Title: Sanctity

Summary: She's a party girl too crazy for her own good, and he's a rape baby trying to pretend he isn't crazy. Welcome to 'normal'.

Chapter title: Her POV / Bruise

Chapter song: "Still Here" by 909.

Author notes: I wrote an awful lot of domestic nicey-nice scenes for this. There will be lots of angst in later chapters to make up for it, no worries. I like torturing my characters. Anais has black hair, relatively dark skin, and gray-blue eyes.

Chapter quote:

"Well it looks like for all my tricks turned

I've not taken one single step

Well it looks like this is worthless

I'm not even gonna try and pretend

I need a fix and I wish you were it

Push you in my veins and make believe

I'm some other hopeless youth"

He'd clocked me pretty good on the jaw, I decided, staring into my reflection skeptically, but the bruise had mostly spread under and not over. If I hadn't had such damnable posture, maybe no one would have noticed. At least I wouldn't have to deal with that anymore.

I'd only been at the school for a week. Of course, I changed schools a lot, but this was ridiculous. Saint Mary's School For The Gifted should have been named Saint Nosy Bitch, except that was probably a little sacreligious. Oh, well. It wasn't a private school, but there were definite church-y undertones. People responded to these undertones by trying to seem as "alternative" as possible, and since I don't really dress like a TOTAL FREAK,

But as it was, people had been noticing, and staring, and asking really annoying invasive questions. It had happened every single time, and I was starting to get tired of it. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, glancing absently at the girl who'd just come in.

The girl gave me a strange stare.

"Anais, right?" The inquirer had spiky maroon hair and a shiny black vinyl outfit on, complete with knee-high boots.

I rubbed my jaw and nodded, a little curt. It was a relatively small school, a couple people had to have heard of me by now.

"Don't you have a class this hour?" The girl gave me a tiny smirk. I wanted to kill her.

"Don't you?" I responded, picking up my Kate Spade messenger bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

"Don't bother," I snapped, seeing her about to respond, "Just pass your judgement and move on."

As I strode out of the bathroom and down the hall to the double doors that led out of the school, I thought that over. Move on.

Yeah, that's what I was trying to do.

So after I bailed from school and drove around for about a half hour, dreading the impending call from my cousin Nadia (my current legal guardian) about skipping school - sweet Jesus, the woman is an ex rock-star and married to an ex hitman, don't you think she could give me a break?

Apparently not.

I parked at the mall and watched the kids clamber out of their cars to go wander around and hit up chicks or boys or whatever for that weekend's party plans. I'd never really felt like one of them, a little too intense or edgy or whatever, or just not belonging. I hated high school. It was my last year, at least, but everything seemed so cheap and gauche and purposely anything.

The fact that high school boys have NO CLASS doesn't help, either. I always dated older men, a practice that sometimes got me into trouble. See "bruise".

After sitting awhile, I wandered into the mall. It didn't have many stores of interest, but then again, I wasn't in the big city anymore. I felt a brief pang for the high times and many stores of Los Angeles, but squelched it. New beginnings.

I picked up a pair of knee-high boots, but I didn't intend to pair them with anything shiny and black - I had a dark blue knee-length dress, kinda indie but I liked it, that would look pretty spiffy with it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed two guys looking through the belts. May I add that I was in a story that catered to females? They were probably just looking for things for their girlfriends .. or one of them anyway, the other one was unabashedly checking me out. When he saw me look over, he smiled.

I stuck my tongue out.

He blinked and the smile faltered. Possibly because my tongue is pierced, or just because I'm really that juvenile. His friend looked amused and they were both heading over to stand behind me in the check-out line.

"Hey," said the boy whose mother never taught him it was rude to stare.

"Yo," I replied, keeping my voice mild.

"Do you go to school around here?"

I nodded, retrieving my credit card and driver's license from my bag as he continued.

"You go to Saint Mary's?"

I nodded again, this time with a faint smile.

"Cool," he said. His friend hadn't spoken at all. It was all very stilted and high-school.

I paid for my boots.

"Hey," the guy said again, "My friend's getting this shirt for his girlfriend. Think she'll like it?"

Oh, I got it. 'You're a girl, be our fashion advisor.'

"What's she look like?" I eyed the pale yellow peasant blouse.

"Brown hair, brown eyes.. she fake-tans a lot, she kinda looks like a--" the boy cut off when his taller friend smacked him on the arm. I rolled my eyes.

"Right, the lady's honor aside, have you seen her wear this type of shirt before?" The guys exchanged glances, and shrugged. I still hadn't heard a peep from the tall one.

"I dunno .. Not lately, now she's all punk and stuff .."

I was THISCLOSE to rolling my eyes. Punk and stuff. Punk like Sid, I'm sure.

"Get her a white wifebeater that's a size too small, and some really ugly Spongebob Squarepants stuff. She'll feel very, uhm, original." I was a fan of wifebeaters, but not of the most annoying cartoon ever. I have a very distinct appreciation for beauty, and there is absolutely NONE in talking, dancing, nerve-grating animated sponges. None.

The tall one frowned at me, but I don't think the other guy noticed.

"Okay, cool, we can do that, right?"

His friend nodded.

"What's your name, by the way?"

I blinked at him.

"So you do have manners. It's Anais."

They didn't seem to understand that I wasn't exactly being polite, either.

"Can we call you Ana?" The tall boy finally spoke, raising an eyebrow at me. They were both kind of cute, but I tried my best not to be attracted to anyone still in high school, which, judging by the letter jacket the shorter one was sporting, they were.

"If you grovel and give me money," I replied, "So now you have my name .. your turn."

"I'm Ray, and he's King."

Ooookay. And I'd thought MY name was weird. I stared at, uhhm, King, with an amused expression.

"If you run for prom court, you realize I'll have to stamp you with a big cliche sticker or something, right?"

He ran a hand over his shaved head - there was enough there for me to tell it was dark, but that was 'bout it - and shrugged, a sheepish half-smile playing on his features. He was kind of dark, not as dark as me, but maybe .. he noticed that I was studying him and smiled at me. Not a sweet smile, kind of an, "I know you're checking me out, happens all the time" kind of smile. Asshole.

I stuck my tongue out again and they both laughed.

"Why do you do that?" Ray demanded as we moved out of line - King, oh god I'm never going to get used to that name, had discarded the yellow peasant atrocity a few moments earlier.

"Ever heard the expression 'hold your tongue'?" I queried.

Ray nodded.

"That's exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh."

I smirked at him. King had again fallen into silence. I again noticed how freakishly tall he was. Ray was hardly short, either, but King made me feel like a circus midget or something.

"How tall are you guys, anyway? Jesus," I shifted from side to side, playing with my black leather belt. CK reversible, baby.

"Six-two?" Ray guessed, shrugging, "King's about six-eight."

"Jesus," I said again, "You're mutants."

"Maybe you're just short."

"I'm five foot five. That is not short. You are mutants, and that's that."

"Weren't you just bitching about manners?" Ray asked. I glanced over at King. He was getting uncomfortable, I could tell, but I didn't know why.

"Probably," I said, agreeably, "As fun as this has been, boys, I'm going to go and be .. elsewhere. Preferably an elsewhere with alcohol."

"You party?" Ray asked, looking surprised.

"Mhm." I suspected I was used to a different degree of partying than these kids, but who knows, maybe they'd amaze me. Or maybe not.

"You oughta come to this thing .. it's tomorrow .."

"This 'thing'? That could be a number of things."

"Hey," King broke in, suddenly, "What happened to your jaw?"

Cue my retreat. I shrugged and put on the most flippant smile possible, flipping my black hair over my shoulder casually.

"It ran into someone's fist. Catch me at school tomorrow, tell me more about this mysterious 'thing' that involves alcohol, 'kay?"

Jay nodded, but both he and King were looking at me suspiciously. I hated that. Yes, I have a bruise. Therefore I am the next Lifetime movie waiting to happen, and they will dredge up 40-year-old Tori Spelling and her plastic face to play me at age seventeen.

Except no, wait, totally not.

"See you," Jay waved.

"Later, Ana," King said lightly.

"My name is Anais!" I yelled, stalking out of the store. I'm just tall enough to do that properly.

After I'd swatted the various fourteen year old boys looking for anything female to latch onto and rub up against (okay, so it was a little more than a swat, but I didn't really hurt him .. I don't think) I climbed into my truck - no, it's not ladylike, and no, I do not care, my beautiful 4x4 could crush any dinky little Neon, and that's that - and heard my cellphone ringing.

"Fuck," I mumbled, digging it out of my bag and pressing talk.

"Ana, darling!" My mother's rich, accented voice spilled over the earpierce. I felt myself begin to smile and couldn't help it - even though my mother has been deemed 'not fit for guardianship' or whatever for the past thirteen years of my life, I still adore her. She's Cajun - very, VERY Cajun, but accents aside, talks like a Hollywood debutante. She's not the most responsible woman in the world, but neither am I. Maybe it's genetic.

"Hey, mom," I said, curling my knees up to my chest, letting the sun beat down on me through the car windows, well aware of the delighted expression on my face.

"How are you finding your new city?"

"Oh, it's .. interesting. I've never lived in a small town before."

"You lived in New Orleans," did I mention that's where we're from? Yeah, "Although I suppose New Orleans isn't that small."

Yes, we say it 'N'awlins'.

"Plus," I murmured into the phone, "New Orlean's got a much better party atmosphere."

"That I'd have to agree with!"

I laughed at my mother's enthusiastic tone.

"Darling, I just called for a check-in, but I'll call you again tomorrow, okay?"

I nodded even though she couldn't see me.

"Don't nod, Anais, speak." See? This much distance and she still knows me that well.

"Arf," I pretended to bark, teasingly.

"Very funny, darling. 'Bye."

I clicked my phone shut and slid it back into my bag. Time to go home .. where, hopefully, I could wash, dry, and iron that lace-edged, v-necked blue dress before I got home. And probably find a decent jacket, since it was sleeveless ..

When I arrived at what I had nicknamed The Coliseum because it was just that huge and white and Coliseum-y, I was somewhat unnerved to see that both Jonah (my guardian's husband, who, like King, is freakishly tall) and Nadia's cars were in the driveway. Jonah didn't usually get home until six, and it was only five-thirty.

"Nadia?" I queried. The lovely, blue-eyed woman was sitting with her (freakishly tall!) husband on the sofa in the living room.

I hoped nothing was fucked up already. I liked Nadia, and not just because she used to be famous. Nadia was about twenty-six, and Jonah was a couple years older. About nine, ten, years ago, she was part of this blackmetal band, one of the few to make it on MTV. Anyway, she was already dating Jonah then, so I guess she didn't really get that crazy. Jonah used to work for the Mafia or something (probably not the Mafia specifically), and he's still really scary. Both she and Jonah are unnaturally tall (Nadia's almost six feet tall and gorgeous enough to be a model, Jonah's about six foot ten, no joke). Maybe I AM a midget. Sigh.

I caught scraps of conversation as I walked towards then.

" .. don't know .. things will change .." That was Jonah.

".. don't mean harm .. not for long .. " Aaaand Nadia.

"What's not for long?" I interrupted. Jonah stared at me. I stared back. Nadia says he likes me, he's just reluctant about showing it. I think that's bullshit.

"Oh, some friends of ours might be staying here," Nadia shrugged, nonchalant, despite how serious she'd seemed moments before.

"Uh-huh .. well, that's cool, I guess. I'm gonna go up to my room, okay?"

"Okay, hon."

I waved, and, when Nadia had turned back, stuck my tongue out at Jonah a little. He rolled his gray eyes, and I ran like hell, because like I said, he's scary. The only reasons I'm not downright rude to him is because a) he's very very in love with Nadia, and you'd have to be a blind idiot not to see it, and b) he adores their 10 and 5 year old daughters and 7 year old son. So do I, actually. I think it's impossible not to adore those children.

Speaking of, once I'd climbed the five hundred zillion stairs to get to the floor with bedrooms, five-year-old Alyssa was dragging what appeared to be a giant cardboard box through her bedroom door. Alyssa was my favourite of the kids, probably because she was the youngest and therefore most entertaining.

"Lyss?" I queried, watching as the raven-haired girl kept dragging.

"Hi!" She waved, then returned to yanking on her box, "You look pretty, Anais!"

I smiled at her.

"So do you, 'Lyssa .. need any help with that box there?"

"Nuh-uh, I got it!" She made a show of yanking the box (I think it was a fridge box - no clue how she got it all the way up there, Jonah must've brought it up for her) through the door.

"Alright, then," I nodded seriously and went into my own room.

I flopped down in front of my TV after putting a random DVD in . turned out to be Queen of the Damned. Is it wrong that I think Stuart Townsend is really, really hot? Because .. I do. Even when he's got smudgy eye make-up and really really pale skin. The pale skin might be part of the attraction. Ditto for the hair. And, okay, the pants. I finished the movie once and then put it in again, not really minding to watch it again, stretched out on my bed and being too lazy to pick out another DVD anyway.. hmm .. just a day. Vampires would be cool .. I wish I knew some vampires.

I fell asleep right about when Lestat turned the pretty human girl.