Blood Queen

The party broke up around four in the morning, and Abigail stayed until everyone left. In the meantime I learned more about her. The first thing she did, after calming down and helping me clean up the glass on the floor, was tell me to call her Abi. She told me that using her full name was some sort of stress reaction, and that she thinks ‘Abigail’ is too plain of a name for her.
The three of us sat on my single, threadbare rug beneath the window, swapping stories in hushed voices. I got the sense she’s sort of a rough and tumble girl. Not the kind that are always looking for a fight, but the kind that won’t let herself be walked on.

She’s a rock fan, and as soon as the moonlight hit his face, she recognized Andy, and I had to make her promise not to tell anyone and improvise something about us being friends since childhood. Fortunately, I think she was too excited to question my story. Her smile lights up her whole face when she’s excited and I immediately warmed up to her, which prior to two days ago is somewhat unusual for me. She’s pretty when she smiles too, but not supermodel pretty. Her nose is a little long and her eyes are a little small, but she makes up for it in dagger-sharp pin up eyeliner and a bold red lipstick to match her hair. Besides rock, she seems to have little discerning taste in music. She listens to everything from 80’s hair metal and glam rock bands, like Poison and Whitesnake, to Weezer and Panic. Black Veil Brides is her favorite though. According to her they were her first band and were, “the ferryman across the river Styx to the world of music,” Which makes Andy laugh.

The subject turns to school and I find, with some surprise, that she also goes to Los Angeles High, and even has the same first period, (math with Mr. Ravkan,) as I do.

“How have I never seen you before?” I ask, knowing that her fiery hair and matching attitude would have made her memorable. She shrugs noncommittally.

“I don’t actually show up very often, but when I do I know how to keep my head down,” she pokes my arm with a smile, “What’s your excuse, why is the girl who knows Andy friggin’ Biersack nowhere to be found?” At that, Andy raises a smiling eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

“You said you know how to keep your head down?” I ask her.

“Yeah?”

“So do I.”

Her eyes dart down to the multicolored bruises on my arms, and she opens her mouth like she wants to say something. My throat closes up. No. No I do not want to talk about this. Not now, when we were just having a nice conversation. Fortunately, Andy tracked the movement of her eyes and noticed my rising panic.

“I think the party’s broken up, Abi. Your dad should be getting home okay.” Thank you! I try to will my gratitude at him. Abi, (owing to the excitement of Andy remembering her name and actually addressing her,) lost the ability to form coherent sentences, and my bruises went unmentioned. She said that she had to be home before her father got back, and she handed me her number, saying that she would see me at school now that she knew to look for me. I asked her if she wanted us to walk her home, but she insisted that, since it was too late for cops to be patrolling, she cold just climb across the rooftops and not have to worry about meeting anyone on the street. I wasn’t all that comfortable with that idea either, but when she climbed out the window and down the trellis, she did so with all of the grace of a circus acrobat and, with one last jaunty wave, she hopped the back fence and melted silently into the shadows.

I turn to Andy, who’s perching haphazardly on the white wooden baseboard of my bed, facing me with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked her,” he remarks, pushing long hair out of his eyes, “She seemed nice.”

“Yeah… Just think, we could have been friends this whole time if we both weren’t so good at hiding.” I clear my throat, changing gears, “Thanks for distracting her. I wasn’t ready for that,” I say. The smile falls from his mouth and he rises, walking over to my spot near the window. His slender artists fingers curl lightly around my forearm, and he pulls it into the weak light from the dim streetlamp and full moon, inspecting the dark splotches on my skin.

“Don’t thank me,” He says, and then he’s gone, climbing out the window with a goodnight.

Notes

Whooo hoooo! I finally got this chapter written! Took me long enough. :)

I hope this update finds you well, and that you aren't too upset with me for it being so late. (procrastination can go kiss my ass.) (pardon my French.) (Sorry.) I also hope that this update made you smile today, and that you will continue to enjoy the story. I have to cut this out-ro a little short because I'm studying for finals, (kill me,) but a new chapter is coming as soon as I can get some sleep, (or caffeine.) In the meantime, the question of the day is: If you could get any one thing for your Christmas/Hanuka/Non-Religious-Break-From-School-Accompanied-By-Snow, what would it be? Mine would currently be sleep. Or a giant mug of hot chocolate, I could honestly go either way. :)
Until next chapter;
-BVBfangirlqueen <3