Christine was playing with Tiger when I came out of my room. Her music was off, for once, which explained Tiger's willingness to actually be around her.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Christine greeted me while waving a string of yarn above Tiger's head.
"I'm thinking about stepping out today and-"
"Absolutely not," Christine cut me off. "I am not having you go out by yourself. Not with all these dangerous run-ins you've been having lately. I don't think so."
I stared at her. Did she not see this was urgent? I had to see him again. These dreams were starting to become repetitive to the point of irritation. And what was with him making it like he knew me from who knows when? I had to get answers. Did I know him from somewhere but just forgot? I'm not sure. That's why I needed to see him again.
I turned to leave, despite Christine's cries. I closed the door and wandered toward the now-familiar alley way.
"Hello?" I called, waiting for him to emerge. He didn't. "Are you there? Michael?" Nothing. Nice, he shows up when I don't want him, but when I'm actually calling him, he doesn't show. Real nice. "Michael, if you don't come out, I will personally make sure you're bleeding the next time I see you."
"Now, now. That is no way to treat your 'secret lover', now is it?"
I looked toward the voice and noticed a man with shocking red hair. His eyes were an eerie yellow that shined bright with mischief in the shadows.
"I don't know you…" I muttered.
"Of course you don't, my dear. For you have no memories of knowing me. You have no memories of knowing him, either. Poor, poor girl. You lost out on so much. Yet you have so little…" he trailed off, eyeing me with a look of hunger. "You do look quite delicious. No wonder he never forgets…"
I glared at him. "What the hell are you talking about? Memories? Memories of what?"
He merely grinned. "You'll find out soon enough," he stepped toward me, with lithe movement like that of a predator. He placed his index finger under my chin and forced me to look at him hovering over me. He looked like he was about to speak, but his eyes flickered down to my lips and something changed. A softness entered his gaze. The sudden shift in his demeanor shocked me to where I couldn't move away when he came closer. His lips dipped low, his eyelids closed and he kissed me.
His kiss was different from Michael's. Much fiercer. A deep hunger buried somewhere within him that needed quenching. His arms were like a straight jacket holding me in place. I couldn't move. Even if I wasn't shocked in a statue-like paralysis, I wouldn't have been able to move. What was this? Why was he kissing me like this? Why did his gaze soften upon looking at me closely? I didn't understand. His kiss wasn't something I wanted. Wasn't something that my body was eagerly waiting for, as it was with Michael.
His lips slowed after a while. Calmed down and began to move slower, much more passionately than they had at first. But it wasn't what I wanted. My lips were working along with his against my will. As if they knew him, as if they were familiar with his kiss. I had no explanation, no hope of understanding. The answers lay with him and Michael. And neither were speaking of these "memories" I supposedly lost.
His arms slowly let me go, his lips softly kissing me still. His lips lingering on the corners of my mouth, my cheek, traveling down to my neck; my body trembled in their wake. Until, they were yanked away. My eyes flew open.
"Trapping her with your evil magic, Damon?! That's low, even for you!" an angry outburst came from behind the yellow eyed man. A blur and a crash, and Michael came into my view.
"Michael?" I breathed. He looked at me with a distorted look of anger and hurt. Great. Now he thinks I was enjoying this unwelcome kiss.
"Trap her? Did you see her struggling? She LIKED it. Enjoyed it. Hell, I wouldn't be shocked if she wanted more," he smile a cocky smile at me. I glared, causing him to wink.
"Knowing you, you did SOMETHING. She wouldn't just stand there and take you filthiness," Michael spat at Damon.
Damon looked at me. "You liked what I gave you, girl?"
"Absolutely not! You sicken me! You did s-something to me. I couldn't move…" I trailed off, looking at the ground. Why couldn't I have moved? I didn't even struggle…what did that mean?
Michael approached Damon still crouching on the wall, "Did you hear that, you over confident scum bag? She. Don't. Like. You."
Damon smirked, "Not yet. She still doesn't remember what she did before. She doesn't even remember you."
The look on Michael's face…it was something I never expected to happen. The most angriest, hate-filled scowl took over his features. His lips were a tight line of hatred. His arms leapt from his sides and grabbed Damon around his neck. As Damon was slowly turning the same color as his hair, Michael growled, "You ever lay one hand on her again and you will wish you never even came up here from your father's world. You hear me?" At that, he threw Damon at the other wall and approached me. I cringed.
"A-are you m-mad…?"
He looked stunned. "Serena, I would never be mad at you. It isn't your fault you were caught under his spell. And besides, you can't remember what it is that he caused you to do anyways…" he trailed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
My eyes widened and I looked at him. "I came here, looking for you. I wanted to ask you about that. You and him both…you guys say that I don't remember, that I have no memories of the past…what do you mean?"
He just stood there, staring at the ground. Not answering me. I closed the distance between us and forced him to look at me. "Michael? Tell me? I need to know," I said quietly.
He sighed and answered, "All right. I'll tell you. Only to prevent you from ever making the mistake of kissing him-" he jerked his head at Damon "-again. Meet me here tomorrow morning."
At that, he kissed me on my forehead and, like was his habit, melted away into
the shadows. I sighed and walked back home, wondering why it had to wait. About a mile away from my house, I remembered Christine would be waiting with an entire lecture prepared for me. Gulping, I snuck around to my bedroom window and eased it open. I crawled into my bed and settle down for the night.
---
My dreams that night consisted of a mixture of feather wings and crimson fire. The wings seemed to be creating a sort of barrier around a ghost of a figure, protecting it from the flames threatening to sneak it's way over. The flames vaguely reminded me of Damon's hair…
