Aren't We Just Terrified?

The weather in Monroeville is how I expected it to be. Dull, grey, and wet.
Instead of functioning semi-normally (how my parents would describe my daily activities), I've been staying in my room. I'm planning on becoming even more cold towards my parents. So they realise the selfishness of what they've done.
I know my dad's got a new job here. I'm not even sure what, but I'm assuming it has something to do with real estate, since that was his last job.
When I was a teenager, he would try to convince me to join the business, but it never interested me. I'll probably have no choice now, since there aren't many jobs in the town with high pay. I mean, presumably.
Two days since we've moved in, and I haven't left the house. I realise now that teenage rebellion doesn't have the same affect on parents when you reach adulthood. It's quite disappointing, really, since my choices have been reduced to someone the age of 17.
Going on social media is making me painfully sad, due to my friends posting stuff about their amazing personal lives. They pity me, but they still don't seem to talk to me or like any of the things I post. Even when I leave a comment on one their posts, they don't reply.
I'm starting to get the message now. They want to be left alone.
I get up from my bed, deciding to talk to my parents. It's 6, and it's already getting dark.

"Hey, mom," I greet her, waving as I sit down next to her at the dining room table.

"Hello, darling," She says, sipping from her mug. She avoids eye contact, reading her news paper. "Did you want something?"

"Well, um," I mumble, scratching my neck. "Are there any, like, bars here?"

She looks up at me, wide eyed.

"I'm not drinking, mom." I roll my eyes. "I just want to see if I can meet some people."

"Is that the type of thing you did in college?" She scowls.

"What the fuck do you think?"

"Language, young man!" My dad calls from the kitchen.

He walks in with a bowl of chips, sitting down at the other end of the table. I glare at him.

"I'm an adult now, I can do whatever the hell I want."

"I think you'll find 21 is the age when you legally become an adult." My mother smirked.

I have to hold back an insult. They're laughing at me.

"And I think you'll find you're both ignorant bigoted morons," I mumble, getting up.

The both look at me in shock, as if they're going to do something.
I walk to the front door, angrily opening it. It's locked.

"Unlock the door!"

***

I try to push away my regret for walking out the door. What will I do out here? I don't know this town.
I walk away from the house, with a stride that could easily be titled 'fake confidence itself'. Going back in would just prove their point, that I was a kid, further.
I walk down a few roads before coming across some people. This was a bad idea. I won't remember how to get back, and I'll have to call one of my parents to pick me up, resulting in complete humilliation. Not an option.
The sky is dark when I find other people. There are three men sitting outside an old bar, at a bench.
I ignore them, trying to seem as if I know what I'm doing when I walk to the door.

"Never seen you before!" I hear a voice call, right as I'm about to push the door open.

I turn around, looking at the three men. They're old. About 40. I seem to lose interest.

"Well, I'm new around here." I reply.

"Well, I'm new around here, sir." Another one laughs.

One of them gets up, and walks over to my small frame. Well, small compared to him, I hope.
To my relief, he walks past me, walking inside.
I catch the door behind him, walking in.
The room is misty with smoke. Maybe because all of the people in the room are smoking. Or maybe because that's the affect of the place.
I walk up to the bartender, asking for a beer. He asks me for ID, of course, but I hold in a sigh as I give it to him.
I sit down at the one lone table in the corner, hoping that the people surrounding me would just go back to what they were doing instead of staring at me.
There's one person in pirticular that catches my eye. A girl.
She's about the same age as me. A very large part of why I noticed her was the combination between her striking blue eyes, her black hair (slicking back into a pony tail), and the red rose nestled on the top of her ear.
She has a grey cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. She looks at me now and then, immediately looking down again.
Back in Belleville, I would never talk to a girl like that. Too innocent for a friendship. But something about her character combinations and my desperate need to talk to someone my age seems to bring more curiosity.
She's sitting next to two men, that look far too old to be her friends.
One that looks about 67 has his arm slung around her shoulders, and I sure as hell hope that's her father.
I zone out for a minute, thinking about my friends. I should talk to them. Maybe they'll let me rant about my parents.

"You look awfully busy," A female british voice makes me jump.

I look up, seeing the girl.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come over here," She smiles, sitting down.

I frown at her, confused.

"I'm Ingrid," She says, sitting down.

Very vampiric.

"Frank," I say, pursing my lips.

"Well then, Frank." She puts a hand down on the table, maybe a little too close. "You were staring at me, wanted something to say, perhaps?"

I swallow her question down like mouldy bread. This girl already seemed too full of herself for my liking.

"I wasn't staring. And, you were looking at me just as much as I was at you. Don't be so confident while approaching a stranger next time." I reply.

I take a sip of my beer, expecting her to get up. But she doesn't. She sits back, crossing her arms with a smug look on her face.

"I like you already," She says in an obvious but failed attempt at being attractive.

"I'm sorry to say the feeling isn't mutual." I take another swig of my drink, trying to finish it more quickly.

"Oh, but it will be." She whispers.

"What?" I look at her with a confused and almost offended expression.

"I become more likable once people get to know me."

"I don't want to get to know you," I grunt. "Do you mind leaving me alone now? I came here to drink, not socialise."

That was a lie, but I don't like her.

She laughs. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? It's not a request, it's a command, so please go away."

"Oh, so you think you can tell me what to do now?"

"It's not me telling you what to do, it's an act of respect to let people have their personal space and-"

"I don't care."

I glare at her, dumbfounded.

"Look, you've already made the boy dislike you." I look up to see the two men she was sitting with.

She huffs.

"I'll show you how it's done," The man who had his arm around her shoulder grabs me by the arms, pulling me with shocking strength out of my seat.

He pulls me out of the building in a flash, and I'm suddenly surrounded by all three of them.

"What the fuck?" I back up into the wall of the building with them in a semi-circle around me.

With my back up against the wall, I feel my pulse quicken, yet I'm not sure why. Two old men and a girl in a cardigan? What's the worst they can do to me?
The girl opens her mouth, far more wide than humanly possible. My eyes are wide, and I can't breath.
Her canines extend into two sharp fangs. And in a wicked grin, she steps closer.
Her supposed father puts a hand out to stop her.

"Not yet." He says, firmly.

Then, I scream.
It seems to take my three persuers by surprise.
Then I'm on the ground. I'm shaking or crying or something in between. I can't control myself.
My eyes close, and I feel like they can't open again.

And then something unexpected happens. I hear screams, and commotion. I still can't open my eyes. Or stop shaking.
The noise stops after a minute, and I crack open my eyes.
A figure is standing in front of me, looking down at me.
His hazel eyes peek out under his jet black locks of hair. A tattoo on the right of his neck in messy writing, saying "Very Much Alive".
I feel tears pour down my face, and he looks sympatheticlly at me.
And then, bright light fills my vision, and I faint.

Notes