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PERSONAL AND PRIVATE DO NOT READ THIS MEANS YOU, SHANE COLLINS!!!!!! SERIOUSLY!!!!
September 2006
The sun's coming up, and I'm sitting here writing because I need to tell somebody, and nobody else is awake. I haven't slept all night.
Michael came to see me last night, and we had a lot to talk about, starting with him coming back from the frickin' DEAD, and me ... me wanting him not to be dead, ever again. There was kissing. Sweet, hot kissing, and Michael's not that much of a gentleman even though I think he'd like to be; he was at second base pretty damn fast, which was okay with me, really, so okay I was glad I'd worn a low-cut top with laces. I got his shirt off, too, and wow. WOW. He has the most beautiful skin. I just couldn't stop touching it.
I think he needed to feel ... alive again. And yes, it's ironic that he picked me to do that with, because hello, Goth? But man, it was warm and hot and HOTTER, and pretty soon we were having The Talk, you know the one, about whether or not I was a virgin, because by that time, we were well into third base territory and both thinking hard about things that were not baseball.
And I started crying. CRYING, like some punk-ass schoolgirl. I guess it was just ... oh, everything. I hadn't had time to breathe since I'd found out Michael was, you know, half-dead and all, and then Shane's dad had blown in, and his biker friend had tried to bend me over the bed, and ... yeah. It was just a lot.
I think Michael was shocked, but he did the manly thing: he held me. We got under the covers and pressed up close together, still half-dressed, and I swear, it felt like there was nothing in the world but him and me. I felt ... safe. Peaceful, once I'd stopped crying.
He told me he'd only asked because he didn't want to hurt me, if we were going to, you know. Which was sweet. But there was this question in his eyes, like he really wanted to know why being asked made me go all psychotic, and for the first time, I blurted it all out.
I told him about Brandon. About him prowling around my house when I was young -- too young to know better -- and my parents looking the other way because he was our Protector, and what Brandon wanted, he got. Even if he wanted your kids.
I found out later that they did know, it wasn't just willful ignorance. That my dad sold access to me for a promotion at the bottling company. I don't know what he got for Jason. Cheap, huh? You'd think he'd at least hold out for a key to the executive bathroom or something.
I'm not talking about fang marks, no, Brandon was careful about that. He had rules to live by, too, and biting kids was something that would have gotten him punished, big time. But everything else ... I couldn't stop him, the first time, but I found ways to get him off me after that. I'd have done anything to keep him away. I did, in fact. I knew he'd go after Jason, and that Jason wouldn't be able to fight him off.
And like my parents, I didn't do anything to stop it. I saved myself.
So I told all that to Michael, whispering it with our lips close together, and he held me. He didn't say anything, and I couldn't see his face; we'd turned the lights off by then. He was so quiet. I felt like I'd blown it, like he was going to just say sorry, big mistake, and put his shirt back on and go ... I was sure, in fact. Why would he ever want to be with me? Why would anyone, after that?
And then he kissed me again, and he told me that he wanted to show me that it didn't have to be like that. Like it had been with Brandon, all tears and fear and pain. He wanted it to be right, and he wanted it to be perfect.
And, of course, by that time, it was close to sunrise, and no time for right or perfect or romance. So he just ... stayed. And held me. And told me stories, wonderful stories about growing up Michael Glass, and I wanted to listen to him forever.
He disappeared right out of my bed at dawn. I tried to hang on to him. I really did.
So here I am, writing it down because I don't think anything this good will ever, ever, ever happen to me again, and I want to remember it.
Because I love Michael, and I can't wait to show him how much when night falls again.
WHY does this keep happening to me? I think, yeah, finally, this is the night, and then ... nothing. I'm starting to hate Shane for being such a stubborn jerk about his dad; family loyalty's great and all, but when you're the son of the Supreme Dickhead, you ought to know it and act accordingly, right? I'd sell him out in a second. I would.
I'm just afraid Claire's going to get caught in the middle of all this. Before all this crap, I'd have gone to Oliver and asked him what to do, and he'd have come up with a solution; I always treated him like the Wizard of Oz or something, wise and all-knowing. Can't go to Oliver anymore; he's just another bad-ass vampire out for himself, the big bad wolf in disguise. I feel like I've lost someone special. The Oliver I knew and liked is dead. Well, he never really was, but same thing.
Shane's dad is going to get us all in big, big trouble. I can feel it.
And I wish Michael would come and seduce me. Now. Maybe I should go downstairs, grab him, and drag him back here ... no, too pushy.
Damn. What is he waiting for? Okay, yeah, there's the little matter of people trying to kill us, but it's not like that's new around here. Boy needs to get his priorities straight, I say.