The Vampire's Mistress (A Beautiful Bite) Book 1

Chapter 1

6:30am

IT WAS THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, which meant it was my last chance to escape. I didn't have much on me, only a couple of dollars that could buy me a one way bus ticket, and a phone that was dead. I had no ride, and the only bus station that was close to where I lived, was an hours walk from here. I didn't have what most people would call "a plan" but it didn't matter. There was no way I was going to stay here, and attend at Salem Woods Academy. The filtered morning sun was still new in the sky as I wriggled myself into a pair of jeans, and grabbed a warm gray sweater- this early in the morning, and this far north, I had forgotten how cold December could be. I knotted my hair and shoved it into a tuque, while stepping into my snow boots. It felt wise to remain quite, however my parents needles to say weren't morning people, so they would sleep like the dead until the late morning hours. I glanced over to my window, playing in my mind the best point of escape. However my room being on the third floor, with a twenty five foot drop to the ground, the window wasn't my best option. I couldn't escape if falling out a window and breaking both legs was as far as was going to get, I'd say the back door was my best and safer bet.

The cold, early morning air of winter stung at my skin, and the snow crunched underneath my slow, steady pace. For a moment I stood, glancing through my dim lighted yard, replaying my childhood in a flash in case I were to forget it. I crept over to the swing my dad had built me when I was five. I placed my hand on the cold rubber of the tire that hung carelessly from the tree like a corpse, that was effortlessly swaying in the wind. Pain wallowed in my heart, and I could feel the urge of sorrow build in the base of my throat. Could I really be leaving for good? I can't imagine how hurt they will be. How would they handle finding that their daughter is missing? My mother would be torn. She has been the one I've idolized ever since I was a little girl. Every day when I went to school she would stand on the steps of the house, and watch with a stream of tears leaving her eyes as I climbed aboard the bus. It was only for a couple of hours, she was sensitive, and figured it was our final goodbye.

I turned to my house and glanced up to my window, picturing my room and my soft warm bed. My collection of antique horses lined up along my mirror, right next to my jewelry box. My porcelain dolls that would sit in silence, and stare at me like mindless disciples of a corrupted individual.

I shook off all my emotions that had me drowned with doubt, and headed toward the gate. Being mentally and physically unprepared, this whole trek was wicked dangerous, but I had already gotten as far as surviving the escape portion of my plan, there really was no use going back. I waddled to the fence. My feet sunk into the deep, cold snow, however pulling my feet out pried off my boot in the process. Annoyed I hopped on one foot until I came to the fence, leaning on it until my foot reclaimed its rightful place back in my soggy boot. I began to climb the fence until I hit a rather vivid realization, that maybe it truly isn't wise to climb a fence in this weather. Due to it being in the middle of winter, the fence is probably frozen and really slippery, and the last thing I want to do is fall to the hard and unforgiving pavement, and break my neck before I can even make it away from my house. Wouldn't be much of an escape if I were dead. That would be such a lousy way to die, just imagine how my parents would react to finding me like that. I feel like my father would be ashamed rather than forlorn. Or maybe he would be mad considering that my death from that height would probably make a lot of noise, and It would have woken him from his hibernation. I could just picture the headline in the local news paper.

"Girl found dead, should have stayed home"

I pushed my body into the crevasse between the gate and the fence, sucking in my belly to fit snuggly through. The cold wood felt rough against my delicate skin,  my  arm shaved off a film of snow  as it passed through. Finally I pulled my head through the gate, and caught a strand of my hair on a piece of metal that was jutting out the side. Instantly pain splintered in my scalp, and I grew increasingly angry. I tugged on my hair, desperate to free it, but it only caused more pain. Anyone would agree especially a girl, that one way to set someone off, is to pull on their hair. I could only imagine myself in a fight. I would through my arms in the air with chaos, clawing at any bitch who thought it would be wise to tempt me, and pull at my hair. I would flip her on her ass, and pin her down. I would have ripped a fistful of her air out in one yank, and see how she would like it. While being pinned down, I would hammer fist her face until she blacked out, or worse died. Chances are I probably would get arrested from the things I would do to someone if they pulled my hair, however if it made my point clear, to never mess with me or pull my hair again, it would be worth it. I was short, skinny and had a fragile looking exterior, however I had one hell of a temper. I've gotten in countless fights because of it. I remember my dad and a couple of the other fathers who were at my birthday, had to pull me off one of the girls at when I was ten. I was my sand box in my back yard with two of who I thought were my friends, one of them who was far richer and older than I am thought it would be funny to throw sand in my face, of course when she did she found out the hard way that it was anything but funny. I knocked her front teeth out with a rock, blood splattered in my face and she tried to run away. But I tackled her, and repeatedly started swinging at her face. I remember hearing her scream, but that's all. When I have an outburst like that I tend to lose thought, remorse and grief. I don't care really about who I hurt, or what I damage, but at that age, who really did? Everyone who was there was afraid of me, even the adults. I didn't know whether to be proud of the accomplishment or, ashamed. I was never really a troubled kid, I guess I really just needed the attention. I guess the horrors of the real world, and what it did to people contracted my rage. My dad never tried to reason with me, cause I scared him. When I was young I thought it was cool to be dominant. But now that I was older and more mature, I realized how much of an idiot I  was. Even though I hate myself for being the brat I was, the bitch still got what she deserved.