Revenge on an Immortal (chapter 1)

A helpless ant crawled across the side of the bath tub and it paused, analyzing the finger I had placed before it. The comparison I made may seem pathetic but after what I've been through, I don't care. Somehow the ant was similar to me, vulnerable and unknowing of it's surroundings.

The water I was soaking in had gone from warm to cold, an icy cold like his hands. There were too many things that reminded me of that one night my best friend died and so did a part of me. Andora had been so innocent and wonderful, she never had a chance to fulfill her dreams because of him.

"Richelle!" my mother cried, pounding on the door with worry. She had removed sharp things from the house when she found out about the suicidal thoughts that crossed my mind each day of my life. But water was always an option, when you've witnessed a murder. "Richelle, sweetheart, are you alright in there?"

"Yes," I replied, my teeth chattering. "I'll be right out."

No one had believed me that a vampire had killed Andora Karnley, a man with fangs and a seductive smile. That's why my friends and family treat me like a child, a delusional person who believes in the unreal. No wonder I didn't want to live anymore, all that's left is pain and sadness.

With a towel wrapped firmly around me I glared at myself in the mirror. My damp hair rested upon my shoulders; the face that looked back at me was terrified and pale. A scar was slowly healing on my cheek where Andora's murderer cut me for screaming. It was finally almost gone, the evidence slipping away but the memory lasting forever underneath. My eyes were an emerald color that use to hold sparks of happiness but now contain shadows of secrets and sadness. I'm gaunt from lose of appetite; the life seems to be drained from my features.

I suddenly understand the craving for revenge and the struggle to forgive and forget. For an emotionally wounded person, like me, revenge is addictive and obsessive, you need it at one time or another.

I sighed, too many thoughts, Richelle, a few too many. These thoughts lead to much more dangerous thoughts which empty into dangerous situations.

Trying extremely hard to keep my mind blank, I pulled on my black night clothes and quickly brushed my hair. My mother was nervously waiting for me when I opened the door with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. I raised my eyebrows at the tall glass of milk placed on the shelf against the right wall.

"I brought you some milk and cookies, sweetheart," she whispered, a weak smile on her thin lips. My mothers face was usually composed and gentle but right now the relief is present. She has light green eyes, like mine, and a fairly tan complexion. Her hair is a curly brown, which is usually pulled into an elastic until the end of the day.

I wasn't in the mood for dessert so I shrugged past her and hurried into my room. There was unfortunately no door to lock so I had no way to keep out anyone. I lack privacy just like happiness and the person-or thing-that took it from me is most likely still taking.

I collapsed on the small twin bed pushed against the left wall. It squeaked under my wieght but, ignoring it, I stared up at the ceiling while holding in the tears stinging my eyes. I could've helped Andora but I didn't, I'm a coward, a heartless coward.

The flash backs began, torturing me for the way I did and did not react. Andora and I had been so excited and thrilled that we weren't concerned about safety, we were invinsible in our minds but reality was different. Our cards weren't as lucky as we thought. The party was our desired destination that night but other people had other plans, a guy was flirting with us before we even made it inside. His face was imprinted in my mind like something perpetually carved into concrete. It lingered in my thoughts each day, his attractive pale complexion and wavy black hair. It may disgust me now, but it use to be beautiful. The most devastating image I have kept is his pointy canine teeth that revealed the true monster within, when we were trapped.

It all really started when he wouldn't let Andoras arm go and I heard the click of a pocket knife. He moved so quickly and swiftly that I only saw the glimmer of the blade and suddenly blood was everywhere. The sound of my own blood-curdling scream ripped through my mind, echoing the cold time, his eyes had turned to me then and so did his knife. It slashed across my cheek to quiet my pleads of help and it did but I continued to sob.

Andora's last words were, "Leave. Richelle. Alone." Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so lucky, because now I feel every breathe I take is a crime to friendship. Even though he never forced me to watch I couldn't just look away from the death of my best friend and my soul sister. The vampire had quenched his thirst by licking Andora's wounds dry, at the sight of this I had thrown up the dinner I had eaten. In the distance I heard commotion and felt relief that there might be a chance of surviving. But the man hadn't an ounce of sympathy in his blackened heart; he ran the blade across her neck before escaping.

"She died with little pain, mortal," he had hissed with dissatisfication, licking his bloody lips. "Don't you wish you could've taken her place?"

I rolled over, clutching my forehead in pain, the memories were too much to bear. Happiness. I need it, where can I find it?

The next morning sunlight burst through the window and danced on my face. The cookies I had declined were placed on the wooden night stand beside my bed and a blanket was tucked up to my chin. I leaned over the side of my bed and grasped a cookie, popping it into my dry mouth that tasted of a new day. It was the weekend, well, to me, everyday is a weekend, I have dropped out of school and refuse to work. So I accomplish nothing at all, a coward and a failure. The days go by quickly unless I'm visiting some of the past.

I slid off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom and shutting the door quietly. After I was done, I guzzled some orange juice but wouldn't eat breakfast, it wasn't important to me anymore. Everytime I eat I see him so what's the point in that?

Towards the end of the day, 6:46 to be exact, I went to conceal myself in the open prison people call my room. But for some reason I felt as if someone was trying to push me back into secure safety. Unfortunately, this feeling is foriegn to me and my fate was obviously to recognize it only too late. I entered my room, keeping my gaze on the floor while I yawned and prepared to strech. Just as I lifted my eyes and raised my hands toward the ceiling, I saw it. A manly figure was perched on the windowsill, his feet slowly touching the floor...