The Seven: Origins

{Arika}

Each time I left a place was quicker than the one before. I knew I was out of place, no matter where I was. Having snow white skin, uneven short, blood red hair and eyes just as bloody red did not help the idea of fitting in so I gave up on it long ago.

Especially after the tenth person told me I looked like I could be the devil's daughter.

My earliest memory was of a woman with dark hair that had red and purple tints in it. She wore huge dark shades that hid her eyes and half her face. She looked how I felt; bitter.

I felt bitter because I had lost so many people, yet I had no idea who. It frustrated me and made me sad. No one had any idea why such a young child could be so depressed. I craved whatever it was, whoever it was I had lost. I felt like it...they...had been stolen from me.

Perhaps I felt it was my mother, my real mother, that I had lost. I dreamt of her often. I only think it's her because of her hair. It looked like a rainbow. I never remembered her face.

In elementary school, I was often scolded for my drawings. I found myself drawing people with jagged teeth and black soulless eyes.

Because of this, I was put in therapy. Therapy went nowhere. I spoke to no one unless I wanted to.

I had taken to wearing black or red alot. My red hair and eyes stood out less by doing so.

In high school, things started getting stranger than usual. Guys actually paid attention to me and I started going to bars and clubs.

I would get in fights with male and female and sometimes, people would get hurt badly. But I fought because I was good at it and it felt good.

I wanted so desperately to know who and what I was. I knew I was dangerous and not human. I was too strong physically and intellectually.

I learned with quick ease how to avoid mind-reading and how to not hit my hardest and to not move my fastest. It wasn't even tricky to hide when my fangs extended because I rarely spoke and never smiled or laughed. I couldn't even remember the last time I had done either. I hadn't cried since I was maybe four, but I couldn't remember why I had shed those tears. That had been two decades, at least.

After graduation, I avoided people at all costs. It was difficult to maintain a job with my lack of decent customer service and my quick smart mouth. But, it was pretty difficult to anger me.

Angering me first required that I give a shit about whatever it was that customers or employees felt the need to bitch about. If I didn't care, I'd talk blandly to them. Once I started to care, if at all, I'd react with foul language and then violence.

Once, I was working at a grocery store as a cashier and this particular customer was a professional at pissing people off.

She was in her late thirties and she was the type of woman with a perfectionist routine. She came in every Tuesday at 11 AM to do her shopping and no matter which cashier she had, she would find something wrong with them or their performance.

Unfortunately for both of us, she came to my register. I was putting items in bags when she cleared her throat. I ignored it. I don't answer to sounds.

"Excuse me." She said loudly.

I looked at her, my eyes widening in question. This caused her to step back, not expecting the color of blood in my irises.

"Could you put all of the canned goods together?" She asked.

I nodded and did so. She tapped her fingers and before I could bag her other items, I saw her edging the milk towards the edge of the counter. She slid it off and jumped back, causing it to bust on the floor.

I stopped moving and looked at her. She looked smug.

"Aren't you gonna clean that?" She asked.

"How bout I use your face to mop it up?" I murmured.

"Excuse me?" She gasped.

"You heard me. Every week you come in to disrespect people. You're not doing it to me, you bitter old bitch. I saw you push it off the counter." I snapped.

"I want to speak to a manager!" She screeched.

"Why? So he can tell you what you really need to do? Go to a different store so no one has to see your damn face here again." I answered.

"Listen here, little girl. I won't be spoken to by trash like you--"

I reached over the counter and slapped her across the face. She stepped back and everyone turned to see what had happened.

"I'll show you trash!" I spat, as several coworkers held me back. Needless to say, she got away with it because she was a customer and only agreed to not press charges if I lost my job.

I returned home from being fired, to find a gorgeous guy on my doorstep.

He had silky black hair with red streaks in it. His eyes were red, like mine. He was wearing combat boots with his Goth attire, just like me. He had silver studs just under his lower lip on both sides. And in his hand was an envelope.

I said nothing as I took it from him cautiously. Our fingers brushed and I saw many young children playing together and I knew the boy with the black and red hair was this same young man. I gasped in recognition. His hair hung in his face the exact same way.

"Aidan..." I finally whispered.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, as if in relief. The corners of his mouth twitched and he allowed himself to smile.

"I've been waiting for you for many years, Arika." He whispered. He brushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed my cheek gently.

I felt myself smile genuinely for the first time I could remember. I touched his hand and held it to my face, savoring this reunion. I had found a lost piece of the puzzle that is me. Aidan smiled and I knew he felt what I was feeling.

He motioned for me to open the envelope. I obeyed, curious about the contents and as I read the letter inside, I felt my dark world get a little brighter.