Black and Blue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

COPYRIGHT STATEMENT

Copyright © 2012 Rachel Zabala

All rights reserved.

COPYRIGHT: This story, 'Black and Blue,' including all chapters, prologues/epilogues and associated content (i.e fanfic, teasers and content within blogs, social networks and eReaders) is copyrighted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988. All rights are reserved by the owner of this work (RN Zabala) and any unauthorized copying, broadcasting, manipulation, distribution or selling of this work constitutes as an infringement of copyright. Any infringement of this copyright is punishable by law.

Punishments include but are not limited to: 

A fine of up to $150,000 for each work infringed.

Infringer pays for all attorney's fees and court costs.

The Court can issue an injunction to stop the infringing acts.

The Court can impound the illegal works.

The infringer can go to jail. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N]

Okay, so I keep taking this down and then putting it back up and then I realized I should just finish this already.

This was my first book on Wattpad and first serious book, and I want to say I've finished it. I am posting the chapters as they stand, hopefully every week or two I'll be able to do this. As of now the book isn't finished - I don't beleive I'm quite done with it yet - and is undergoing the editing process. I saw after I put things up how many holes there are, so chapters are now a bit longer and  include a bit more.

To whoever's reading this, I hope you enjoy and have way more patience than I do. Honestly I've been putting off finishing it, but now I'm ready to finally watch my baby leave the house for the first time (again).

Enjoy. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Beginning

            Tamar had come with a warning label, written in haunting bold red letters across his chest that read: I’M STANDING HERE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE DEATH IS AFRAID OF ME.When I’d met him, seen him, I was staring my puny little eighth grade eyes out. I had thought that the back of the school building would be empty and deserted when I’d stormed out there subsequent to having been kicked off the squad, salt and previously used, reused, and recycled water staining my baby blue and brick red cheer outfit as I wept silent tears. When I’d come out there I certainly hadn’t expected to be seen puking my little eyes out by none other than Tamar Lang, the school own personal walking and talking Twilight Zone. And I certainly hadn’t expected him to talk to me – to me! – A cigarette bobbing in his mouth as he asks me if I had a light on me.

            I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my mouth just dropped open – wide open and gaping in front of him. He just stared at me and asked for a light again. At the moment I couldn’t really decide which had shocked me more: the fact that he was smoking (in school of all places!) and thought that I, former cheerleading co-captain, would have a light; or the bigger thought that he, dark angel Tamar Lang, was actually speaking to me. From the first moment that Tamar had transformed from pet dog to carnivorous wolf, from a shined-and-polished-cookie-cutter-prince-charming seventh grader to the I-eat-and-puke-danger-for-breakfast eighth grader, I’d been curious and fascinated with him beyond my own belief. I wondered about him, a little more curious than I should have been. Like a little girl is when she first hears the words “vagina”, “penis”, and “sex” all in the same sentence, which *gasp!* was probably stepping over every sane boundary.

Tamar was danger beyond its limits after all.

            Dropping my gaze from his face, still not daring to look into his eyes, I read, reread and reread again the warning label that stuck out in his night black shirt. Over the summer before Tamar had gone dark, I’d heard a lot of things about him: I’d heard that before school had even started he already done it with the freshman and senior cheer teams; I’d heard that he’d had a four way, the ultimate limit, with three college girls and had tuned into his gay side and made a porno with a thirty-year old virgin; I’d heard that he’d cracked Champagne bottle over David Dalton’s head just because he told him he couldn’t have sex with his sister on his front porch. I’d even heard that he’d offered to sell condoms to an arresting officer and had gay sex again with the man to bribe himself out of jail; I’d heard that while everybody at our middle school was out on field trips and singing “Over the Rainbow” with the teachers and camp counselors and making crappy, crumbly jewelry with macaroni and pasta, he was pretending to dry out and keep clean for a couple months in rehab. Basically, I’d heard a lot of things about Tamar Lang.

            And I’d believe it all.

            Responding to his cute, cynical smirk that made me want to kneel down and anoint his feet in holy oil while I kissed the floor he stood on, I braved direct eye contact. In the almost black void of his eyes – like two burning shots of steamy espresso, as equally dark and deceptively tranquil – I had expected to see my infinite wonder of him casually flung back at me. But that isn’t what I saw in those dark eyes. Under the lethargic, sad half-moon of his pale lids, his eyes were almost apathetic; an alluring magnetic beacon towards mine. But apathy was just a cover – he wanted something, because under that there was the sharp, serrated edge of a knife pointed straight at me, a weapon that promised both protection and danger.

            I took the handle.

            “You won’t know it – not yet.” He paused to take a drag from his cigarette (and so he had a lighter after all!). “But you and I are more alike than you think.” He held the cigarette out to me as a ghostly, mesmerizing reverie of smoke curled like a thin curtain between us. “Fate has intertwined us.”