Read Chapter 1 of my WIP

Chapter 1

This is a Work In Progress. This is not the final edition, and may change upon release. 

Sam knew at 16 that nobody would ever love him when his girlfriend ran away from him, screaming.

He learned early on that people are all the same. Fearful. Judgemental. Cruel. Trying to find kinship with someone when they've been taught to loathe and fear you is impossible. That's why he couldn't bring himself to give anyone the chance to really know him. His mother always told him, "You're special. Unique. The best of both worlds," as if being half-demon was something to be proud of. 

He runs a hand through his pale hair, nearly white, scoffing at himself in the bathroom mirror. His cyan eyes stare back at him. His mothers. The only thing of value she left him when she passed away two years ago, more precious to him than his considerable inheritance. Apparently, his dad thought it was fine to just up and leave them, as long as they had money to get by. Where did it come from? No clue. Sam didn't give a shit. Even when she lay dying, his father didn't show up. You'd think that he'd at least have the decency to come to the funeral of the mother of his child. If he even knew. And if he knew, he didn't care. 

His fingers tighten around the porcelain, a flash of red in his pupils, anger growing in him like an ember stoking the fires of his resentment. "One day you'll meet him," she said. A hollow comfort, and a beautiful lie. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Doesn't want to shatter the porcelain sink under his tightening grip.

He takes one last breath before heading out. Normally, his best friend Brandon would tag along with him to the bar to watch drunk people embarrass themselves, but not tonight. Apparently, he had a date with some random girl he met while playing games. So he'll just go by himself. Better than stewing in his own apartment, bored out of his skull.

He opens the door and walks out into the night. Pitch dark, as is usual for a late summer evening, but the sky above is clear, with stars twinkling. He takes a moment just to admire them, appreciating the beauty of the universe. He heads for his black Chevy Impala. Of course, he had to have one, after all, Supernatural is his favorite show. He chuckles at the irony, knowing the brothers wouldn't hesitate to cut his head off. Or maybe try to exorcise him. If only. He would gladly rid himself of his demonic side, given the chance. 

He turns the key to the ignition, and the car growls loudly, the steering wheel vibrating with the force of the engine rumbling. The only expensive thing he bought, that didn't serve any other purpose than "he wanted it." He still lives in his ratty old apartment, content to be just regular old Sam. That is—if you can call twenty-eight old. 

He pulls out of the driveway, speeding down the road towards the bar. The city lights flash by, and it soothes him, much like the noise of it. It all drowns out the voices in his head, haunting him when silence falls, and it's just him and his grief. Moving to a big city was the best decision he made after his mom passed. A new start. 

He pulls into the parking lot of "Starlet's Nest", the neon sign beckoning him in, once again, like it had many nights before. He enters the dim establishment, heading for his usual spot by the bar. The whole place reeks of cigarettes, leather, and booze, a heavy and near-suffocating scent. But Sam likes it that way. It's comforting, familiar in a way.

It's pretty empty, apart from the regulars who drown their sorrows in alcohol nightly, something he could see himself doing, but chose not to do. The bartender, Lucy, knew him by name, and once she sees him, she waves him over. 

"Good to see you again, Sam!" she chirps as he sits down on the barstool. Her wavy blonde hair falls down her shoulders as she cleans a glass with a rag.

"Likewise. It's dead tonight, maybe I'm early?" He grins, wide and genuinely, a little dimple forming on his cheek. A smile that could melt hearts. 

"Yeah, but it'll get busy in no time. Just you wait." 

Sam looks around the bar, spotting some older women chattering in the booths with a bottle of red wine, laughing heartily. Humans find joy in the smallest things. It's kind of adorable. Another booth has a few raunchy college guys downing beers, chatting amongst themselves, grinning like morons. Very typical fuck-boy behaviour.

His gaze sweeps over the bar, noting a few of the regular drunks sitting there, one of them slumped over the wooden tabletop, probably asleep or passed out. Then, at the far end of the bar, seated by herself all the way opposite him, catches his eye. 

Long, pitch black hair, spilling over her shoulders like thick, inky smoke, as she reads a heavy book lying flat on the tabletop. Emerald eyes, framed by a thick dark eyeliner, like a cat's. Long, red nails, tapping on the glass filled with pale liquid, held in her dainty hand. Wearing clothes that nearly blend with her hair, it's no wonder he didn't spot her when he entered. But now that he sees her, he can't take his eyes away. 

"Do you know who she is?" Sam asks the bartender in a hushed tone, pointing subtly in the other woman's direction. The bartender shrugs.

"No, she's never been here before. All I know is that she likes rose wine." 

Sam nods thoughtfully, considering whether or not he should go over and introduce himself to the raven-haired beauty. But he decides against it, seeing as she's reading. Nobody wants a creep chatting them up when they're busy reading, he thinks to himself. 

And just as he finishes that thought, one of the college guys, clearly a frat boy from his god-awful shirt with kappa-something on it, approaches her. Sam narrows his eyes, watching intently as the sleazy guy leans on the back of her barstool, grinning confidently at her. Luckily, the bar is quiet enough that Sam can overhear their conversation.

"Hi there, gorgeous. What brings you to this shithole?" The college guy chuckles, throwing a look over his shoulder at his frat bros quietly cheering him on. 

"Fuck off," she sneers, without her eyes leaving the pages of her book. Sam snort-laughs quietly at her blunt rejection, taking a swig of the whiskey he ordered just moments ago. 

"What's your fuckin' problem?" The frat boy snaps back, his fingers tightening on the barstool's wooden back. "I just wanted to talk."

"No, you didn't. You wanted to bring me home so you could get a point for your pathetic frat game." Her tone is cold and firm. She nonchalantly flips another page.

The guy rears back, his mouth hanging open. 

"How did you—" 

"I said. Fuck. Off." The words seethe through clenched teeth.

The guy shuffles back to his friends, muttering profanities under his breath. Sam can't help but smile to himself as his eyes follow the defeated college boy slinking away with his tail between his legs. When he looks back in her direction, she's gone. His smile falters. He scans the dim bar, trying to spot her again. How could she just have vanished like that?

"Did that amuse you?" 

Sam whips around and sees her standing there, right behind him. For a moment, he's just speechless. She's stunning. Those green eyes pin him in place, clashing with his cyan. His face burns.

"Yeah," he manages after a beat, giving her a crooked smile. 

"At least you had the decency to leave me be, even if you were staring at me." She raises an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms, clearly suspicious of his intentions. Sam chuckles awkwardly.

"Sorry about that." He flashes her a bright smile, cocking his head. "Buy you a drink to make up for my gawking at you?"

That breaks her scowl, and she scoffs a laugh. She uncrosses her arms and takes a seat next to him, her eyes having brightened up.

"Alright, fine. I'll have a—"

"One glass of rosé wine, please," Sam says to Lucy. She nods and brings the glass over. 

"I'm Sam." 

She smiles, a mischievous glint in her eye. Normally, she'd be offended by someone ordering for her, but—he's already paid enough attention to know what she likes, before even speaking to her.

"I'm Lily. Nice to meet you, Sam." She flips her black hair over her shoulder, and Sam's eyes drop down, spotting a silver pentagram necklace hanging around her neck. But—not wanting to be caught staring at her chest—he quickly looks up and grins at her. 

"Lily," he says warmly. "So, is this your first time here? I can't say I've seen you before." He smiles, holding her gaze, as if he could look away again. "I'd definitely remember eyes like yours." 

She blinks at him, her cheeks turning red. Her heart beats a little faster, caught off guard not only from his compliment, but from his cyan eyes, pulling her in, holding her. An incredible shade of blue she's never seen before. 

"I—no, I've never been here before. I just walked by earlier, needing somewhere quiet to read in peace, and this bar seemed like the perfect place for it. That is—until I was interrupted by frat bro shitstain over there," she says loudly, nodding in the direction of the college boys. Sam snorts, amusedly taking in the outraged faces of the guys in the booth on the other side of the bar. 

"So, what were you reading? Looked pretty engaging!" Sam eyes the heavy-looking bag slung over her shoulder. 

"Non-fiction. It's what I usually read. Apart from Thrillers and Horror, of course. A stereotypical goth girl, I know, I can't help it. I guess I'm just drawn to the darkness." She looks at him with those stunning green eyes and smiles, and it nearly takes his breath away. If he weren't painfully aware of his own facial expressions, he knows his jaw would drop. Such a little thing, it's just a smile, and still, it's pierced him like a stake to the heart. 

He knows he's screwed. This girl, this amazing, breathtaking girl, has already all but brought him to his knees, and she has no idea. His heart starts racing, and he has to clench and unclench his hands to rein in the wild fluttering of it. 

"Guess I'm drawn to it too," he says, giving her a risky, yet playful wink. It seems to have paid off, as her pale face turns a healthy shade of pink. 

"Clearly," she retorts with a grin. Their drinks sit forgotten on the tabletop of the bar, and the dim lights do little to dissuade him from studying her face, not able to tear his eyes away from her. And she returns it, eyelashes fluttering on her cheek. 

"So, Sam, do you give your number to all the girls you've just met?" 

Sam tilts his head, confused. He hasn't given—

She slides her phone over to him on the wooden counter, a little smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh! Uh, no, just you." He quickly picks it up and taps his number into the keypad before handing it back to her. She immediately dials, and sure enough, his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jean jacket. 

"I had to make sure you didn't give me a fake number," she teases. "Besides, now you have my number too. Don't abuse that privilege, though. I don't want my number to end up on the stalls of the men's room." 

To Sam's shock and awe, she winks at him, flashing him that radiant smile again. For just a millisecond, her smile falters, but in the blink of an eye, it's back again. "Well, I gotta go, it's getting late, and I miss my other books. See you later, Sammy!" She hops off the barstool, adjusting the bag slung casually over her shoulder, before strutting out of the dim bar, with Sam's—and the college boys'—eyes following her and the black knee-length dress flowing behind her. She takes a leather jacket off the bar's coat rack, throwing it on before leaving.

As she opens the door, she throws a smile over her shoulder at Sam, winks, and exits. All he can do is sit there, awestruck. It's like she just cast a spell on him, and now he's like a fly trapped in her web. And if so, he's the luckiest fly in the world, eager to be devoured by this breathtaking spider.

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