Author: Sabreal PM
Being held at gunpoint is not as cracked up to be- especially when it leads to a mating ritual that only spells trouble....Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural - Chapters: 2 - Words: 5,425 - Reviews: 23 - Favs: 18 - Follows: 58 - Updated: 09-20-09 - Published: 09-14-09 - id: 2720384
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
You guys like werewolves?
To say I had anything going for me was a gross understatement. So gross in fact, that......
Yep. That's right folks. Blank space.
I wouldn't exactly call myself lazy, but other people didn't seem to have a problem in that department. "Honestly, Maddie," my mom would sigh, "Why don't you try for the squad? It's not healthy to be holed up all day, eating tangy cheese nachos."
"What?" I would cleverly reply. "And rip my you-know-what by doing the splits? No thanks."
Suffice to say, mom wasn't exactly happy. Particularly since she had supposedly been head cheerleader back in her day. I say "supposedly" because for all I know, all those pictures of a girl in pom-poms littering her high school yearbook could've been her arch-nemsis, that mom thought she could pose as to get me interested in....yay CHEERLEADING!
Yeah. Yeah. I know. My mom could've been a cheerleader, but trust me, after meeting her you'd be seriously doubting her claims too.
How could you believe a woman who declares national food day is the favorite day of her year, and has been since she was seven? Totally bypassing Ryan's and my birthday's whilst at it too.
I just think mom wants me to be popular and well-liked, so I wouldn't end up a sociopath and murder her in her bed. How absolutely fantastic, mom. Of course my first thought would be, if I ever ended up a sociopath is I must wait for my mome to go to bed, till I murder her.
I thought being a sociopath was all about random attacking? Because if I really did wait to attack her, that'd be called pre-meditation and I'd be a cold-blooded murderer not a sociopath.
Anyways, Ryan could be popular enough for both of us.
Ryan, if you haven't already guessed, is my little wee brother. Except he's more like six feet now, and doesn't waste any opputuntiy to rub it in my face while he can. Take this for an example:
"Look," Ryan gloated one day in 7-Eleven, as he reached up to grab the last can of tuna. One of his biceps bulged and I swear to god, an old lady dressed in a floral dress and cruising in a scooter gulped. "I can reach the high shelf now. Who's Mr Puny now?"
I bit the edge of my sunglasses that had emerged out of my pocket, and considered the old lady now zooming off the aisle, a bemused tabby cat peeking out of her cardigan.
"I dunno, Ry Ry," I pondered, "You still seem more barbie than Ken to me, you get what I mean?"
Ryan, at fourteen, already had nearly all the girls in his year in a swoon. Honestly if one more girl rings up, breathlessly asking for Ry Ry, I'm gonna ask mom to reconsider booking me into a sociopath clinic.
Ryan's brow puckers up, clearly a sign that he was thinking hard. He runs a hand, that I'm pretty sure he'd been picking bogies earlier, through his dirty blond hair so unfortunately like my own, and scowls heavily.
"Don't call me that!" he snapped, glancing frantically around as if expecting a group of girls to be hiding behind a stack of loo-rolls nearby, waiting to ambush him. I chuckled, and ran my finger down the next item on the list, which conviently happened to be loo-rolls.
As I had been reaching for a loo-roll, the exagerated whisper had me peering around the display into the molten gray eyes of Olivia.
Olivia Hudson, as in Ryan's number one fan.
"Olivia," I said warmly, taking in the dearanged look in her eye and the pink sundress that was slipping off one shoulder. As if aware of my scrutiny, she smoothed back her blonde curls and took out a digital camera from a pocket from god knows where.
I glanced back at Ryan to see if he aware of the recent development, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him high-fiving a boy that had appeared out of nowhere.
"Maddie!" Olivia whispered urgently, bringing back my attention to her. " Please help me take photographs of Ryan! So far all I've got is a few shots of his nostrils when he borrowed my camera pencil and shoved it up his nose--"
I didn't know whether to be impressed or replused. Jeez, Olivia took the whole crush thing to a whole new level. Next thing she'd be asking me to take photos of Ryan in the shower!
"It's for a art project, you know," Olivia garbled, thrusting the camera into my hands. "And the naked form is always so beautiful, you know? And y-you're his sister, right? So catching him in the shower would be no problem! So, do you agree? Oh, you're a star!" she whispered before throwing me a butterfly kiss and scurrying out the opposite end of the display stand.
My mouth worked furiously but no sound came out as Ryan, having finished high-fiving his mate took out a tomato from our trolley and began kicking it around.
"Olivia!" I called, "You do realise I'm his sister, right? And what you've asked me is just plain disgust-"
"Olivia?!" Ryan's panicked voice broke in, somewhere above my left shoulder. "Where?! We have to hide, come on!" and with that launched across the aisle, in an impressive display of athleticsm whilst shoving me in the opposite direction at the same time.
Right on top of the loo-rolls, I might add.
I shrieked as I fell, covering my face with my hands as rolls and rolls of loo-paper seemed to be raining down on my head, until at last there I was buried in a mountain of white/peach and blossom pink. Desperately hammering away at my coffin as I started to hear violent hiccups of laugher from outside.
I bared my teeth in anger as my so-called brother fell apart, and a high-piched command echoed over the intercom.
"Would all security guards positioned on the shop floor, please make their way to aisle 13 immediately. Use force if necessary."
And with that ambiguous statement ringing in my ears, I blinked dazedly as loo-rolls were sent flying and a sweaty security guard appeared, shining a torch into my eyes.
"Shoplifter has been detained, over."
"Bring her to the main office. The police have been called. Third time this month, over"
And all I could think stupidly, as I a beefy palm reached out to grab me by the sweatshirt was....
Someone has unsucessfullytried to steal loo-rolls three times?
So much for going down in the books as an all time great.
"Maddie, you'll lock up, won't you?" Renne asks sweetly, and blows a kiss in my direction. "Oh, you're a star! Well see ya tomorrow morning, babes."
I must have the word pushover all over my forehead. That's the second time this week someone has offered me an option, without actually letting me to disagree. I scowled as I flipped over a page in my magazine and waved Renne away with a hand.
Although I might not be Renne's biggest fan, hearing the door swish behind her was slightly disheartening. Now I had to get through the next half hour alone in a convenience store, which I absolutely didn't want to be in, let alone volunteer in.
I thought back to the fateful afternoon, where Ryan and I had been dragged off to the manager's office by the security guards. It hadn't taken them long to trace mom, and I swear to God, I'd never seen my mom look so disappointed as she had, when she stepped into the room.
"Maddie," she'd frowned, "When I meant you to take up an extra-curricular activity, I didn't mean shoplifting. And to think I raised you with morals! Ryan-- Don't sit there smirking! You can wave goodbye to football training."
Now, it was me who was smirking. Now I didn't have to wait for him to finish jock training- whoops- I meant football training after school any longer! Result!
"Maddie, pay back all the damage you caused now."
"I didn't mean too."
God, could I have sounded any more feeble? What happened to witty 24/7, come rain or shine?
It also didn't help that I was virtually SKINT. S-K-I-N-T. As in, nope no money on me whatsoever.
What little money I did get from my weekly allowance, was usually spent on buying music files to keep me entertained whilst I was munching tangy cheese nachos, in my bedroom.
But like I was ever going to admit that.
"Sorry? Sorry? Well, it's a little too late for that, don't you think? It doesn't automatically reverse all the damage you caused-- sorry, is just a word!--"
The manager, whom happened to be a middle-ageing man of thirty, with a horrenduous pin-striped tie and liver spots on his head broke into my mom's heated conversation.
Except all the conversation was coming from her side.
"Exactly! We'll only know if...Madeleine, is it?...(I nodded)...is sorry if she gave back to the community!" He started shuffling a bit of paperwork that he'd been clearly going through before we-uh-interrupted after uncapping an ink pen. "I suggest we keep this out of the courts. How about Madeliene here works here for free until she pays back all the damage caused? Which is..."
He rapidly flicked a page in a notebook. "20 loo-rolls, a metal stand and a squished tomato. Oh and the wages of all security guards whom had to deal with you for that day."
My mouth was open, but all that managed to escape was a strangled sort of moan. Next thing, he's gonna charge me for the electricity used to interact with his security guards....
Ryan shot me a warning look as if to say, Don't you DARE mention the tomato.
This is so unfair. How could everyone naturally assume that just because I crushed the loo-roll display, that it was all my fault.
It was Ryan's, Ryan's, Ryan's!
I thought of the digital camera tucked in my pocket and smirked. Oh I'd gladly take all the slack for now-- but Ryan better be saying his prayers when I handed that camera back into Olivia's Hudson's hands complete with 500 photographs of the most humiliating positions to be in.
With that comforting thought, I was brought back into the present with a slight bump. I glanced at the clock, and decided that locking up five minutes early wouldn't do harm to anyone. Who would know anyway? If Renne somehow found out, I could always blackmail her with the fact she didn't stay behind with me to lock up.
Grabbing my duffel coat and shrugging it on, I walked out from behind my till and made my way to the entrance, clocking out along the way as my hand hovered on the switch to turn off all power except the separate wire to the fridges/freezer and security system.
I didn't notice the guy until it was too late.
He was standing outside the automatic doors, just out of reach from the sensors. I couldn't make out much of him, but having seen me dithering by the switches, he stepped forward and the doors sprung open with a ssss.
"I'm sorry sir," I said, eyeing him curiously. The black hoodie he'd drawn over his head gave nothing away and the black slacks didn't help either. "But we're closed. Come back in the morning."
"You don't look closed."
My smile wavered, as a scathing voice scorched my ears. My posture straightened. Something told me it was going to take more than a friendly smile to go away. It didn't help that I couldn't see his reaction to my words.
"It's five to midnight, sir," I said politely, alliterating the time. "If you had wanted something you should have come earlier."
He took a step further into the light yet as the rays bounced of his hood and into my eyes, I had yet to see his face. The doors behind him shut with a ssss and this time it sounded frightening. It sounded like a sword being unsheathed from it's scabbard, ready to lope heads in battle. I clutched at the customer's service desk beside me, and nearly let go of the keys in my hand. Renne, why did you leave me?
"You're in heat."
For a second, it felt like I'd misheard him. Did he just say heat? Nah, he must have been inquiring where the meat was. I imagined a butcher's knife under his hooded sweatshirt and felt decidedly faint. My hands were shaking. "Sir," and by the looks of it, my voice was too. I glanced yet again at the clock and realised with a thrill of panic it was one past twelve. I should've locked up by now. "Please go. The meat will still be waiting for you in the morning."
I was paralyzed as he started to reach upwards to push his hood back, and I realised with a sick lurch in my stomach that his hands were gloved in leather. I almost didn't want to look when the hood fell to his shoulders but forced myself to peek through my eyelids. Oh. My. God.
He was wearing a freaking balaclava with only two eyeholes to reveal blue piercing eyes.
"I want you to get over to that till," he indicated to the till I just vacated with the nod of the head, "And give me all the money. Understood? Or do you want me to spell it clearer?"
A part of me wanted to chirp, Spell it clearer! just to see what he'd do but rethought it when I saw a glint enter his eye. His eyes held my own, as he slowly reached into the waistband of his slacks and pulled out a....holy shit, was that a revolver?!
"That's the safety catch off, darling," he informed and then pointed the gun so I was directly staring down it's barrel. "Now do as I fucking say and give me the fucking money."
Two swear words in a sentence. I was getting to him. Funny, and I hadn't even said anything since the whole the meat'll be waiting for you bullcrap. I eyed the weapon in his hands, still trained in military fashion straight at my heart. It looked like one of Ryan's play guns at home...but then I wasn't exactly prepared to test if this man was bluffing or not. By the deadly fire in his eyes I was guessing it was the not.
He followed me as I edged around the customer's information desk, leaving the electricity main box ajar and without letting my eyes disconnect from his gun once, I managed to make it behind my till and with a bing pressed it open.
"That's it," he was watching my hands closely and I tried to hide my trembling as I took out the wad of dollar bills, still encircled in an elastic band and shoved it over to him. He nodded at the till and tightened his finger on the safety catch. "And all the cents too, darlin'. Don't think you can pull the fast one on me."
Fast one? I felt like snorting. How is stopping you robbing me of every last cent, classified as a fast one? Now if I was in your bed on the otherhand...
I blushed as I started grabbing handfuls of coins and releasing them on the counter. The man leaned on it, as if he was a casual shopper and proceeded to continue chatting with me as if I was a pet guinea pig that he loved terrorizing.
"You really need to get that sorted out, darling"
God, his darlings were about this far from making me crash down my cash register on top of his head. I watched as his gun lowered from my heart and travelled downwards until it pointed somewhere below the desk. I drew an imaginary line from it and blushed yet again when I realised he was pointing straight at my--
"Your cunt is really drippin. Now, you don't want other males to get the wrong idea, do ya? Get yourself fucked and over with." I could almost see his sadistic grin.
So much for worrying about splitting my you-know-what open by doing the splits, I thought sourly. This man seems on the brink of offering to do it for me.
This story is going to fluctuate between humor and deadly seriousness. Comic relief verses death.
A/N: I know, I know. You all want to kill me for starting another story. But I just HAD to get this out of my system! I'll probably update this when I have the time. (Very busy year ahead)
But yes, I'm back with writing about what I love--werewolves :):)