up my mother and father so that they are sitting up straight. The newest arrival comes to stand behind them and removes his cloak. Wearing a sleeveless tunic and jeans you could see his paper white skin, with tattoos crawling up his arms in intricate patterns, and words in languages I did not know wound their way around his wrists. His most striking feature is his eyes, midnight black. His face is youthful looking, yet seems to hold as much knowledge as a man of one-hundred years.
“Where is it?” My parents’ features quickly set into a grimace, there eyes burning with determination.
“Where is the damn key.” His voice was calm, almost scarily so. My parents stayed silent. With quick steps, his boots making a loud thud, he stood behind me.
“Don’t You DARE touch Her Rismey, or I swear I will kill you!” Mother’s voice rose in pitch as she spoke. Anger burning in her eyes. It showed itself in father by the way his jaw clenched and how his biceps quivered. Mother was shaking with suppressed energy. Father was still as a board, his back straight. His glare, even though not directed at me, felt as if it could pierce skin. A chuckle escaped Rismey’s lips. Bony fingers left trails of fire along my shoulders as he traced delicate symbols. His fingers, once gentle started gripping the back of my neck, causing me to gasp. Coming to stand behind my mother once again, he sneered. She continued to sorrowfully look into my terror-struck eyes, mouthing, ‘I’ll be okay’. However, it was clear her attempts to reassure me couldn’t benefit our situation. He bent down slowly, taking his time to reach into his boot and pull out a small dagger. Wrapped around the hilt, a snake with ruby eyes bared it’s fangs. Turning her around so that me nor my father could see her face, he knelt in front of her. As he brought the dagger up, closer to her face, my mother whimpered. I had never heard her sound so vulnerable.
“Leave her the hell alone Rismey!” My father screams, his voice viciously hoarse.
“Aw come now, i’m just gonna make her smile. We can’t have anyone being sad, now can we?” He spoke as though calming a fatigued child, relaxing in a sense. As if him being here was a good thing. My eyes were locked on my mother, a weeping mess laying helplessly crumpled on the floor. His talon-like hands grasped her knotty hair, using it to yank her head high so we could finally see what he meant. The corners of my mother’s lips were extended in a line of blood. Cheeks slit open, forming an exaggerated, eerie grin. Crimson blood flowed out of her wounds, dripping down her face and onto her blouse. A strangled cry emitted from my lips. Tears flowed down my face, I could taste the salt on my tongue, warning me of the weakness I was showing.
“Now that everyone knows how serious I am, why don’t we try again? Now, Where, Is, It?” By the end of his spiel, all joking in his tone has disappeared.
“He’ll never tell you” mother croaked. She was shaking with suppressed agony. Trying her hardest to not give Rismey satisfaction of making her scream. She knew that father would not give in. She sounded as though she’d aged a hundred years, the shakiness of her voice pained me to hear. It amazes me that she is able to speak. She must be in so much pain.
“Oh see I think he will. He cares about you, loves you. And like everyone knows, love is weakness,” He strode languidly closer to her. His shoulders relaxed, there was no reason to believe he was nervous. Then quicker than I thought possible, he had drawn his sword, holding it poised over her head. A sigh escaped my father’s lips.
“Don’t tell him! We promised that no matter what we wouldn't tell. I’ll be fine.”
I don’t like how mother is talking. She will NOT die. Father will have to tell this man whatever he wants. He has to! Why isn’t he talking? He’ll kill mother! Is he mad?
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll kill her. You know I will.” Rismey threatened.
“Just tell him! He’ll hurt mother!” I cried. I cannot believe he’s not doing anything!
“Oh dear, how rude of me. I completely forgot that you were there. You must be the famous Alice. Maybe you can help me get your daddy to talk? Would you like that?” Again with the taunting tone.
The other two men pick me up by my elbows, bringing me to kneel in front of Rismey. Using the tip of the sword, Rismey traced the same patterns as before along my face. They felt like random scribbles, but by the look of concentration on his face, they must have meant something to him. The cold tip of the blade tickles my cheeks, it’s feather light touches almost feeling nice until I remember who i’m sitting in front of. He removes the blade from my skin, and moves it lower. It’s hovering over my arm now. With quick, graceful movements he drags the sword down my arm. From my shoulder to my wrist. Pain courses up and down my arm, stinging and burning. Before I can think, blood has surfaced all up and down my arm. My arm is limp, and the ruby red droplets flow down like a river. My blood trickled to the floor, Drip Drop Drip Drop, only to create a small puddle. I hissed in pain. My father still wouldn't speak. He wouldn’t let Rismey kill us, would he?
“I cannot believe it! You still won’t tell me? Tsk, tsk. Your silence will cause your family’s screams.” Rismey face held a crooked grin. His teeth bared. Long white teeth stood out from behind his lips. Fangs? Faster than the human eye could follow, he rushed to stand behind my mother. Raising his sword, swinging it faster than I could comprehend. In mere seconds he had stopped, and I saw the blood dripping down her limbs and torso. Her clothes now had long gashes everywhere. For a split second my mother was silent, then her screams pierced the air. Even with her split cheeks, her scream sailed through my ears, causing my brain to shake. With one last swipe Rismey brought his sword down. Quickly wiping the blood off onto his pant leg, he returned the sword to it’s sheath. I returned my gaze to mother, only to see her completely in tact. I released a sigh of relief. Then I heard it. I don’t know how, but I did. The slipping liquid sound. I stared at my mother and realized that she wasn't breathing. Her head was down, her long blood matted curls covering her face. The top of her skull slid down and fell to the floor. I immediately leant to the side, retching. The acid from my stomach burning my throat. I don’t know how long I sat there and retched, it couldn’t have been longer than a minute. Yet by the time I peered up, hearing sounds of footsteps, the three men from before are kneeling in front of mother. There faces uncomfortably close to her body. There mouths are wide open, and groans of satisfaction reverberate off the walls. A small sound escapes my lips, and they all turn their heads in my direction. Maroon blood stains their lips and cheeks.
“Leave her alone! Stay away from her!” I scream. The men hiss, and I see that they also have those long white fangs. Except theirs are tainted red. My mother’s blood drizzles down their faces.
“Enough! You’ve had your meal. Now go!” Rismey yelled. His voice- though smooth as silk- still felt like needles to my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck spiked the moment he said “meal.” Hearing Rismey’s voice, the three men stood gracefully. How could these creatures that just feasted on my mother’s blood stand with such grace? They strode past Rismey, and to my amazement, Rismey pulled out a lighter and set them aflame. Their screams polluted the air, and before I could think, they were nothing more than ash. Using the blanket off the couch nearby, Rismey covered the ashes. Using his bare hands, he picked my mother’s now bloodless body up from the floor, dragging her toward my whimpering father.
“You. Sick. Bastard!!” My father screamed at the top of his lungs.
“Why thank you. I take great pride in my work. What would make me even more thankful was if you told me where the key is” Grabbing his sword once again, Rismey put the cold metal to the back of my neck.
“Never. I will NEVER tell you” My father rasped. As he uttered those words, I knew I would die. I started to tremble even more. I felt like I would retch again, though there was nothing more to come up. Dry sobs wracked through my body, as I sat there, kneeling. Waiting for my death.
“I will get it out of you. I simply did not think that it would take the death of your wife and child. I guess you do not love them as much as it seemed. Now you will have to watch poor little Alice die. But first, her innocence.”
No, please no. He threw his sword, it landing on a nearby couch. Removing his tunic he approached me. More tattoos graced his torso, reminding me of the feather light symbols he traced on my skin.The look in his eyes, one that I will never forget, held a sick pleasure along with a craving, a hunger. I shuddered at the thought of what he hungered for. He reached me, and stared down. Between me kneeling and him being abnormally tall, I had to crane my neck to look at his face. Before long he had begun to speak.
“Now, you can either enjoy this, or be in pain. It’s up to you.” He said. I simply sneered. I would fight him, with everything I have. If I had to go down, I would go down fighting. He reached down and I instantly started thrashing. His hand wrapped around my narrow wrist, adding even more pressure. My restraints are rough, chafing my skin with every movement. Ripping my shirt exposing my torso, he grinned. My black T-shirt hit the floor beside him. My pants and underwear soon followed. I knew it was no use to fight, but I sat on the floor, writhing until I felt like my bones were breaking. I heard my father’s sobs and screams for Rismey to stop. The pain is unbearable, causing my skin to crawl and my insides to burn. It feels as if I was being ripped in half, the pressure causing my skin to feel like it was tearing. It feels like it has been hours, though merely minutes have passed. My mind shut down, not thinking, hoping that it would be over soon. The pain was numbed as long as my mind was blank. The tears continued to flow down my face freely, wetting my lips and cheeks. I heard the distant sound of a knife, but paid no mind. My brain begged for this to stop, yet at the same time screaming for it to continue. I deserved this punishment, I didn’t stop him from hurting mother, so I shall receive her pain. My senses were dulling, and I almost wished they would come back. I’d rather feel the pain than Rismey’s sweaty body against mine. His heavy breathing in my ear. Then it all stopped.
I felt as is the world was moving in slow motion, allowing me to observe every detail. So that I may file it into my brain. Rismey’s scream pierced the air, blood pouring from his stomach. Rolling off of me, he spun, allowing me to see my father. He was standing there, back hunched and blood cascading off of him, his breath ragged. Rismey pounced, taking my father to the floor. Rismey and father rolled around, exchanging punches and kicks.
“RUN. Never turn back.!” My father screeched, narrowly missing a blow to the head. The knife that had stabbed Rismey laid on the floor, a mere foot away. Scooting myself over, I gripped the knife, my knuckles turning white. I quickly freed myself from my restraints, and stood. Grabbing a blanket, a sprinted to the door. Remembering that I had to leave, I turned. A glint caught my eye and I knew instantly what it was. Rushing over, I snatched it up and threw it onto my neck. Turning back, hoping to see my father winning, only to see Rismey lean down and sink his fangs into father’s neck.

***
My eyes flew open, scanning the room. Seeing the same ratty old bedroom, I sighed. Sweat soaked my clothes and bedsheets. The draft in the room only made me shiver more. My cot gave away no warmth, nor my blanket. Reaching blindly for the glass of water I always keep on my nightstand, my hand encircled the glass. Remembering my dream, my hand tightened. A sudden spark of pain shot from my hand. Looking over with bleary eyes only to be met with blood. Quickly dropping the glass, only further breaking it, and sprinted to the bathroom. Turning on the water, I stuck my hand under. The cold hurt, but I knew from experience to just let it wash the wound. Leaving my hand under, I reached up and retrieved the tweezers. Grasping them, I quickly set to work of prying the shards of glass out of my palm. The stinging is a relief from the numbness I have been feeling for the past eight years. It has been eating away at my insides, gnawing at my heart. Inspecting my palm, satisfied with the results. I returned the tweezers and set to work on wrapping my hand. Shedding my clothing I hopped in the shower. Using the small amount of warm water that would come, I washed my hair and face. Turning off the water before it could chill anymore, I retrieved my black towel and exited the bathroom. Grabbing some underwear I quickly threw it on. Looking at my minimal wardrobe I finally decided on a black tanktop, black skinny jeans and a black leather jacket to top it off. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I stood at 5’9”, tall for a girl I suppose, though it seemed as if everyone worth fighting still towered over me at at least 6’3. I had dark black hair hung in my eyes and down my shoulders, creamy pale skin. My most redeeming quality was probably my eyes. They were a deep sapphire most of the time. They kinda changed color with my emotions. Not just shades, totally different colors. Throwing on some socks and my trusty combat boots, I started looking for my black backpack. Finding it along with my iPod and key necklace, I slung it across my back. Before clasping the necklace, I stared at the two dog tags. They were the only items on the necklace that weren't keys. Snapping out of my daze, I pinched the clasp around my neck. Looking at the clock on the wall, I gasped.
“Oh s***! I’m going to be late!” Running out the door I jammed the key into my old black Chevy. Hearing the engine sputter I groaned.
“No-no-no! Please work!” I begged. Turning the key again I sighed in relief. The engine let out a low growl, but started to give a low purr none the less. Shifting gears into reverse I flew out of the pothole ridden driveway. Damn. I hated this car. In fact, I hated this life. Making it to school, Riverdell High, merely two minutes before the bell, I bolted out of the car. Yanking my backpack out of the passengers seat, I sprinted towards the front doors. Having being used to running, I made it to first period English 3 with Mr. Badeau in room 127. Plopping my books and journal on my desk in the back of the room, I sat crossing my legs in the process. Using my bangs to hide my face, I pulled out my notebook and began writing. Using my advanced hearing I easily picked up on the local bully, Keegan, trying to sneak up on me. Just as he was about to reach for my notebook, I “dropped” my pencil and reached down. Since Keegan is all brawn and no balance, he quickly ended up flat on his face, his momentum flinging him forward. Hiding my small chuckle, I continued writing. Scrambling up, Keegan flounced away to make out with his flavor of the week, Brittany. Or as her friends call her, Brit. Typical cheerleader. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Her most defining feature? Other than being captain of the cheer squad? She’s slept with half (if not more) of the schools male population. Disgusting. All of this happened while the teacher is setting up. Yet does he notice the mindless torture I go through? No. I can’t help but wonder how the hell some of these people get in the AP classes. Maybe it’s because they’re rich. Everyone knows that the rich get what they want handed to them on a silver platter. While everyone else has to work their asses off. That’s how the world works. And I will not be the one to waste my energy and time trying to change it.
Calling attention to himself by slapping a ruler to Brittany’s desk, the teacher begun the lesson.
“Today we will be starting The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Depending on how far you get in your reading today, I will assign you homework. You may read...” I couldn’t listen to his droning voice anymore. Discretely sticking my hand into my bag at my feet, I pulled out my charcoal pencil. Opening my notebook to a blank page, I began to draw. I drew a boys face, shaggy hair hanging over his eyes. His mouth set in a small smile. Drawing his shoulders slumped and hands hanging limp. I admired my work, trying to figure out what was missing. Before I could figure it out, Mr. Badeau called my name.
“Alice! Are you paying attention? What did I just say?” Ha! He thought he caught me by surprise. I am a master at multi-tasking.
“Of course I was listening Mr. Badeau. You said that we could read at our own pace as long as we finished by Christmas break, which is in 4 weeks. Plenty of time to finish in your opinion,” I replied sweetly, trying to look as innocent as possible. Looking at me in disdain, he huffed and continued teaching. Satisfied with outsmarting him, I returned to my drawing. Finally figuring out what it was missing, I sketched it in. Happy with how it looked I darkened the lines. The noose hung loosely around his neck, yet still constricting his breathing. Adding shading and extra details, I let my mind wander. Before It could go far, the door slammed open. There in the doorway stood the most striking man I have ever seen. He wore all black. You could easily see his muscle through his shirt. His dark raven hair hung over his eyes, yet I could clearly make out the amber color. His skin was pale, if it was on anyone else it would look sickly, and it contrasted with the black of his clothes. Realizing I was staring I quickly shook my head so that my bangs would cover my eyes. Glancing up through my hair to see if I was caught, I gasped when I saw that he was staring at me also. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were wide. Shaking his head, he strode to the front of the room, and apologized for being late. Mr. Badeau simply smiled and said to introduce and say a few things about himself.
“Hello my name is Derek and I just moved here from Colorado.” His husky voice was stiff, and it was obvious that he didn’t want to speak in front of all of us.
“Thank you Derek. Now please go take a seat next to Brittany. Brittany please raise your hand,” Mr. Badeau said softly. My eyes shifted from Derek to Brit, only to see her fluttering her eyelashes and raising her already barely covered chest. Rolling my eyes, I glanced at the empty seat next to me. Wait. Derek was going to sit next to me? Considering that the only open seat is between me and Brittany, yes. Great. Even though he looks like a Greek god, he will still become one of the many to torture me. I saw Derek glance at Brittany, and had to suppress a chuckle when I saw the look of disgust flash across his face. I don’t think anyone else notices, because his face quickly returned to one of indifference. Striding confidently down the aisle, he sat his backpack gently on the floor and sat.
“Now class, since I feel generous today, you may have the last 10 minutes of class to mingle.” Mr. Badeau said. Officially bored, I returned to my journal. Not a second later I was interrupted by high pitched giggles from my right. Sighing in annoyance, I attempted to return to my drawings, only to be interrupted once again by a small piece of paper landing on the corner of my desk. Setting my notebook down, I grasped the note. Opening it, it read: Help me! She won’t leave me alone. Having only one person that it could have came from, I turned my head slightly. Seeing Derek looking at me in such a pleading way, I couldn’t stop myself from helping him. Putting my things in my backpack in preparation for leaving, I turned to him. Seeing that I was going to help, his face flooded with relief. I know Brittany is bad, but not that bad. Maybe he just really hates girls like her. Maybe he won’t be so bad. Tapping his shoulder he gratefully turned towards me. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw Brittany attempting to glare menacingly at me. Let me just say that she was failing epically. Meeting Derek’s eyes I got lost in the intensity of them. Cheesy I know, but so true. I noticed that I was right and they were a deep topaz. Looking closer I saw that they had small flecks of yellow and gols speckled throughout the iris. Mentally smacking myself for becoming such a sap around him, I asked him about himself. He seemed much more comfortable talking to me than the whole class. Instead of answering my question he simply said,
“Thanks for saving me, I can’t stand girls like her.” Ha! Right again. I was about to respond but the bell beat me to it. Shouldering my bag, I gave a small wave of good-bye. Retreating out the door, I began to walk to my locker. Sadly, for me, my locker was quite a ways away. Sighing in defeat, I started my journey. By the time I made it to my locker the halls were clearing out. By my guess I had roughly 2 minutes to get to the other side of the building. Cursing under my breath I quickly entered my combination. Grabbing my math book and homework notebook-and of course my personal notebook, it never leaves my side- I slammed my locker shut. I had AP Calc with Miss. Armstrong. Not having any friends gives you plenty of time for studying and homework. Gathering everything in my arms I began to run. Halfway down the hallway I ran into a wall. Falling on my butt, my stuff scattering, I looked up. Realizing that it was not a wall, but Keegan. Along with his two followers Alex and Adrian. Picking me up by the collar of my jacket, he threw me against the lockers. The locks dug into my sides, and all breath ran out of me. I groaned and tried to pry Keegan’s dirty hands off of my jacket. Pulling me off of the lockers once again and dropping me with a thud. They were so in trouble now.