Diary Of A Vampeen Part 1

DIARY OF A VAMPEEN.

by Christin M Lovell.

This book is dedicated to my daughter Kali. May your life be as rich as Alexa's.

But we all, with open face beholding as in a gla.s.s the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.

II Corinthians 3:18 KJV.

Preface.

I'd always wondered if the myths were true. Who got it right; who didn't? Were most recent Hollywood portrayals correct? Were all vampires gorgeous, pale specimens to be swooned over? Did they all have the same eye color and choice of human or animal blood for survival? Did they sparkle in the sun or were they prohibited from soaking up its rays due to a fire hazard?

Further back, when we relied on books, were the authors more accurate in their details? Did vampires sleep in coffins and wake only at night? Were they forbidden from entering churches, touching crosses and eating garlic? Was I truly safe in my home if I didn't invite them in? If I put a mirror in front of them, would a reflection be visible?

The list went on and on; so many questions I never a.s.sumed would be answered. They simply sat in the back of my mind; a slow curiosity that didn't agitate me, but I'd have loved to kill it.

Perhaps that's their appeal though. Because there was no conclusive evidence I could manipulate the image of these immortals (the only consistency in all the books and movies) to be whatever was attractive to me. My imagination was allowed to love an Edward, a Dracula or Lestat because nothing was concrete factually speaking about vampires... until my sixteenth birthday when I learned all but one of the above is inaccurate.

Chapter 1.

I knew he was different from the moment I laid eyes on him. Not different in a paranormal or supernatural sense; just different. I could tell he wasn't superficial like the majority of high school students. He had a better grasp on life than most of us yet I didn't understand how or why.

He was gorgeous standing there in all his glory. A buff body; strong, angular features that made his beauty harsh; he was hard, dark. He held mystery and intrigue. He was far from approachable yet his eyes, the most beautiful emeralds I'd ever seen, drew me in. His aura called to me yet his body language pushed everyone away. A red i-Pod nano was attached to the bulk of his bicep, a lure to his strength. It was pumping music through his earphones as our eyes locked from opposite sides of the hall.

"h.e.l.lo?! Earth to Lexi!" Mel frantically waved her hands in front of my zoned out face.

He looked away, breaking eye contact with me. A second later he closed his locker and walked away leaving my heart racing. It took me a good minute to clear my head.

"h.e.l.lo?! Lex!" Mel practically screamed my name for the entire world to hear and know. She's my best friend; I love her, but patience isn't her strong suit.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Yea, yea. Let's go so we're not late for cla.s.s!"

"I'll see you later babe," Mike said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. I instantly blushed.

I was still adjusting to the idea that fat, four-eyed, less than perfect skin me had a boyfriend. A wonderfully devoted boyfriend who called me beautiful while others announced my hips down the hall. I was curvy. Ok, so I was extra, extra curvy with a side of cottage cheese. I guess that explained the nickname "hungry hippo."

Cooper River High School is like all others. It has your jocks and preps, the kings and queens of the school who flaunt their perfection daily and make your inferior comparison public knowledge. Jason, the all American dream boy, a.k.a. the quarterback for the Riverdogs, and Jenny, the teen queen, a.k.a. the captain of the cheerleading squad, thought it was appropriate to attach the board game 'Hungry, Hungry Hippos' to my locker with cement glue. I was mortified. I guess you can understand why I decided to forgo the locker this year.

"Babe?" Mike prompted, interrupting my memories, while studying me closely. His brows furrowed in appraisal.

A smile slowly crept on my face as I looked in his eyes. "See you later."

"Oh G.o.d. Can we cut the mush and get going?" Mel was tapping her foot expectantly.

"I'm coming," I droned.

"Wow. There is a G.o.d," she stated rolling her eyes.

"Oh stop! I thought you were happy for me?" I teased.

"I was... until you started subjecting me to regular p.i.a." We were power walking to cla.s.s by this point.

"P.i.a.?"

"Yea, p.i.a.: puke inducing actions."

"Ugh, gross." I felt my face wrinkle in response to her twisted acronym.

We raced through the door just as the final bell rang.

As I scurried towards my desk, I froze. There, two desks back from mine, was him. My breath caught and I knew, had I needed to speak, I wouldn't have been able to. As cliche as it sounds, he took my breath away.

Mel came to my rescue tugging me down in the seat behind her. "What has gotten into you today?!" she scolded in a rushed whisper as Mrs. Henderson, our ancient, highly eccentric teacher, approached the front.

I was irritated. I had never been stunned into a statue before. There was something about this new interest that stopped me dead in my tracks. I literally lost all train of thought simply caught up in the glory of him. That alone was highly unusual for me. I was never affected by outward beauty which is all I had to go on at this point. I'd learned the hard way that unless you were equally accepted by society as an ideal model of physical perfection, you never stood a chance. I never stood a chance, and I forced myself to be blind to the beautiful to avoid ever making a fool out of myself.

The rest of the period pa.s.sed. Regardless of what I did, I couldn't shake Mr. Emerald Eyes from my mind. Fear momentarily reared its nasty head at the somewhat obsessive a.n.a.lyzation my thoughts were doing over him. I'm certainly a.n.a.lytical by nature, perhaps overly at times, but not to the point of insanity which was the steady job my dear head was angling towards over this new boy... no, man? It didn't fit him. I could tell he was an old soul, but I couldn't define him properly.

By the time I packed my stuff, Mike was waiting by the door.

"Hey babe," he beamed. "Mel," he spoke her name with disdain clearly on his tongue.

"Don't start," she snapped.

"So. You two going to Barnes and No-bell tonight?" he asked as I walked towards the door.

"Of course. You know we always go on Thursdays."

"Hmm. I'm thinking I could be in the coffee mood tonight," he smirked.

Mel rolled her eyes. It was justified though. Despite him being my boyfriend, when it came to outside social events, Mike was unreliable. I didn't mind though because I never attended social events unless you counted my weekly B&N run with Mel. Every Thursday night, come rain or s.h.i.+ne, Mel and I went to B&N. It was a ritualistic gathering we'd been addicted to since our first trip in sixth grade, exactly a year after we'd met.

Apparently I'd left my body again because I returned to Mel and Mike arguing with me in-between.

"You are such a c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Mel harrumphed.

"Sounds like you're jealous of my confidence."

"More like majorly turned off!"

"I didn't know you were attracted to me like that."

"I'm not you jerk!" She was steaming p.i.s.sed. I could tell she was about to explode. Mike knew how to push b.u.t.tons; not only b.u.t.tons but boundaries, and for some reason he found Mel the most amusing to push around.

"Mike, please. Don't start," I pleaded, angling my eyes to do the same.

"Yea, Michael, don't start something you can't finish," Mel tossed in.

"Guys," I groaned. They were always fighting. I would have pulled my hair out by now if they each hadn't confided that they enjoyed the banter. They bickered like siblings all the time.

"Sorry babe," Mike pulled me in closer as we breeched the bus lines.

"Mel, is your Mom dropping you off or do you need my dad to pick you up?"

"I think she said she's dropping me off after she picks up Kyle from practice."

"Ok. I'll see you later," I waved.

"Later gator," she grinned as she walked towards her bus. Ironically, she and Mike rode the same one.

It was me who was alone; I was left to be tortured by the neighborhood kids who reinforced the 'hungry hippo' byline. My saving grace was the occasional times that Justin rode it. I was able to get lost in conversation with him rather than be forced to listen to their jeers.

"Want me to ride home with you babe? I can call my mom to get me later," Mike offered, pus.h.i.+ng my hair away from my face.

"Thanks, but I'll be ok." I tried to plaster the best smile I could manage, but it was meager at best. He didn't talk about it, but Mike knew the way people taunted me. I was just grateful that he tolerated it while holding my hand proudly.

"'kay. I'll call you," he announced softly kissing my lips before leaving to rejoin Mel. Every time he kissed me, little b.u.t.terflies fluttered about inside me. It wasn't an overwhelming pa.s.sion that burst through my soul, but rather a simplistic enjoyment that kindled.

Luck was on my side. Justin was waiting for me.

Chapter 2.

"Mom, are you home?" I called walking through the front door.

"In the kitchen!" she yelled back to me. I dropped my book bag and slid off my shoes by the door before skipping through the living room to our large open kitchen.

My mother was already preparing my dinner. We never ate the same meal or shared an evening at the dining table. It was our routine to go our separate ways. I took my plate into my room, usually chatted through my consumption on the phone with Mel, while she ate in the company of my dad downstairs when he returned home. By the time I retreated from my room my parents were typically snuggled together on the couch watching their crime shows.

After school was the official time I interacted with my mom daily. I normally sat at a barstool nestled to the granite covered island while she cooked my dinner. We discussed random topics pertaining to our day; reflected upon the one-offs of our lives. Despite our age difference and her formal approach to most subjects, I could talk with her about almost anything. The one exception to this would be boys.

She's a part time real estate agent and my dad an engineer. I'd always been close to my mom since my dad tended to work long hours.

"So how was school today honey?" she interrupted my thoughts while stirring the contents in the pot.

"Egh. Same stuff, different day. We reenacted the start of the Civil War today in history. Coach got smacked a few times with our paper bombs which was a.s.sumptive with the project."

"How did you do on your Spanish test?"

"Mom, I speak better Spanish than Mrs. Watson." She clearly picked up on the twinge of mockery.

"I guess I should know better by now," she beamed with approval.

"Of course," I smiled. "Oh, Mel's mom is dropping her off tonight so Dad doesn't have to pick her up on his way home."

"You may want to text him so he doesn't go out of his way," she advised. It still sounded strange to hear her mention the word text let alone imply it as an action to or with my dad. Since when did this communication form leak into the adult world anyways?

"Yes Ma'am!" I saluted. I quickly sent the text.

My mom, Sharon, was always a beautiful woman. I'd never met a woman with the same stature and beauty hold her ma.s.s appeal. I suppose the closest relation would be the late Princess Diana. She was dignified and cla.s.sy yet still down to earth and approachable. I a.s.sumed that was how she sold so many houses, but her perfect body added to her success as well most of her clients tended to be rich bachelors.

She carried an exotic aura physically that was muted by her size four, Joan Clever-esk appearance. She wore long dark brown hair that slightly waved as it fell, light skin and dazzling green eyes to match her full pink lips. It was in that moment, observing her beautiful eyes that he popped in my mind. I had to suppress a s.h.i.+ver just at the thought of him. His face, his eyes, so vividly and intensely glared at me within my thoughts. I shook my head returning to study my mother again.

I'd always envied my mother's looks. Everywhere we'd go people stared at her and complimented her every move. As a result, I harbored body issues over the constant comparison. She's the epitome of a m.i.l.f. according to Jason Kelly. (I wish he never saw her but couldn't help that she sold his parents their house.) And I was the definition of a fat blob, or so I felt most of the time.

I was the odd one out in our family. My dad had an athletic build that matched my mother's. His hair had peppered with grey the last two years but remained as thick and full as the day he married my mom. Add in his brown eyes, nice farmer's tan and flawlessly balanced profile and they were the picture of perfection as a couple.

Every now and then my mom would try to do a "buddy workout" with me, but it never transferred to a routine. Though she's concerned about my health, she never pushed me or hurt my feelings with overly ambitious attempts to guilt me into a diet. I loved that about my parents. They loved me but never smothered me with parental nonsense.

I chatted with my mother while eating at the kitchen island. It was a good change in scenery over my room. She mindlessly cleaned as she described her newest client a former NFL player recently divorced and searching for a waterfront retreat near Folly Beach. She thought it odd he didn't choose Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head, but she never faltered when it came to giving her clients what they wanted.

An hour after I emptied my bowl of veggie pasta, Stewart, my dad, walked through the front door mid conversation with my mom over reality TV.

"Ready to go kiddo?" he asked as he strolled into the kitchen. He greeted my mother with a kiss.

"How did you know I was in here?" I pondered aloud.