Deia/Zane (As Yet Untitled) Clip Two Draft Two

Some human beings are born as angels. Most aren't, mind you, and are simply human, with greed and darkness and depravity as much a part of them as their smile. But others, while being far from perfect, just seem as though such distasteful qualities cannot touch them. They radiate light, happiness, and enthusiasm from their very bodies. It's in their voices, their postures, their personalities.

I didn't believe in angels for a long time. I couldn't bring myself to. All the world had ever been to me was dark and I thought that something so brilliantly light as an angel would be obvious.

They must not exist if I couldn't see them.

But I didn't recognize her as one when I met her. Not for a long time was I able to figure out what was so different about her.

I had just been transferred to yet another home, another town, another high school, and I wasn't in the best of mental places. I knew that this one would end just the same as all the others. My only hope was to stick it out for seven months, until I turned eighteen. Then I could get myself an apartment, finish my education.

But it seemed unlikely.

It was on my second day at the new school that I ran into her. Literally.

She wasn't watching where she was going, reading while she was walking. And, well, I was staring at her.

She was in a couple of my classes, and even on the second day of school, it was obvious that she was the Smart Girl. All the other students always looked to her to give the answers and all the teachers had her sitting front and center. Besides, the girl was walking while reading a book! She definitely had her geek on.

But that wasn't why I was staring at her, walking down the hall during lunch break. No, I was staring because she was a sexy little thing.

She was on the short side, maybe about 5'2", but she had a great rack, just a little bit large on her frame. Her ass was excellent, too, a tight number that wasn't huge, but wasn't tiny either. The girl had curves to go with her geek, and that combination was a definite turn on.

She wasn't rough on the eyes in other places, either. She was pale, but not unhealthily so, with dark brown hair that was just shy of black and fell in waves down her back. She had large turquoise blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. Her lips had a perfect cupid's bow. I can still remember exactly how they felt on me.... But that is for later.

She held herself high, seeming to bounce and sway as she walked. This was the first time I had ever seen her without a smile. She vibrated with life, and seemed always to be doing something or other.

I was fascinated.

So, of course, I walked right into her.

"Ow!" she yelped, dropping her book to grab onto her wrist.

Oops....

"I'm sorry," I hastened to apologize then cover my tracks, bending down to pick up the book she had dropped. "It would appear that neither one of us was watching where we were going." Lie, lie, liiiiieee....

Curious, I glanced at the book she had been reading. It was a Signet Classics edition of Shakespeare's "As You Like It". I gave her props for reading the Bard, but "As You Like It"?

Ew, girly Shakespeare.

I glanced up, about to hand it back to her, only to find her staring at me. I froze, fighting the urge to tense up. I knew what she would see, and I didn't like the idea that she was just soaking it all in, like so much poison that she must inevitably expel from her system.

I was a hard guy with a harder past, and I looked it in my shabby jeans and t-shirt. My hair was towards the long side and my nose had been broken a couple of times. I had scars on my fingers and my abdomen, though she couldn't see the latter. It didn't matter. I knew they were there.

Why was she still staring?

I couldn't take it.

"If you're done staring, you can have your Shakespeare back," I said, brandishing the play at her, my voice perhaps a little colder and harsher than necessary. But I didn't want her eyes on me, judging me. This was defense.

"By the way," I continued callously, "'As You Like It' is just sappy. 'Macbeth' is much better." I felt satisfaction as her face creased with temper and she snatched the book from me. That had distracted her from what she'd seen.

"Thanks for the information," her voice cut at me, "But I like that 'As You Like It' is rather sappy. 'Macbeth' has its merits, like a truly beautiful portrayal of a psychopath," her glare tightened on me for a moment before she continued. "But it was a little grim for my mood when I woke up this morning."

Well, that put me in my place. You just have to respect a girl with an eloquent temper.

"But was he a psychopath or just your standard person?" I asked, eager to see what else she had.

She didn't disappoint.

Deia/Zane (As Yet Untitled) Clip One Draft Two

Sometimes you can see the darkness in a person's eyes. It's a shadow, right behind the irises, and it seems to spill out and over his or her entire face, etching it with hard lines before seeping down into the throat where it roughens and flattens the voice.

I always wondered what could be so bad in a person's brain that it couldn't deal with that negativity, somehow convert it to hope. Being a bit of a Pollyanna myself, maybe I don't really want to know, despite the curiosity.

After all, that shadow behind the irises is a damned scary thing to behold.

Zane had them, I remember. I had just turned seventeen when I first met him, and he wasn't much older than that. We were in the same grade in high school, but he was a transfer, so when he bumped into me at lunch, I didn't know him.

"Ow!" I protested, grabbing my wrist where he'd jammed it.

He blushed as he bent to pick my book off the floor, the color staining the back of his neck before he stood to face me.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was low, rough, deep, flat, beautiful. "It would appear that neither one of us was watching where we were going."

I sucked in my breath as I got a look at him. I was used to attractive guys, but I usually found them to have a certain irresponsible levity to them, or a deplorably whiny angst. This one was just... dark.

I was too naive to be scared back then.

He had golden-bronze blond hair, an equally golden complexion and deep green eyes that seemed to see everything. His cheekbones where sharp and high, his lips full and sensuous, the bottom lip just a little bit more lush than the top. His neck was long and corded with muscle that continued into his broad shoulders, but was hidden by his t-shirt. His chest was wide, tapering down into his worn, grey-washed jeans. His arms were muscular, and his hands proportionately large and disproportionately sensitive as one wrapped almost completely around my book.

"If you're done staring," his voice drew me back to his unsmiling visage, "then you can have your Shakespeare back." He shoved the book toward me. "By the way, 'As You Like It' is just sappy. 'Macbeth' is much better."

I accepted the book, irritation wrinkling my brow. He was questioning my taste in literature!

"Thanks for the information," I said dryly, "But I like that 'As You Like It' is rather sappy. 'Macbeth' has its merits, like a truly beautiful portrayal of a psychopath, but it was a little grim for my mood when I woke up this morning."

His eyebrows arched in silent surprise. He was a lit snob, I just knew it. The type that didn't think a story was literature unless it portrayed the dark side of human nature or society. Hmph. He was severely limiting his world view, provided that was the case.

"But is he a psychopath or just your standard person?" he asked, confirming my theory. "After all, his wife masterminds Duncan's murder."

"Yes," I shot back, "But she cannot bring herself to perform the actual act, and the guilt of it all eventually destroys her. Macbeth experiences no such remorse."

He looked impressed now, nodding slowly, upper lip stiff.

"My name is Zane," he offered, thumbs in his pockets, fingers framing his zipper. "I didn't expect to meet anyone literature minded in this town."

I pointedly held my hand out for a shake.

"Don't let the small town atmosphere fool you. Our library selection may suck balls in a painful way, but that doesn't say anything about what we appreciate."

I looked from my hand to his face to his hands, which hadn't moved from his pockets, back to my hand.

Nothing.

"However, we do appreciate good manners. At least, I do," I finally prompted.

"Oh!" He blushed again and hastily placed his hand in mine to shake.

He had a nice handshake, straight up and down, confidently firm without being crushing.

"I'm Deia Cohls," I introduced myself, repressing an 'mm-mm!' for his handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Zane...?"

"Astonse," he provided.

"Astonse," I finished, before getting wicked. "Well, after the initial nearly breaking my wrist part."

He smiled.

I wish I had known enough to keep my distance from such broken cheer.