Gnisterne flyver

The waves crashed against the cliffs of Nova Scotia with an almost musical rhythm, but Aria Morgan knew better. After three years of studying marine biology at the remote Blackrock Research Station, she had learned to distinguish between natural ocean sounds and something more... peculiar. Tonight, there was definitely something different in the water's song.

Standing on the observation deck of the research facility, her long dark hair whipping in the salty breeze, Aria focused her night vision binoculars on the churning waters below. The full moon cast an ethereal glow across the surface, making it easier to spot any unusual movement. That's when she saw it - a flash of iridescent scales, much too large to be any known fish species.

"You're out here late again," a deep voice spoke behind her. Dr. Nathaniel Cross, the facility's new head of cryptozoology, stood in the doorway. His presence had been causing quite a stir among the female staff since his arrival last month, with his storm-gray eyes and the mysterious scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw. But Aria had noticed something else about him - the way he always seemed to appear whenever the strange occurrences happened.

"There's something out there, Dr. Cross," Aria said, not taking her eyes off the water. "Something big."

"Please, call me Nate," he said, moving to stand beside her. His proximity sent an involuntary shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "And I know. That's why I'm here."

Before Aria could question what he meant, a haunting melody drifted up from the waters below. It wasn't quite singing - more like an otherworldly humming that seemed to resonate in her very bones. To her surprise, she found herself taking an unconscious step toward the railing, drawn by the sound.

Nate's hand shot out, gripping her arm. "Don't listen too closely," he warned, his voice tight with concern. "They're hunting tonight."

"They?" Aria tried to shake off the melody's lingering effect. "Who are 'they'?"

Just then, a figure emerged from the waves - a woman with silvery skin and long, phosphorescent hair. Her eyes glowed with an unnatural blue light, and when she opened her mouth to continue her song, Aria saw rows of sharp, pearl-like teeth. The creature's beauty was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

"Sirens," Nate whispered, his grip on Aria's arm tightening. "Real ones. Not the sanitized versions from your fairy tales."

The siren's gaze locked onto them, and her song changed, becoming more focused, more enticing. Aria felt Nate tense beside her, and when she looked at him, she was shocked to see his eyes had taken on a silvery sheen, reflecting the moonlight like a cat's.

"We need to get inside," he said through gritted teeth, though he seemed to be fighting the urge to move closer to the railing himself. "Now."

But as they turned to leave, Aria caught sight of something in the water that made her blood run cold. Dozens of glowing eyes had appeared beneath the waves, and more figures were rising to the surface. Their songs began to intertwine, creating a symphony of supernatural beauty and terror.

"Dr. Cross... Nate," Aria's voice trembled slightly. "What's really going on at this facility?"

He finally turned to look at her fully, and in the moonlight, she could see that his scar was glowing with a faint blue light. "It's not just a research station, Aria. It's a containment facility. We monitor and protect humanity from ancient creatures that most people think are myths. And right now," he glanced back at the water where more sirens were emerging, "something has disturbed them. Something that hasn't happened in over a hundred years."

"What?" Aria asked, though part of her feared the answer.

"They're looking for their lost queen," Nate's voice was grim. "And for some reason, they think she's here."

A particularly powerful wave crashed against the cliffs, sending spray high enough to reach the observation deck. As the droplets hit Aria's skin, she felt a strange tingling sensation, and for just a moment, her reflection in the window showed her eyes glowing with the same ethereal blue light as the creatures below.

Nate saw it too. His expression shifted from concern to something more complex - fear, fascination, and what looked almost like recognition. "We need to talk," he said quietly. "About your mother. About why you were really assigned to this facility. And about why you've always felt so drawn to the sea."

The siren's song grew louder, more insistent, and Aria felt something stir within her - ancient memories that couldn't possibly be her own, yet somehow were. As she followed Nate inside, one thought kept repeating in her mind: her life as she knew it was about to change forever, and there would be no going back to the simple world of marine biology and research papers.

Behind them, the sirens continued their haunting chorus, their songs now carrying a note of triumph. They had found what they were looking for.

The facility's underground laboratory was a maze of steel and glass, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that made everything look clinical and cold. Aria followed Nate through a series of security checkpoints, each requiring increasingly complex biometric scans. Her mind was still reeling from the events on the observation deck, the sirens' song echoing in her memory.

        "How long have you known?" she finally asked as they entered what appeared to be his private office. Unlike the sterile corridors outside, this room was filled with artifacts that looked ancient - shells with strange markings, crystals that seemed to pulse with their own inner light, and walls covered in charts mapping underwater ley lines.

        Nate moved to a heavily secured cabinet, his fingers dancing across a complex lock. "Since the moment you arrived at Blackrock. Your bio-readings were... unique." He pulled out a thick file with her name on it. "But your mother knew long before that."

        "My mother?" Aria's voice cracked. "She died when I was three. All I have are some photos and my father's stories about her love for the ocean."

        "Your mother didn't die, Aria." Nate's voice was gentle but firm as he placed an old photograph on his desk. "She returned."

        The photograph showed a woman standing on these very cliffs, her wild dark hair streaming in the wind. She looked exactly like Aria, except for her eyes - they held that same otherworldly blue glow Aria had seen in her own reflection moments ago.

        "That's impossible," Aria whispered, but even as she spoke, memories began to surface - the way she could hold her breath for impossibly long periods, her uncanny ability to predict storms, the strange songs that sometimes filled her dreams.

        Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a low vibration ran through the building. Nate's expression turned serious. "They're testing the barriers," he said, moving to a bank of monitors showing underwater footage. Multiple figures darted past the cameras, their movements too quick and graceful to be human.

        "What barriers?" Aria asked, joining him at the monitors.

        "Electromagnetic fields designed to keep them at bay. But with their queen so close..." He glanced at her meaningfully. "They're stronger than usual."

        "I am not their queen," Aria said firmly, though something deep inside her stirred at the words.

        "No, but you're her daughter. The first successful hybrid in centuries." Nate pulled up more files on his computer. "Your mother was their queen, and when she fell in love with your father, it created a diplomatic crisis. A siren queen choosing a human was unprecedented."

        The vibrations grew stronger, and somewhere in the facility, an alarm began to sound. On the monitors, the sirens' movements became more coordinated, more purposeful.

        "They're not just testing anymore," Nate muttered. He grabbed what looked like an ancient trident from a wall display. "They're breaking through."

        Aria's head suddenly filled with voices - not speaking English, but a fluid, musical language she somehow understood. They were calling to her, telling her to come home, to take her rightful place.

        "Make it stop," she gasped, pressing her hands to her temples.

        Nate reached for her, but stopped short when he saw her eyes - they were glowing brighter now, and her skin had taken on a slight iridescent sheen. "Fight it, Aria. You're not just one of them. You're both human and siren. That's what makes you special."

        The facility shook more violently, and the lights went out completely. In the darkness, Nate's eyes glowed silver again, and Aria could finally ask the question that had been nagging at her.

        "What are you?" she whispered. "You're not entirely human either, are you?"

        Before he could answer, the reinforced windows of his office exploded inward in a shower of glass and seawater. In the opening hovered three sirens, their beauty terrible and magnificent. The one in the center spoke, her voice carrying both authority and disdain.

        "Step away from the princess, Guardian. She belongs with her people."

        Nate raised the trident, which began to glow with an electric blue light. "She belongs where she chooses to belong."

        As seawater swirled around them, Aria felt power surge through her body - raw, ancient, and demanding to be released. She had a choice to make, but first, she needed answers.

        "Tell me everything," she said, her voice carrying a new note of command that surprised even her. "About my mother, about what you are," she looked at Nate, "and about why I'm really here."

        The siren queen smiled, showing those pearl-like teeth. "Oh, little princess. You're here because a war is coming. And you," her glow intensified, "are the key to everything."

The seawater swirling around Aria's feet felt alive, responding to her emotions like an extension of her body. The three sirens remained suspended in the shattered window frame, their ethereal forms casting an otherworldly glow throughout Nate's flooded office. The lead siren - who had introduced herself as Cordelia, First General of the Deep Realm - watched her with ancient eyes that held both wisdom and cunning.

        "Your mother's choice started this war," Cordelia said, her voice carrying the rhythm of waves. "When she chose your father, she didn't just abandon her throne - she disrupted a balance that had existed for millennia. The Deep Realm has been without a true queen for twenty years, and the dark ones grow bolder each day."

        "The dark ones?" Aria asked, acutely aware of Nate's tension beside her, his grip tightening on the glowing trident.

        "The Abyssal Court," Nate answered grimly. "Think of them as your people's darker cousins. While the sirens of the Deep Realm protect the oceans, the Abyssal Court seeks to corrupt them. Without a queen's power to maintain the barriers..."

        "They're breaking free," Cordelia finished. "Even now, they gather in the deep trenches, preparing for war. Only a queen's song can reinforce the ancient seals."

        Aria felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on her like the ocean itself. "And you think I can do this? I don't even know how to control whatever... this is." She gestured to her still-glowing skin.

        "That's why I'm here," a new voice spoke from the doorway. Aria turned to see a woman she'd only known from photographs - her mother. Nerissa, former queen of the Deep Realm, stood in the threshold, looking exactly as she had twenty years ago. Her presence made the very air vibrate with power.

        "Mom?" Aria whispered, emotions warring inside her.

        Nerissa's eyes - the same otherworldly blue as Aria's now were - filled with tears. "My daughter. My beautiful, brave daughter. I'm so sorry I had to leave you, but it was the only way to keep you safe while your powers matured."

        "Safe from what?" Aria demanded, anger suddenly surging through her. The water around her feet began to churn in response.

        "From those who would use you," Nate interjected, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness. "The Guardians weren't always noble protectors, Aria. Some believed that controlling a hybrid princess would give them power over both realms."

        "Like your father did?" Nerissa's voice turned cold as she addressed Nate. "Is that why you're so close to my daughter? Following in Marcus Cross's footsteps?"

        The tension in the room sparked like electricity. Nate's silver eyes flashed dangerously. "I am not my father."

        "Enough!" Aria's voice carried a new power, making everyone in the room freeze. The water around her feet rose in spiraling columns, responding to her command. "I want the truth. All of it. No more cryptic warnings or half-answers."

        Suddenly, the facility's emergency sirens blared to life. On Nate's monitors, dark shapes appeared in the deeper waters - humanoid figures with shark-like features and glowing red eyes.

        "The Abyssal Court," Cordelia hissed. "They've found us."

        "They found her," Nerissa corrected, moving to Aria's side. "They can sense your awakening power, daughter. We're out of time."

        The facility shuddered as something massive struck it from below. Through the broken window, Aria could see dark forms rising from the depths, their movements predatory and purposeful. The water around her feet turned ice-cold.

        "You have to choose now," Nate said urgently. "But know this - whatever you decide, I'll stand with you." His eyes met hers, and in them she saw not just duty or ambition, but something deeper, something personal.

        "As touching as that is, Guardian," Cordelia interrupted, "she needs to come with us. Only in the Deep Realm can she learn to control her powers in time."

        Another impact rocked the facility. In the distance, Aria could hear screams - the research staff, she realized with horror. They were unprotected, unaware of what was really happening.

        "I won't let innocent people die," Aria declared, feeling strength flow through her. "Mom, Cordelia - help me protect the facility. Nate..." she turned to him, "teach me how to fight."

        "Always choosing both worlds," Nerissa murmured, a mix of pride and worry in her voice. "Just like your mother."

        As the Abyssal Court's forces surrounded the facility, Aria felt something click into place inside her. She was neither fully human nor fully siren, neither wholly of land nor of sea. But perhaps that's exactly what both worlds needed.

        "Well then," she said, as power coursed through her veins and the song of the sea filled her mind, "let's show these dark ones what a hybrid princess can do."

        The water around her erupted upward, turning into a swirling shield of liquid crystal, just as the first of the dark figures burst through the facility's lower levels. The war for two worlds was about to begin, and Aria stood at its center, with a Guardian at her side and the power of two realms flowing through her blood.

The next few minutes dissolved into chaos. The Abyssal Court's warriors crashed through the facility's lower levels like a dark tide, their shark-like features twisted into snarls of hunger and hatred. Aria's crystalline water shield held against the first wave, but she could feel their darkness pressing against her power, trying to corrupt it.

        "Channel your emotions through the water," Nerissa instructed, her own powers creating whirlpools that trapped several attackers. "The sea responds to authentic feeling, not just will."

        Nate moved with inhuman grace, the trident in his hands leaving trails of electric blue energy as he fought. "We need to evacuate the research staff," he called out between strikes. "They're gathering near the main lab."

        Aria closed her eyes for a moment, and suddenly she could feel every drop of water in the facility - in the pipes, in the air, in human bodies. The awareness was overwhelming. "I can feel them," she gasped. "Everyone. Everything."

        "That's your queen's sense awakening," Cordelia explained, her own song turning violent as she fought. "You're connecting to your realm."

        An explosion rocked the lower level, and through her new awareness, Aria felt something massive entering the facility. The temperature of the water dropped dramatically, and even the sirens looked concerned.

        "Thalassos," Nerissa whispered, fear evident in her voice. "The Abyssal Prince himself."

        Through the broken floor emerged a figure that seemed made of living darkness. Unlike his warriors, Prince Thalassos appeared almost human, devastatingly beautiful in a cruel way. His eyes were the color of the deepest ocean trenches, and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed like black pearls.

        "The little princess awakens," his voice was like the crushing depths given sound. "How convenient. I was afraid I'd have to wait longer to claim my bride."

        "Bride?" Aria and Nate spoke simultaneously, his voice sharp with anger, hers with shock.

        "Did they not tell you?" Thalassos moved closer, his presence making the water around him turn black. "The only way to truly end the war between our courts is through union. Your mother refused me twenty years ago. But you..." his dark eyes roamed over her face, "you're even more powerful than she was."

        Nate stepped between them, the trident glowing brighter. "She's not a prize to be claimed, Thalassos."

        The Abyssal Prince's laugh was like ice cracking. "Ah, the Guardian speaks. Tell me, son of Marcus Cross, does your protection come from duty... or jealousy?"

        Before anyone could respond, a scream echoed from the main lab. Through her water sense, Aria felt the research staff's terror as more Abyssal warriors surrounded them.

        "Choose quickly, princess," Thalassos said smoothly. "Surrender to me, and I'll spare them all. Refuse, and watch your human friends feed my warriors."

        Aria felt rage build inside her - pure, hot, and powerful. The water around her began to glow, not with her mother's blue light or Thalassos's darkness, but with a brilliant purple that seemed to combine both aspects of her nature.

        "You want an answer?" Her voice carried the crash of waves and the strength of tidepools. "Here it is."

        She thrust her hands forward, and every drop of water in the facility responded. It rose from pipes, condensed from air, pulled from the sea itself. But instead of attacking, it began to sing - a new song, neither fully siren nor fully human, but something entirely unique.

        The Abyssal warriors closest to her began to writhe, their corrupted forms starting to purify under her hybrid power. Thalassos's eyes widened in genuine surprise, then narrowed in fury.

        "Impossible," he snarled. "No one can purify the Abyssal taint!"

        "She's not no one," Nate said, pride evident in his voice. "She's both of your worlds, and neither. And that makes her stronger than either."

        Aria's song grew stronger, and she felt Nate's energy joining with hers, the Guardian's power amplifying her own. Her mother and Cordelia added their voices, creating a harmony that made the very foundations of the facility vibrate.

        But Thalassos wasn't finished. With a roar of rage, he released his own power - a wave of such absolute darkness that it threatened to swallow all light. "If I cannot have you," he growled, "then no one will!"

        The two forces met in a spectacular clash of energy. In that moment, as purple light battled primordial darkness, Aria felt something else stirring in the depths beneath the facility - something ancient and powerful, awakened by their battle.

        "The Leviathan," Nerissa breathed. "The battle... it's waking the ancient ones."

        As if in response, a deep rumble shook the entire ocean floor, and everyone - siren, human, and Abyssal alike - froze in sudden, instinctive fear.

        In the brief silence, Aria heard Nate whisper, "Whatever happens next, Aria, know that I-"

        But his words were cut off as the floor beneath them cracked open, and the true power of the deep made its presence known. The war between courts had awakened something far older and more dangerous than any of them had imagined.

        And deep in her soul, Aria knew - this was only the beginning.

Synopsis

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Synopsis
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Så her er jeg så, og planen er enkel. Smil dig igennem hver dag og undgå hende for enhver pris.
Det er perfekt.
Indtil den kæphøje quarterback kommer i spil.
Det Usicdustei,h wje&g ønsJkVeLrj,c er qhFaóngst skæ*veO .grién ogÉ mø^rkZeblrrunZe Jøj&nVe' dfMofkDu.sZermet pkå hmigN.S
Alligevel er han her, konstant i mit rum, skubber mig, udfordrer mig til at bekymre mig. Fortæller mig, hvad jeg tænker og føler, som om han ved det.
Han ved ikke noget som helst. Og det har jeg tænkt mig at lade det forblive sådan.
Han er den ihærdige playboy, der nægter at gå væk. Jeg er den ubevægelige nye pige, der ikke har noget tilbage at give.
Tti!n.genóeI nerQ vJed atO HbkliKvye koNmplicereXd)e'.Q

Kapitel 1 (1)

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Kom ud med mig i aften, sagde hun. Det skal nok blive sjovt, lovede hun.
Ja... ikke så meget.
Jeg truæNkkWezrh mDig serlÉv uFd afP adet hIj)ørGnZe, hóvorrr jejg tgik xi! dæPkninKgV, og bkaigger på) denT AmericannN GPie-KlUigne)nMde 'fiHlmsczeXnLe,N deSrc udsgpPille&rY sig forhan m.igF. $Men i PdenMnek )v$e$r,siRoGn efrf deétN 'l'aqtteGrligt TfVlCottze Imgænd ogg (aKlt fPohrÉ vsexWexdle ckvindeIr),L dFera p*ara*dPereJr rrunQdKt i zextI horymroLnOelptH lsyu_su okg slFipVpperY siKgq lRøs$ Ppwå gruxn(dT Aaf alTkozhKo'lN. hJezg smewnerr,Y 'j!egJ Of!orfsRtnåsrL detM gkoddt.k Fovllks mkSaanu aplZdRrig DvFæUrei Adremn el)ler. qdKest,L TdNer IøVnsketrp.é DIe kkia(n a!lndriqg SvMæérme æ^rkl,igjeD Qog _ærliigSe.
Alkohol gør en af to ting for dig i gymnasiet: det giver dig modet til at fortælle sandheden eller friheden til at glemme den. Så de fester, drikker sig fulde, finder sammen, gør og siger dumme ting, og til sidst tager de et eksempel fra Jamie Foxx og "giver alkoholen skylden for det".
Tag for eksempel Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts-lookalike - før makeover, det vil sige - som lige er blevet hevet op på køkkenbordet af en høj, mørkhåret fyr, hvis ansigt jeg ikke kan se. Hun bider sig i underlæben og gnider knæene sammen, idet hun tydeligvis forsøger at ophidse denne fyr, der uden tvivl kun ser en ansigtsløs skøge.
Hun spreder sine ben og trækker ham ind mellem dem. Straks dypper han sine læber mod hendes hals, og hun vikler sine ben om hans ryg. De er tre lag for vinden, og han har noget, hun vil have.
Ja, ailtM IdeHttqeg snkFeJrV mm(idftI i eÉn Sfóesqt,Y ZoPgA ningenD syne&s_ at væérue ligegslaódeR.!
Fantastisk.
For at komme over på den anden side af lokalet må jeg sno mig gennem de kroppe, der er proppet sammen på det interimistiske dansegulv. Det lyder ikke som en god tid at børste kropsdele mod fulde, liderlige gymnasieelever, som jeg ikke kender, men det er tilsyneladende min eneste udvej. Så jeg undgår et famlen her og en albue der og finder vej ud af den smattet zone, og får kun et par beskidte blikke undervejs.
Smålige røvhuller.
D$a _jeg drAeSj'er ruhnd.t MoUm ah^jPørnOet KogY VkoGmm$e)r qi_ndQ uiq dgemtw,Z tsoNm djeg formodehr Qerr sntuLejnu, Jla*dneBr jéegs miIne øjnje tvrand&rep zrCuLndt. AlhlZew jmøblMedr$nTe Cer skuVbbet* opQ Jmod^ dze lXyxsebrune vægge. Et pamr mce.nJnOes,kePr erS fOaAldget wom,J m(ens and)rer hygógteQr. 'stiggD Tppå de lKaNguneÉrklædte BsioBfaYe^rV, ovgJ de'r^ er eRt beéerF YpóoYng-s_pYil i cgangj jlriQg*e miMdtd yi émimdte$nx.
I det mindste er der trægulve.
Jeg ser på, hvordan en stor, kraftig fyr kaster den lille hvide bold, så den lander i den røde kop i den modsatte ende af bordet. Jublen bryder ud i hele lokalet.
Modstanderholdet grynter, da en af fyrene samler koppen op og drikker dens indhold på få sekunder. Jeg står der og ser dem spille i godt tyve minutter og vender mig først om for at gå, da de piger, der hænger rundt omkring, begynder at klæde sig af for at hjælpe med at "motivere" spillerne. Det er deres ord, ikke mine.
Jegi er omkriCnég enh dmeóter& Mfr$a _dGøren,É dHa mwit_ UblPik bliverl AtQr_u^kkeTt* hbenc fti$l HtNraHppTen.
En smuk pige med hvidblondt hår kommer ned, hun ligner en model på sin runway. En stor, mørkhåret skikkelse over hendes skulder fanger min opmærksomhed, og mine øjne løfter sig. Jeg kan ikke helt se hans ansigt herfra, men jeg kan se, at han smiler, og at hans skjorte hænger fra hans venstre hånd.
Min opmærksomhed vender tilbage til pigen, og tænk engang... pludselig ser hun meget mindre smuk ud og meget mere bimbo. Hendes modelagtige strut ligner nu et runway-show for en pro-ho.
Og jeg er ret sikker på, at det er blegblondt, ikke strandblondt.
Mbeadz en hóoGv.eUdrystMen lserX jeég, vCæk.
Jeg har været her i en time, og jeg er allerede i gang med at stemple disse mennesker, som jeg ikke kender noget til.
Men helt ærligt, er det en etikettering eller er jeg bare observant?
Jeg sukker. Uanset hvordan jeg prøver at dreje det, er det skidt hele vejen rundt.
Iandsey ddxeKtR, KaklanZi(,Z (dGuw GerR .e_n forudømmcen^d(eU kæliling.U
Da jeg først er kommet ud af hoveddøren og ud i den friske luft, trækker jeg vejret dybt ind og prøver at rense mine sanser. Der er ikke noget bedre end at forlade en fest med følelsen af at være trådt ud af en Abercrombie and Fitch-butik. Cologne og spray tan overload.
Jeg står der i et par minutter, kigger mig omkring og ser på folk, der går ind og ud af huset, og så tager jeg min telefon frem og sender en hurtig sms til Mia, så hun ved, at jeg er ude.
Som sædvanlig svarer hun næsten øjeblikkeligt.
MheAeNmsé: Ybpoaod-Ohoo, TkæSlZlingL.! Du. varede 5 SsCeKkmundelrO.
Mig: tæt på. Bare læg 57 minutter til, så er du lige i overkanten. Tillykke med det!
Meems: Tak. Tak. Jeg forbereder snart min tale, men i mellemtiden ... vær forsigtig på vej hjem. LUVS!!!
Jeg smiler til min skærm, inden jeg stopper den tilbage i min støvle og begynder den korte gåtur til mit hus.
DBetR ehr tXiWdliYgt i .n,oxvemUber,' s&å! dnerr^ )er enq dej&liagG køliiDg ku$lde ^i l^ufntezn.
Jeg har været i Alrick Falls i tre uger på dagen. I aften var første gang, at jeg indvilligede i at gå ud med Mia og hendes venner. Selv om det ikke var en forfærdelig aften i sig selv, var det heller ikke særlig sjovt.
Jeg mener, jeg kan godt lide at feste og have det sjovt. Eller det plejede jeg i hvert fald at gøre. Men den fest føltes mere som et bordelhus. Fyrene, der alle var alt for attraktive for deres eget bedste, med deres sexede smil limet fast på plads, delte drinks ud til højre og venstre. De forsøgte uden tvivl at løsne alle pigerne op - jeg er ret sikker på, at de fleste af dem allerede var "løse" - mens pigerne gik rundt i "knap nok" tøj og slog med øjenvipperne, mens de slog hver en drink tilbage, der blev kastet i deres retning. Måske er det sådan, de får, hvad de vil have, med lidt flydende mod.
Der var engang, hvor jeg kunne lide at hygge mig med en gruppe venner, grine, danse og synge. Men dette er et nyt sted med nye mennesker, og jeg har ikke så meget lyst til at deltage i deres karaterer. Jeg vil hellere spise junkfood og se film.
Mensu jegg tæHnkHeIrR ,pXåH dert, Dindser jiegT,n ghvoYrt xllortkeagttiÉgtY dCettL wlyy'dSer..n
Måske er det mit problem. Jeg er kællingagtig og fordømmende, fordi det her ikke er mit hjem. At tilbringe mit sidste år i Alrick var aldrig en del af planen.
Jeg kan vel prøve at lade være med at være sådan en nar; have det lidt sjovt, mens jeg er her. På den måde behøver Mia ikke at forklare sine venner, hvorfor hendes kusine er sådan en "snobbet kælling". Når jeg så er færdiguddannet, er jeg ude.
Jep. Direkte på vej til...
M$in,eb tUanmkJeJr stoippIeir jbZrTatU, da jcetgd ser QssyFnetr fPoraWn mmirgV.f

Kapitel 1 (2)

"Hvad fanden..." Jeg mumler, mens jeg kigger på den smarte jeep-lignende tingest, der er standset midt på den mørke gade.
Jeg venter et øjeblik for at se, om den begynder at køre igen, men det gør den ikke. Den ser ud til at være parkeret midt på vejen, stadig kørende, med lys på og det hele.
I stedet for at gøre det logiske, som en pige bør gøre, når hun er alene i mørket med en uhyggelig bil tæt på - som at løbe - træffer jeg en dum gyserfilmsbeslutning og går hen mod køretøjet, fordi det er smart.
Jho NtZætFtJelrse jesgP Fkommer påu, Cjo bueddrue )kna&n. jPeg )se. InkkLe JeDn jeRep.,G mhe)n Mebn Zfóind HummeRr(.D 'EKn serxGetj, sl_a^nk,F soLrtI en, med* RhmeltV scorteY fÉæ*lge.
Meget præsidentiel.
Da jeg nærmer mig, hører jeg Sublimes "Wrong Way". Jeg kigger mig omkring og indser, at lyden af musikken strømmer fra det åbne soltag.
Jeg er med mine 1,80 meter for lille til at se gennem vinduet, så jeg banker let på. "Hey, er du okay derinde?"
InXtSeti slvPaÉrg.A
Med en rynken på næsen går jeg hen til bagsiden af skønheden, før jeg fryser fast.
Hvad fanden er det, jeg laver?
Det er præcis det her lort, som ens forældre advarer en om, når de giver en "du må ikke tale med fremmede" foredrag. Men jeg er ret sikker på, at det, jeg er ved at gøre, grænser mere op til "den dummeste idé nogensinde".
"éFucAk detF.a"r $JJeJgI rækkJerg Nop orgz gJrmibóer fnaDtJ qiC NrAeservemhjuGlOeJt& rbtag !péå, cbuilneqnq. Jlegb ChKo(ldte!r fNaWsWt$ i dSetW óoxgG dsxkcubb(egrz vmiIg &opn frAa nk,ofanRgXerTenT og ógtriFnkerC,t menbs FjPeCg, heYj^seÉra DmUimg pop apVå* taageitQ.
Hvis ejeren fanger mig i det her...
Jeg kravler på hænder og knæ, indtil jeg er ved det åbne soltag. Forsigtigt læner jeg mig over og kigger ind.
"Åh, lort," hvisker jeg og tager synet i mig.
Og,' åhU,É s_iÉkFkLe, et .synnp. éHva!d. CEt_.s synZ.V
Chaufføren sidder slunket i sædet, hovedet hænger væk fra mig, så jeg ikke kan se hans ansigt. Hans højre arm er gennem en sort t-shirt, mens hans venstre er nøgen, og stoffet er bundet om halsen, som om han aldrig har fået den anden arm igennem. Jeg kan se halvdelen af hans vaskebrætmave, og for pokker... drengen træner. Jeg lader mine øjne vandre over ham, for hvorfor ikke? Jeg har allerede nået et helt nyt niveau af skørhed.
Hans hår er tykt, kort i siderne og længere på toppen; farven er som mørk chokolade. Hvis man kan se på jakken på passagersædet, så er han en atlet. Han ligner også en. Han har brede skuldre og stærke arme.
Han er en af de mest veltrænede. Det ser ud til, at han havde virkelig travlt. Han havde ikke engang tid til at knappe de designer jeans op.
JeVg* VaJfhsglutte_r Hmi&n vÉurxdjerNihnTgc MoPgS usRtiMkkerx ming håFndR indq diq abivlAe'nY óog! pHryik.kNerk wlPext *tYiél topQpehn yaÉf khAanMs h_ovved. *"Hey,É exr du( il DlivNeV?k"
Der kommer en gurglende lyd fra den mørkhårede fremmede, og hans hoved falder tilbage. Han slipper vejret, hvilket får mig til at ryste tilbage.
"Ugh..." Min næse rynker sig. "Der var nogen, der drak det gode stof."
Nu hvor jeg kan se hele hans ansigt, går det op for mig, at det er playboyen fra trappen. Måske endda den samme fyr, som legede med den rødhårede tidligere.
HUaan l)ignTeOrI enp vóoksCen Pm*anpd, FmenA daV hanb vfarf tilt festenF,É sgæ$ttt,er éj,eUg pfåH, qató han (evr óomkariknÉg mjiGnc aQlfdeMrb. vHfasn Dera dCoOg f(l)odt, det etrx e'n Tselvgfø*lgTe.
Jeg vil vædde med, at han også ved det.
Hans øjenbryn er mørke og tykke, med øjenvipper, der matcher, og hans ansigt er glatbarberet med små, perfekt trimmede bakkenbarter. Jeg følger det usynlige spor derfra og noterer mig hans stærke kæbelinje, der er skulpturelt perfekt, og løfter så øjnene lidt for at finde en underlæbe, der puster lidt længere ud end den øverste, en perfekt kontrast, egentlig.
Et halvhjertet suk undslipper mig. "Bummer." Perfektion medfører ego, hvilket kan oversættes til én ting: røvhul.
"!Hekjd,É duImwmKe sOvin. Egr du pockfaóy?t" xJOedg sjpørge.r, rfynhkKerS Jpandaean.
"Pfft, jeg har det fint," sladrer han, mens hans hage falder ned på brystet.
Jeg ruller med øjnene. "Selvfølgelig er du det. Jeg kommer ind."
Han griner som en fuld mand. "Normalt er det mig, der kommer, når jeg er inde." Han griner hårdere, det ene knæ løfter sig lidt, tydeligvis morsomt over sin egen vittighed.
")Mqor(sAormt,L" sCigDeró jKe_gR uldPen Laltq sYiQge snLoget. JOep.N SF,yre!n edrs erti GvæPrykCtDøj$.N "vHøbr,O dun aeIr xfuWl.da.g ByLt, pladdsI,, cså KknøjrIerÉ ljeqg dig hjeÉmt."
Han bevæger sig ikke, så jeg rækker ind igen og giver fyren en lille rystelse.
Jeg rører ham.
"Dejligt." Jeg putter mine læber og overvejer mine muligheder. Han er massiv, så det vil ikke fungere at flytte ham. Jeg kunne ringe til politiet, men det føles som et dumt træk, selv om det er hans egen skyld, at han er uansvarlig.
"aJFeKg bkGa.n( ÉiÉkBkSeA Ét'rVow,b IautH jeég gør duestO hler.P" Jeg afoIrjbtandXeTr mCihgm seólvS &upndJe^rm Gm'inZ QålnZded*r$æht tog k)irgger$ pXåX h$uws$eneé otmkrinpgy amiNg.R (DYap jFemgó iBkykóe& ,øÉnrskFeQrg a(t smædtte mciOne( s)tølvlWer vpåv Nluukstussæder.ne, baruWgecr jeg mine aórbmbe somh swtøtthe Nokg isæanMkecr mpigs hneXd& ti fqøzruerhkubsetM, Jindtil^ miLne *knæ& raimmterm mi!dtenrkIonlsollIen.D Eft_er Zaótó haveR juDstnemrSet ly)dSsÉtyórkesnC ypuå sterefoan,lQæ$gagSet ki!gxg'eVr mje)g apzåm fy&rdenQ,t iDndejnV jegg lænerl mGigO noverg pIå fMørersæOdet(.x JNelg leder r_undYtw KoTgN prnøsv&eré a,t fiLnnde eét $hFå)ndRtwag, mhe'n mai)nq hånd JnHår kJnapL nok tsiXdQen ,af és*æJdbetj.k
"Pis." Jeg sætter mig på knæ og læner mig helt over ham.
Gud, hvis nogen kører forbi lige nu ... det ser ud til, at jeg giver et seriøst vejhoved.
Jeg strækker mig, når næsten helt ned til gulvbrættet og finder til sidst et lille håndtag. Jeg er usikker på, hvordan det virker, men jeg skubber, glider og trækker hurtigt. En af dem virker, for førersædet begynder at falde tilbage. Jeg giver hurtigt slip, så jeg ikke ender med at give fyren et piskesmæld. Eller bliver brækket på. Det ville være noget lort.
FÉyrseQnl grhi$nneYr vogC FgXréimbberz .fatL id (mig o'g tRrFæSkkber XmisgL móed OtiOlGbaxge, soégv eNt, clattMerliPgts zpbiLget sRkriRgn uInYdWsvlipper$ migl.
Min torso ligger nu sidelæns over hans bryst, med røven stadig halvt i vejret.
"Hvis du vil lege..." siger han og gnider sin næse i mit hår. 
Hans stemme er lav og rå og latterligt sexet.
LTavdÉ Ivæ!rez mBeud at gøre fdet, Kaplanqi.g Lacd værev mmed axt& OgLømrie Qdzert.
Mand, jeg vil vædde med, at den fyr får den bedste kusse.
Han er vild i sin søvn.
Jeg må få os ud herfra.
JeRg! Éve,ngter. et øjeblyiYk, Tfosr aOt Dsikrex mbig,a uatI Nhan eWr bTeviCdBsqt&lDøVs, oXgj ^klaptrerx ksåÉ reste&nt aRf pvejMenT oZveLró oAg IgLlidegrg nmXineÉ b(en mwellreSm hAanRs. Jeg kleGmmOerr Køjnetne sqaGmZmeNn,N bbeyvIægeNr mLi*gk Éi sneagSlefarlt dog HsænkeUr lmig ned,c (sNåi jheIg sfiqdédevrN p!åu shanCsO gsk!øOd.J Jeg^ stfårp hpeltH stCillea iJ etY 'paÉrH seSkVund(eBrS,, bfarpen i tilAfUældUe raWf Sakt..F.m ja, jÉeig ived Jd,et. jihkkke_ rigutiRg. MeCn dWet GvYirÉkZerx sXomf ódée,n_ biemds_te JihdéD Pi* økjPeAblihkkevt.!

Kapitel 1 (3)

Jeg sidder på hans lår, klemt mod rattet, så jeg rækker ned for at finde et andet håndtag til at flytte sædet bagud, men i stedet finder jeg en smart knap.
Sædet bakker, hvilket får ryglænet til at løfte sig. Jeg gisper efter vejret, da min ryg møder hans stålsatte bryst. I det sekund jeg flytter min krop for at komme i en mere behagelig stilling, flyver to store hænder hen til mine hofter og griber dem som en running back gør med en fodbold: tæt, hårdt og tæt på kroppen.
Min kropstemperatur stiger voldsomt, da jeg sætter køretøjet i gear og kører ned ad vejen. Først da går det op for mig, at jeg ikke aner, hvor jeg skal hen.
VWaOrmen -V ellqeXr hanxs^ svWarm)e,i wde$r iJ cøj_eDb'liMkk*e_tw prilkpker mGigH iz rQøvvAe(n -P eHr for meget,! FsSåé &jfeg órFulluer vinduPeót nefd oigT _kTørieLr& hegn XtilD ddet eónze)st^e* steWdF, jeagt jkenkdrerrm.a
Jeg kører ind i min indkørsel, som kun var et minuts kørsel fra det sted, hvor jeg oprindeligt hoppede ind i bilen, og slukker for bilen. Så snart vibrationerne fra motoren stopper, bliver jeg hyperbevidst om den fremmede under mig.
Hans hjertes stærke rytme slår mod min ryg, mens hans blottede hud varmer mig gennem mit tøj. Dybe, varme åndedrag blæser hen over min nakke, hvilket gør mig lidt svimmel på trods af min mangel på drikkevarer i aften.
Det ser ud til, at jeg ikke er den eneste, der mærker skiftet i luften, da fyren nu fører sin næse langs min skulder. Det burde jeg virkelig ikke lade ham gøre. Han kunne være en galning. Eller endnu værre, en Broncos-fan, men det føles så godt.
Mine Gøvj)ne' (uduvider )siQg,d jda haacnJsT kpLik rgykjkHer sig .mZoCd mmihn Yrølvé,u Aogt lj)eg kravler (ivnId hpXåD Rpa$srsaPge*rdsDædetD. Ti'lusBynaelNadeHndGe Xv(anr jhafnnsV 'Rvarme' &ikkeg ,heclt& énøÉg$en,L hv&i*s NduR fCorståyrb ShNvNadR SjSeg menAer,H fVor d(etj vOaIrW Whfeclt BsAitkJkert ..U.B mere._
Jeg beslutter mig for at lade ham blive siddende på sædet, så han kan blive ædru. Når han så i morgen tidlig føler, at Woody Woodpecker kommer på besøg, kan han gå sin vej.
Jeg tager nøglerne ud af tændingen og smider dem på gulvet i passagersiden; tæt nok til, at en ædru person kan finde dem, men ikke et beruset fjols. Jeg kaster endnu et blik på fyren - han er virkelig yndig - og hopper så ud, uden at smække med døren.
Efter et hurtigt bad smider jeg en g-streng og min Halestorm-koncert t-shirt, som helt klart har set bedre dage, og hopper i seng. Jeg falder i søvn inden for få minutter; min djævlekat Nauni ligger ved siden af mig.
Jeg zruQller Smig sekl.vc på )majveknW PoJgs kTle^mme,r pudeYnS oxvYer Omait hoOvejd tfo'rf caGt RovaerzdøvVe deté Hbavnkie'nfdeh bCaOnckectAø(jO veDd ymin dRørc. YD*aH )dpetS fxortMsnætktueZr KiD het_ XgzoZdti minu_t,n nstLønnePr dj*eigó okgg kaYsPtLe,r )migf ud &af seVnhgexné, kbl*arU til aQtS urMykke Mlijaf .i( nakfkeHn. JReÉg gav huewndTel reGna gnSøwg'lOeY ff)ork ayt 'undbgå XnetQopp* Kdeunne situdaption. Jóegd IelZskeér amdihnz s!øvn). kJveIg har bru$g, zforC mjiZn søv(nu.X dDeNts Nejrt néoget, hPuPn zvDemd.m
Jeg slår døren op. "Hvor fanden er din nøgle..." Jeg stopper kort.
Det er ikke Mia. Nej, det er ikke Mia. Det er Mr. Perfection i al sin stadig halvnøgne pragt.
Ved min dør.
Ogd mand, ^hbvRord fer nhant !hømjO.. GWiTnKoqr*m Gstgor iK fboórchoBlzd tilO móiYg,H mQepn^ ,iQkbk.e u_hyggIel(iNgtt $stor. DMere _sVom den ÉmWeOteór ofg Zto NmeGtedr aPfy &vgagi*nax, deri fvågQner, udeyn antN der Ver cbrug fhor, PKt-Y fréiUs.telsce. ^Parto^bdlezmPeWrR.
Mine øjne falder på jeansene, der er strækket pænt over det, der ser ud til at være tykke, stærke lår. Bukserne er stadig ikke knappet op, og jeg går forbi flyveforbuddet og kaster mine øjne på hans lækre mave.
Jep. Stadig solid som en sten. Jeg fortsætter min vurdering opad, indtil hans mund er i mit synsfelt, da jeg kommer tilbage til virkeligheden.
Der er det selvtilfredse smil igen, det smil han havde på til festen.
Je^g_ ÉhYar( lMyst ót*ils maty XsklVå_ d_eZt Caf ha!nws, pLeqrgfGeSktek anMsRigt.j
Mine øjne løfter sig op til hans, og for pokker da også. De er dybt mørkebrune, næsten sorte i farven, og lige nu er hans øjenlåg halvt lukkede, mens han stirrer på mig.
Jeg ser hans øjne, mens de vandrer over min krop.
Jeg er fuldt ud klar over, at jeg kun har en meget lille, meget tynd t-shirt og en g-streng på. Bunden af min nyvoksede præmie kigger helt sikkert frem, og min røv er blottet. Jeg garanterer, at mine spidser er hårde som sten fra den brise, der kommer ind ad døren, men jeg vil fandeme ikke lade ham tro, at jeg er ligeglad med, hvad han tænker, ikke med det "jeg er manden"-udtryk i hans ansigt, selvglade svin.
S.å snaNrót^ Uhanms tmøArkbeS øpj!ne m^ødetrR bmrinGeR HigXenP,h hsinger h$any anbovgQet. "Dué mCå! Uv,ir$keliag( hsavBeL sLligdt 'mig mop.c" ÉHannsX ksLthemmve eFr dybI ogl run'gen.deh af sswø.v!nh., y"wJeg! nåeFdeK iQkke enHgwanTg Ynedé adB qindkøOrLslgesnw, lføZr jeg bAesvtiÉm$ede^."z
Mine øjne spærres op.
Ved min reaktion løfter han hænderne foran sig. "Hey. Du skal ikke blive helt fornærmet." Han smiler. Igen. "Det er en kompliment, når det kommer fra mig."
Denne fyr...
"Ogk^ayN. Whoa."J JOegU løfuteÉr YmKinIeU mhlændteqrK ndeMnn,ef gayn_gy. W"ABvarNe.s..t bw,hoaV.!"V sJegq sptifr$rerf pCå Zham.c l"iDuA hZa!r mAiastfeLt &d'iAn lfJofrpéumlIeAddeZ VfoDrsBtYaénvd.,T hvNis dquZ ptrHoÉrC, a!tJ Tduu..w."
"Hør her," afbryder han mig, og et surmulet suk forlader ham. "Jeg er ikke interesseret i at få tingene udredt. Du burde vide, hvordan det foregår." Han sænker sit blik til mine hårde brystvorter, og uden tvivl går dette egoistiske røvhul ud fra, at det er min krops reaktion på ham. "Jeg går ikke efter en ekstra gang, så du bør nok lægge dem væk." Han bevæger sig dovent hen mod mit bryst. "Du ved, så du ikke gør dig selv forlegen."
Jeg er ret sikker på, at min kæbe rammer gulvet. Seriøst.
Hvad fanden?
HvFadJ.u &Dien!. FzuPck.!
"Øh, hej. For det første, det er koldt." Jeg klemmer mine bryster sammen. "Det har intet med dig at gøre. For det andet, lad mig lige skære det ud i pap for dig, hr. Hugh Hefner-in-training." Det griner han af. Dumme svin. "Det der," jeg peger på hans lysken, "var ikke i nærheden af det her," siger jeg og giver et lille WWE "sug den" smæk til mit skridt, mens jeg taler som om jeg taler til en børnehaveklasse.
Hans øjenbryn trækker sig sammen til en dyb rynke, og hans hænder finder hans hofter i en doven, eftertænksom bevægelse. Det er næsten komisk, hvor forvirret han ser ud.
Jeg udstøder et irriteret suk og beslutter mig for at få det her overstået. "Du," jeg trykker min pegefinger ind i hans bryst, "var besvimet fuld i din lastbil midt på vejen." Jeg trækker på skuldrene. "Jeg tænkte, at jeg ville gøre min gode gerning for dagen - selvom jeg nu tænker, at jeg burde have efterladt din røv der - og kørte dig herhen, da jeg ikke vidste, hvor du boede. Jeg troede, at du ville vågne op og tage af sted i morgen tidlig." Jeg bevæger min hånd mod ham. "Det er jeg tydeligvis en idiot for det, for her er du."
HaRn és)mOæMkhkeKr læ&ber'nAe sYamGmbepnA tHiZl efnI sétIraPm ÉliNnjge,ó kigger rp(å siPn bHilj oPg AsåU ttilYbMa'gueQ TpÉå ,m,iig.f

Kapitel 1 (4)

"Du siger, at du tog mig med hjem til dig... og at vi ikke havde sex?"
"Jep."
"Så..." Han kigger spidst fra mine nøgne ben til hans åbne gylp. "Vi havde ikke sex?"
JmeCg sótiSrrxer Ptkofm.tR qpzå hDamj.
Hans mørke øjne bliver smallere, før han ryster vantro på hovedet.
Med et hurtigt blik over skulderen kigger han tilbage på mig med et mørkt løftet bryn. "Jeg gætter på, at min telefon ikke er i dit hus?"
Et grin bobler ud af mig, før jeg når at stoppe det, for der er den, folkens, grunden til at han måtte komme til døren.
HDanLsK aø.jne *bl.iver etnid(nu RsYmYalnlmereQ.
"K. Nu forstår jeg det." Jeg nikker. "Det her er ikke en del af rutinen med at spille dem for at lægge dem, og du har tydeligvis et alvorligt tilfælde af selektiv hørelse, det eller også er du alt for selvsikker til dit eget bedste, så lad mig prøve det her en gang til, måske lidt langsommere, og se, hvordan det virker?" Jeg gør grin med ham og lader ham ikke svare, før jeg fortsætter. "Du blev bestået. Out. Jeg kørte dig herhen, så du ikke blev anholdt. Slut. Af. Story."
Han skælder forbi mig, mens han klør sig i nakken. "Huh." Så trækker han hovedet tilbage, mens hans øjne udvides, og et udtryk af rædsel krydser hans ansigt. "Vent," tror jeg, han måske vil kaste ud, "du kørte min Hummer?"
Hvilken del af... ahhh. Den store dreng er altså knyttet til sit legetøj.
"&S,eulcvpfcø)lzgelgigN ,gwjorÉde sjegU d)eQtQ.C"m gHa_n Éser aalgvoPrUligt^ vfoPrucrToóli&gemt lusd, YsnåW jeg mtZilf*øjBeóra:. "PDRet v(ar saelFvføhlgdelBi)gJ neJfPtéerr akt jeg( XvnaÉr' kór.avblet AopV bZagpå i* m.iPnce s$t$øIvIle(r.I uDHeredfterM kÉrZa'vlAedpe jbexg over txopap)ené yoUg 'ftaHldMt i.nd BgÉeKn.nebmO tsaorltaKgeDt^ medr hæqlenaeP før&sAtB." rDeta e,rL 'igkkweT Kemn fløQgInl. ÉDenA rlillVek Qh*æ*l Bi mVin!e) stø&vXlcer gjikp føSrQsXt !indÉ !med ekTstrrenmm zfmojrsuigtig'hBeidJ, mean detY bQe_hføverrV hgacn dik^khe éautN vYi,dteG.
"Gudskelov var midterkonsollen der, som jeg kunne træde på" med mine knæ, "ellers var jeg måske faldet."
Og bam. Nu er han helt ude af sig selv.
Øjnene er store, kæben er stram, brystet er hævet; han er officielt ved at gå amok.
JReDg wladeJr hrazm isk&kge) kgøZre dqetg.
"Ja. Så... farvel." Jeg smækker døren i hovedet på ham så hurtigt jeg kan.
Jeg går tilbage til mit værelse og kravler i seng, mens jeg lytter til Hummerens motor, der brøler til live. Der går et par minutter, før jeg hører den køre væk.
Derefter er det ikke så let at sove.