An Arranged Marriage. . . To A Vampire!

Chapter One

I slid the blade across my skin and watched as the red liquid poured out of the cut, flowing from my wrist quicker than I expected. I watched it solemnly, feeling drunk. I wasn't, though I wasn't really averse to that idea but ever since my dad died my mom has been using up all of the alcohol. I had turned to something else, something that instead of making me forget my pain, created more. A stronger pain. One that overshadowed the pain of my dad's death for a few short seconds. It also meant that I was suffering, too. My dad died- why shouldn't I? When I was the one who killed him?
I let my thoughts run through that fateful day with him, when he had died because of me. It was easier to do so when my arm was hurting so bad. It felt like it was on fire and I gladly excepted it. I watched in agony as my mind replayed those last memories of him.
We were ice skating on the pond. It had been only two years ago and I was fourteen. We were having the best time together, laughing and playing around, trying different tricks on the ice and racing each other from end to end of the frozen pond. It was a perfect day. But then my dad had caught a soft spot in the ice and he fell through. I tried to get over to him, but in my panic I fell down and twisted my ankle bad. I had sprained it. I couldn't move, momentarily forgetting about my dad freezing to death in the water. I was only worried about me and my quickly swelling ankle. So selfish. When I finally stopped crying and rocking back and forth and screaming that my ankle hurt I looked over to where my dad was. His head was lying down on the ice and I thought he had just passed out or something. His arm was outstretched toward me, his skin a sickening blue. His hair had ice sickles in them. I had scooted over to him slowly, still worried about my damn foot. I raised his head and his eyes didn't open. I screamed his name over and over again, but still they stayed shut. I pressed my fingers to the side of his neck and to his wrists, frantically checking for a pulse. But there wasn't one. He was dead and it was all my fault. If I had just forgotten about my stupid ankle and helped in, maybe he would've survived. Maybe we could've gotten him to the hospital in time. But it was too late. And now he's gone because of me. And my mom is an alcoholic who hates me. It's no secret that she blames me for his death, too. As she should.
I sighed as the blood started dripping to the floor. I grabbed a black towel quickly, pressing it tightly to my wrist. My mom didn't know that I cut myself, but if she ever found out... I shuddered at the thought. My mom had become a little abusive since dad died. I tried to stay clear of her most of the time, but sometimes she would come home so drunk even locking my door and hiding in my closet couldn't keep her away from me. It was seriously scary when she came busting through the doors, holding an ax in her hand, though she had only used the ax on me once. I had thought she was going to kill, but she passed out drunk right before did anything too drastic. Just a few cuts on my back. I actually didn't mind all that much. I knew that I deserved it.
For the past two years I haven't been able to talk to anyone. I lost every friend I had. I isolated myself, turning to diaries and gothic clothing and knives for comfort. No one ever spoke to me- ever. I was the freak in school. At home my mom never talked to me, other than to tell me to make her some food or something. And I was fine with it all. Anyone who kills their parents deserves to be all alone.
"Schuyler!" I heard my name being called. It was my mother. She sounded drunk, but also a little afraid. Huh. What was that about. "Schuyler! Get down here!"
I sighed, annoyed but a little concerned. My mom never called for me. She hardly ever even looked at me. And she sounded scared. No matter what my mom did to me I'll always love her. I didn't want her to be afraid. I didn't want her to be in pain. Another reason I cut myself. I killed my dad and I'm causing my mom pain. Only fair that I be in pain, too.
I pulled a jacket on to hide the blood-smeared cut on my arm and walked out of my room, trudging slowly down the stairs. My mother was standing there at the bottom with two people. One was a young man that looked about twenty-five. He was handsome with slicked-back black hair, silver eyes, full pale lips, and a sleek, black, button-down shirt with loose jeans on. But he couldn't hold a candle to the teenage boy standing next to him. The boy had black hair that was spiked up with hair gel, blue eyes with silver fleck in them, full lips and high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and a great body. He wore a blue button-down shirt that complimented his eyes and black jeans. I felt a strange jolt go through me as I looked at his face. I thought he looked a little familiar.