Freaksville
Ashley Brooke Robbins
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Freaksville
Copyright © 2015 Ashley Brooke Robbins
All rights reserved.
ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-939590-46-6
Inkspell Publishing
5764 Woodbine Ave.
Pinckney, MI 48169
Edited By Kate Richards
Cover art By Najla Qamber
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
“I will not let the past define me as the person I am today….”
Demi Lovato
“Those who tried to break you are expecting you to be in fight mode. Conquer them with your peace….”
Thema Davis
Darkness Within
He’s dark,
Outside and in.
Can anything change his inner demons?
The light and the dark side,
He’s seen it all before.
Peace.
Inner peace is only achieved,
Once in a blue moon.
Can the girl with the eyes that shine,
At even the darkest monster,
The girl whose smile makes his heart beat again,
Be his salvation?
Or,
Will it turn to shit, too?
DEDICATION
This is dedicated to a few crazy, great people. I may not always listen like I should but I know you’re there. You’re there for me and I’m pretty sure y’all were the main reason I got this book finished. Love y’all.
CHAPTER ONE
~ The Freaks Come Out At Night ~
I’m not a very big fan of football. I can halfway pay attention but after a little while, my mind wanders, and I drift off into my own little world. My dad never watched games…that I know of. I don’t see much of him anymore. Mainly because he’s too busy banging his latest screw toy all the damned time.
After I threw my first hex at my grade school teacher for—I actually don’t remember what she did to piss me off, but she was a bitch—anyway, afterwards, my dad freaked out and ran out on us.
It was a very…educational experience, the hex. I remember glaring at Mrs. Twatface, willing her to be struck by lightning when she in fact did not get struck but instead she got a nose bleed. Naturally, I was disappointed, considering what I’ve seen my mom do, and then her eyes started bleeding. I only felt bad when she started screaming in agony…until she called me a wench, blaming me and my freak of a mother for this curse. I saw her once in the grocery store. I smiled and she ran. Literally ran out of the store, leaving her buggy and groceries.
Anyway, he divorced my mom because he couldn’t handle you freaks anymore. Secretly, I still think she started the fire in his car.
Not by physically starting it. I mean, with her mind. She’s a pretty nifty witch. I hope I’ll be as good as her one day.
She’s never really been into sports either. I think the only time she got into sports was when I was playing against one of my friends, Antonio. We were playing on the Wii but it didn’t stop her from dropping the laundry she was folding and yelling at the top of her very healthy lungs for me to kick his ass.
So, why am I sitting here on the bleachers after school, watching the Westera High football team practice? Well—
“Nessa!” one of the players yells up at me, one of the two who’re never actually in the game. Always on the bench. “Come on down here and shake your tight ass for me.” His friends hoot and fist pound him.
I hate the human teenage population. I mean, how freakin’ barbaric….
“Yeah, I know you want—” his friend starts but never gets to finish because Kyle takes them both out. Tackling them to the ground, and at six foot seven weighing about—guessing here—250? I think they’ll be biting their tongues from now on.
I can’t hear what he’s telling them, but from his expression, and theirs, it can’t be anything too good. Then the coach steps up and yells at the top of his lungs for Kyle to sit his ass on the bench and he’ll be benched in their next game. An unfazed Kyle yanks his helmet off and turns around to check on me.
When I grin, he smiles back.
“Way to get ’em, Cujo,” I murmur, knowing he can hear me from across our relatively small football field. His grin widens, before he turns toward the others and sits down.
Nicks glances up from where another player was talking to him, runs over to Kyle and, after a few words, he scowls at the barbaric nimrods.
This should be interesting….
On their next play, Nicks has the ball. He throws it directly at them, knocking them both off the bench. Pretty damned amusing, now back to my drawing….
So, like I was saying. I’m sitting here on this chilly day, watching football practice because I have a lot of friends on the team. Some might wonder—actually, I know some of them wonder because I’ve heard them. “What could the freak possibly have in common with the football team?” A lot more than you’d think. Like, we’re all supernaturals.
I throw hexes at people who piss me off, have energy spurts where I can zap the shit out of someone, sometimes heal them, and have “other talents,” my mom insists I’ll get a little while later. Which is a nice way of saying I’m not very developed as a witch.
Then there’s them. A lot of people have wondered what exactly makes the hicks so talented in sports. There’s been speculation of steroids, drugs, and everything else, even some about us using the dark arts to boost the team.
Complete hogwash. I only party with my dark Lord on Saturday nights…kidding. I only say shit like that to keep the normies away from me. They smell weird.
They’re just vampires. No biggie. But we can’t exactly put this into the paper. There’d be a mob waiting on our doorsteps the very next day. Not to mention all of the people I care about would either be killed or locked up somewhere being poked and prodded. There’s no way I’m spilling the beans about our secret or letting anyone else do it.
So as long as they don’t know the truth and make up a whole bunch of bull, it’s fine. That’s dandy.
I’ve grown up on this mountain, growing up with the boys the whole time. They know about me, and I know about them. And we’re friends. Again, no biggie. Plus, who wouldn’t want to have guy friends?
Less drama.
“Want some?” Devin asks, holding out a half a sandwich before plopping down beside me. I glance at him, and he smirks. “Still sworn off meat, I see.”
“Um-hmm,” I mumble, continuing to doodle in my notebook. Devin moved here about two months ago. I was drawn to him right away. Maybe it was the piercings, the tattoos, or maybe his stay-the-hell-away-or-I’ll-rip-your-throat-out demeanor that caught my attention, since I generally give off the same vibe.
At least, that’s what everyone thinks.
When, in reality, he’s a vamp, too.
Also, maybe a little because he seemed lonely and in need of a friend. I don’t like seeing people upset. I’m not a completely heartless
bitch. Well, I am once a month. Yes, a witch still gets her bloody period.
As soon as I finish the rose I’m working on, I shut my notebook and turn to him, not wanting to be completely rude, at least for today. “What’s new?” I take a fry instead of his face-infested food.
“Most people say ’sup,” he states, watching the field.
“Why in the hell would I want to be like most people?”
“Touché.” He nods once, “Not much really. Scared the shit out of some freshmen earlier.” This gets my attention right away. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. “Don’t worry, they’re still clueless.”
“Okay.” I sigh in relief. “So, what happened?”
“Walking to my truck, about to put my shit in there, heard footsteps behind me. Instead of doing what I wanted to….” He glances pointedly at me. “You know, spin around, fangs out, and traumatize them for the rest of their lives.”
“What did you do?” I struggle to hold a laugh back.
“Keeping calm, I turned around to find those annoying girls following me again. This time, wanting to know if I’d help them study, because I’m—” He clears his throat and makes it into a higher, more feminine voice. “Like t-totally a genius and like five times smarter than anyone else here. He he he.” He giggles behind his hand.
“What did you do?” I ask, grin still in place. “They have a little crush on you. You should be nice to them.” Ever since he started coming here, those girls have had their eyes on him. Kinda sweet, but, in a way, it’s kinda creepy. “What’d you do?”
“I think I said something about needing to go sleep in my coffin and bite the heads off bats,” he mutters in an extremely bored tone.
“That scared them?” It’s not really a surprise, considering they already call him a vampire freak and he’s sarcastic most of the time.
“Hell no.” He snickers. “I think it made things worse. What scared them was when they peeked through the window of my truck.” He raises an eyebrow over at me and I impatiently gesture for him to go on. “Fang, my pet wolf, didn’t like it very much. I swear the bastard came out of nowhere.”
I crack up but at the same time feel bad for the girls and end up slapping his arm. He has serious manipulation powers. If he can get inside your head, and you’ve pissed him off? You’re more than screwed. He can pretty much make you see anything. At first, it scared me. I told him this, and he reassured me that with my witchy powers he can’t get through my shields. And, as long as I didn’t get on his bad side, I’d be fine. My only response to this mind-boggling new talent was a “backatcha.”
“You’re evil,” I snort, whacking his arm again. “But you really need to behave….”
He rolls his eyes and then he goes back to observing the field.
The reasons are obvious as to why he has his own little fan club. Aside from the bad-boy thing he has going on—Bad-boy thing as in motorcycle boots—I’ve told him plenty of times if they end up missing? Don’t think anything of it—always wearing black clothes with a big leather jacket. He’s also a very attractive guy. Actually, he’s hot. Why sugarcoat it?
At about six foot nine, he’ll make pretty much any girl feel short. Or very loved and protected as all of the books say. His jet-black hair hangs right above his eyes to make the pale blue stand out even more. Add in the olive-toned skin, plus the spider-bite piercings on the left side of his bottom lip and the tattoos covering his muscular arms?
Hello, hottie.
“Why’re you staring at me like that?”
“Oh, ya know.” I brush it off like it’s not a big deal. “Just realized how hot you are.” I slide closer to him, “What would you do to me if I started following you around like a lost puppy?” His cheeks flush pink. “Would you spank me?”
Now he’s scarlet and I break out in laughter.
“Shut the hell up, Gilmore.”
“You asked.” I wink and snatch his slushy away from him, taking a swig before he snatches it back. “Don’t even get me started on what you did to me in my dreams last night.”
He shoves me, and I slide off the seat and onto the steps. Which makes me cackle harder, making me hold my stomach and kick my legs, feeling like I’m about to pee.
“You weren’t supposed to fall on your ass,” he grumbles, helping me to my feet. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, carefully examining me.
“Yes.” I squeeze tears out. “You hurt my heart….”
“Shut up.”
“Fine.” I clumsily trip over my own feet before regaining my sass and flouncing back to our seats.
“We’re being watched.” He jerks his head toward my friends on the field who’re glaring up at him.
I smile at them, letting them know to focus on the game.
“They still think I’m the spawn of Satan.”
There’s no argument on my lips. Because it’s obvious how they feel about him. I don’t think it’s anything really against him. They’ve grown up together, and when an outsider comes in, it’s hard for them to open up. He takes it personally; he actually cares and wants to be accepted into the group, even if he’d never admit it aloud. So, knowing this beast of a man better than most people, I feel his mood sour. I wait until he’s got a good mouthful of drink.
“Holy Devlin!” I yell out when someone makes a goal or whatever. As planned, he spits the blue slushy out and either starts coughing or laughing; it’s hard to tell which. Another inside joke. We’ve watched Just Go with It plenty of times, and I’ve always gotten tongue-tied and called him Devlin instead of Devin.
He glowers at me, but humor flashes in his gaze. Then he shoves me again, and I shove him right back.
<<<->>>
“If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, oh what a rain that would be,” I sing loudly, uncaring of the look Devin’s giving me. “Standing outside with my mouth open wide, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah….”
“Why?”
“Because it brings some sunshine into your Batmobile,” I snipe, glancing around the cramped space, reeking of…I don’t even know. Maybe the blood bags he keeps hidden under his seat and stinky feet? Adding to the seduction scheme, it’s also completely black. The interior’s black, the back windows? Black. I need bright neon colors to stay sane. After practice was over, I agreed to come with him on a grand adventure in the midnight rider.
“You don’t have to ride with me, ya know.” He gives me a pointed look.
“Not this again.” I throw my head back into the headrest.
“I can get you a car.” The same argument we’ve been having on and off for the past few weeks.
“I don’t want to drive, and I’m not going to ask that of you.” The same answer I always give. The truth.
“I’m rich, it’s not a problem.” He shrugs it off like offering someone a cookie or a packet of ketchup to go with their fries. It’s a car. A car. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve tried to tell him this, it won’t get through his head. He has money, and he doesn’t think he’s better than anyone else.
It actually surprised me to find out this little tidbit about him. Most people with money, especially at his age, are beyond spoiled. That’s what I first thought but then decided maybe I was being a little too judgmental.
I remember the first day we met. It was the first day I didn’t sit with my friends at our normal table. I’ve always been the outcast and the guys have been my only friends for a long time. So, that’s where I usually sat.
I walked right up to him where he was by himself in the little courtyard thing no one really uses and plopped down. His response…I can laugh at now, but then it pissed me off. Then he had the nerve to let his fangs slide down, apparently not caring he could be caught and hissed at me. A clear warning for me to leave.
Instead, I scowled at him, knowing my eyes were changing colors—a sign of my being a witch—and snarled. “Pipe it down there, Dracula. I’m trying to be your friend here, and if you piss me off I’ll knock t
hose fangs right out of your mouth.”
“What if I don’t want a friend?” he retorted, clearly angry but it still didn’t mask the surprise on his face.
“Did I ask?” I replied, throwing his scornful expression right back at him. “And, honey, don’t try and pull that bullshit with me. I’ve noticed the way you watch people, dreaming of when you’ll finally be accepted, and blah, blah.”
He opened his mouth as if to snarl back, but I guess something changed his mind and he just breathed out, shaking his head. “I’m Devin Gray,” he informed me.
“Nice to meet ya, sweet cheeks. I’m Nessa Gilmore.” I held out my hand for him to shake. Eventually, he did. We started eating in a kind of weird silence until he rumbled a….
“I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“I’m sorry for being a bitch.” I offered him my applesauce. It was the first time I saw him smile.
“So, you know what I am?” he asked after taking my peace offering.
“Yup, smelled it on you even before you vamped out in front of me.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to get the hint. “Don’t do that around here. Someone will have your head on a spike before you can even say shitkabob.”
“All right,” he snickered then turned serious, glancing over at me. “Are you—?”
“Nope, I prefer to fly on a broom rather than sleep in a coffin.” When he doesn’t say anything, I go on. “I’m a witch. I’ve grown up around vamps…the football team?” I glance at the window of the cafeteria. “Yeah….”
“Good.” He sighs in relief. “I was starting to think you were a die-hard fan of Twilight. Secretly hoping I’d be the Edward to your Bella.”
“Isn’t that a sexual position now?” I retorted, and he nearly spit out his drink.
He invited me to his house a few days later. His house was huge. Nah, not really. He lives in a condo downtown. Just from the place, I could tell the amount in his bank account was a nice sight. Considering he has his very own private pool along with a Jacuzzi and then the vintage black velvet furniture, my favorite piece being the tufted sofa in the corner…I put it together.
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