It was 2am in the upper east side, Margo D'lacour had just woken up from a feverish dream. She sat upright against her bed's headrest, her heart was pounding through her chest.
It was the same dream as last night, and the night before... it had been this way for a week now. There was always a dark figure, a man with white teeth, but not the normal white of people, these where particularly brilliant white and with fangs.
Now, Margo knew too well vampires were just characters from fiction books. They weren't real, but this nightmare was just too frequent and too vivid. As every other night of the past week, Margo stood from her bed and moved toward her full body mirror of Victorian design that stood on a corner of her room.
She examined her long slender neck, no bite marks of any kind on it (just in case), her slim and athletic arms, her long and curvaceous legs (maybe a bit too thick, though they were thin), her slender figure, beautiful under any standard and yet she still found flaws- sometimes even oblivious to the common eye. She hated her cheekbones and collar bones which were perhaps too emphasized, her small mouth, the little freckles that covered her cheeks and nose, and her small feet. As she stretched and messed her hair with her hand, cut short in a feminine euro style, she breathed in deeply to calm her nerves.
Moonlight flooded her room as it entered through her tall windows (3 to be exact), and it made her look even paler than she normally was. Her room was one in a 4 room, double story penthouse her parents had bought and where she had been born and raised in the heart of the upper east side. She actually loved her room and how efficient it was with space; it had a small walk-in closet, queen sized low-bed, various bookshelves of artistic design with many books, drawers with various content, the full body mirror she stood facing at, her Victorian desk with her laptop next to the doorway and, in the last corner, a space divider which she usually used to quick change herself. As for the bathrooms, her parents had their own and she shared one with one of the other rooms which was transformed into an entertainment center- so it was hers only. As she finished observing her room she was thankful it was always well lit by moonlight- to prevent her mind from playing tricks on her with eerie shadows.
"Margo you really have to control yourself"
She sighed to herself in a low voice as she moved back to her bed. She sat once again against her headboard and turned on her lamp, which rested on her nightstand at the side. Pulling a book she had started to read a few nights before, she steadied herself and picked up where she had left off. She loved reading, she loved having the actual book to read. As she read through the pages, she was curious how she hadn't gotten sick of reading and books despite her mother being a novelist. Her mother had gifted her books all her life and she was schooled on literature, reading and grammar even before elementary. She was now 16 years old, ending puberty and she actually wondered how she never got tired of it. But, as she turned the pages, she slowly faded into a slumber, and dreamed- no vampires this time.
The next morning, Margo was woken up by her father shouting her name from the first floor.
"Margo, it's summer but you wont spend your whole day sleeping young lady!"
Margo squirmed in her bed, she felt tired, despite being 10am in the morning. Her parents were both early birds and they always felt one was wasting their day if you weren't being productive by 9am. Though, her mother a novelist and her father an investigator, it seemed perfectly logical.
"5 more minutes, Dad!"
Margo screamed from her bed, she always wondered what had caused such a union (writer-investigator) as her mother and father, and how come she was a daughter of both and not be crazy...yet, at least. As Margo layed in bed laughing at the thought of how could have both her parents met, her door was opened.
"Sweetie, it's time to get up."
Her mother, as usual, which meant...
"If not, i'll go fetch an Edgar Allan Poe book..."
"I'm up, i'm up! Geeze!"
It always meant a threat, and, personal taste aside, starting your day reading or hearing Edgar Allan Poe was... one foot closer of stepping off Brooklyn Bridge by noon. Personal taste in the matter though, she hated those books.
"Good, what plans do you have today?"
"Dunno, it's too early to know"
"Well get dressed and let us know. Maybe we could spend some mother-daughter time today."
Margo stared at her mother, her eyes wide, more in terror than any other emotion. She knew her mother's definition of quality time was to go shopping for clothes, sharing a coffee, maybe go to the movies and spend the day together. She didn't usually protest against when she wanted new clothes, but the bill for such a day of expense free entertainment was opening her recent personal life to her... and risking one or two public embarrassments when they picked clothes or she presented her to fans asking autographs- usually with the line "more like sisters right?".
"Uuuuuh, i think Lyon said he might come over, in fact, i'll call him to confirm."
"Oh, and what are you guys going to do?"
Margo searched for her cellphone between her pillows and blanket.
"Play video games, hang out, go out to eat, i don't know. Where's my cellphone?"
"You know honey, i'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to be alone with him in the house. He is your friend, but he IS...a boy."
Margo looked inquisitively at her mother.
"Mom, he and his family have been our friends all our lives. What could possibly be the problem?"
"Well, i mean, your ages and...society, he may not be who you think he is anymore, or he might..."
"Mom, if you're worried about sex, it wont happen. If i had wanted, that would've happened years ago."
As Margo pulled her pink phone with a touch screen from between her sheets, her back to the doorway, her father had walked up behind her mother and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Margo turned and smiled as her father placed a plate with Belgian waffles on her desk, beside the door.
"It's ok honey, we can trust him and we can trust our daughter, we've raised her well. Besides, the boys knows us too well. He'll think twice before any bold move."
"That's comforting, Dad."
Her tone was sarcastic, but her father chuckled at his own comment, and she had to admit he was right. Her father was a large man, standing 6'1" with broad shoulders, thick muscular arms. He was burly, red haired with a red thick beard which made him seem a bit lumberjack type. Standing next to him, her mother was 5'7", a gorgeous woman with a slender frame, light brown hair and pretty much petite. Seeing them together, she understood better where her physique came from and inclinations. Though, she did wish she had her dad's absolute red hair instead of her orange-brown hair which her dad liked to call fiery.
"And what will you be doing today?"
Before either of her parents answered, her father made a strong noise of clearing his throat. Margo, cellphone in hand, sat on her desk and pulled the plate towards her.
"Thank you Dad."
Her father smiled and her mother combed her short hair a bit.
"I'll be in the studio gathering inspiration and writing."
"And, I am late for work, already my phone is buzzing."
"Mmm, a crime? Missing person? Seeing by how laxed you are i bet it's a minor case, possibly a robbery or a break in, something where the culprit always leaves a mark, or makes a mistake."
She was speaking with her mouth full, for which her mother frowned. She was used to spending most days on her own, unless she accompanied either of them to work.
When her mother went to the studio, she usually wrote tirelessly and endlessly until she got down everything she wanted. She'd be her proofreader or moral support. If, her mother was actually just gathering inspiration, then that meant they'd actually talk about their lives, interests, boys, etc. (which she did not like). Accompanying her father was a more thrilling task as he actually showed her the ropes and merged her into his world and job. How to be observant, what to look for, how to pressure people and how to read them, but she wasn't in the mood for working the first weekend of summer.
"I see you are quite the skilled junior detective, you've learned well. Hopefully you'll accompany me more to the field and not read only your mother's detective novels."
"Well they're inspired on your work dear, so it's just as good."
"Field and experience will always..."
The last was said by both Her and her mother in unison (though she talked once again with her mouth full). They both laughed as her father left after kissing her mother goodbye, and giving her a kiss on the forehead. She was happy they had this communicative, dysfunctional relationship.
As Margo finished her plate her mother also left, giving her a kiss on the head. Alone she walked downstairs to wash her dish, feeling as if she was forgetting something. Halfway down she called Lyon. He had been her childhood friend, her lifelong friend, and their families knew each other all too well. His number was her only number on speed-dial, and as the first tone rang she wondered exactly how come nothing had happened between them, relationship wise.
In an apartment more downtown, a few blocks into the upper east side, Lyon Videnti was doing his morning exercises: squats, push-ups and crunches. He hated going to gyms, he felt them too fake and crowded, so he exercised in the comfort of his bedroom … usually.
"Son! You have to get breakfast!"
His father hollered at him from downstairs, his voice was always as husky as he remembered when he was a kid. Lyon finished his last push-up and sat at the edge of his bed panting.
"Don't worry dad, i'll cook something!"
"That's exactly what worries me!"
Lyon chuckled and admitted that it was a concerning thought. His apartment was a single story, full floor penthouse with a wonderful view of the edge between upper east side and downtown Manhattan. Rather large for a father and his son, but it hadn't been like that. A few months before, his mother had died in a mysterious accident, or so was what had been publicly said. A few months ago, he had discovered a lot of things about his family, about his life, about himself. Since the incident, he pondered constantly on what the last 6 months had been for him. Ever since he turned 16 his life had changed abruptly.
He walked to his walk-in closet and picked his clothes for the day, he stopped for a moment as he saw his "new physique" on the full body mirror on one of his closet doors. A lot of new scars, a better toned body- athletic and sculpted but not buff or beefy- he was actually still slim or seemed like it by his 5'10" height, but he refused to drink protein shakes or stuff. He liked his short bronze hair, and didn't mind his small hands but slender long fingers anymore. He had strong legs which did look muscular, but that was mostly his training. His skin was whitish and golden, somewhere along the lines of tan. His daze was broken as a strong smell of fresh coffee filled his nostrils.
"I thought it'd be a nice way to get the day started."
At the entrance of his closet his father held two mugs with dark coffee.
He grabbed the mug from his father's hand and hugged him. It was only the two of them now.
His father was rather muscular, broad shouldered and thick arms, 6'00", he hadn't gained any weight over the years, his hair was light brown, with a clean face- no facial hair. Just like his father though, they shared being rather hairy in their arms, legs and chest...though his were barely showing up. His father seemed more like a stereotypical "manly man", which he found comical as his father always sought to avoid confrontation and was the kindest man he had ever met or seen. Although, since the accident, his father's hair was slowly turning duller with a couple of gray hairs sprouting, time was catching up with him.
"You okay Dad?"
"Yeh, it's nothing son. Sleep well?"
"Yeap, thanks for giving me the weekend off."
He stretched as he said this, breaking the hug, but careful not to spill coffee. With the little sleep he was getting, coffee was becoming far from an addiction, a necessity.
"Well it's the first week of summer, thought you'd enjoy being able to go out with your friends."
"Well, still no plans Dad."
"It's still daylight."
His father chuckled and he managed to smile. Actually, since his birthday, most of the friends he had since childhood, some even being family friends, had become more nocturnal. To them, the New York nightlife had become the real world… except for one.
"Not all of us enjoy the night Dad. So no plans yet."
"You mean Margo?"
"Yeah, i dont find it fair..."
"You know that we cant interfere Lyon, it's her parents' decision."
"She should know..."
"Every parent acts on what's best for his children. Your mother..."
As his father's voice broke off, Lyon looked back at him, his heart flinched. His father took a deep breath, and Lyon hugged him again.
"It was an accident Dad."
"It's why not all parents allow their children to go out into the night."
This time his father cut the hug as he separated him with one arm.
"Tell me if you do something today."
His father was already out of his room when he yelled back.
"9am, i should've been in at 8:30am."
"That tough of a case?"
Lyon began undressing and drinking his coffee, which he rested on a shelf on one of his furniture. He was glad his body had become so able and toned (a plus with girls), though he was now competing in different leagues.
His father was a lawyer, one of the partners of the firm, and he had taught him quite a bit about contracts, laws, cases, running a tribunal, etc., yada yada. He enjoyed being out in the streets now. His father (given recent events) wasn't the most supportive of such an activity, but allowed him to do so if he went prepared and not alone.
"Mostly cause i have to persuade them from pressing it up to Superior Court."
This time his scream came from farther, possibly by the living room, which meant he was about to leave.
"I'll tell you later how it goes and what it was."
It was the last he heard before his father left and as he entered his bathroom. It was ever so clean with rustic ceramics and brown wood (he loved rustic style so much). Even his room had wooden floor, with simple beige walls and darkwood furniture, and a highbed which he loved so much and had personally picked- king sized too.
<<Wish i could tell her>>
He was thinking of Margo, he always did. Their families had been friends and they had met from an early age. They had grown together. As he entered his shower he thought of the funeral, of his mother. Margo had lived with him and he had lived at her home for 2 weeks, everyday the same routine of depression. In those dark days, she was his best support; she had comforted him, cried with him, and she never asked what happened. As the warm water bathed and coursed his muscles, he wondered why he hadn't told her everything then. He wondered why he had never done anything and as he thought of her soft skin and caresses to soothe him, his emotions flourished. He felt agitated as his thoughts of concern turned into carnal, but he tried to calm himself once again.
His father had raised him a gentleman and under a very religious environment (ironic for their roots), but neither strict or church religious. He had a firm faith, but though he believed in God, saints, angels, etc. he also knew very well the world had hidden worlds in it. Thankfully, most of his friends were also raised the same way and knew about such hidden worlds…except one.
<<It's not fair>>
As he exited the shower, he saw it was already 10am, one could really waste time on a shower. He took a towel from his towel rack and quickly dried his skin and hair. He needed to get dressed quickly to get at least something for breakfast and not make it lunch. As he did this, he wished Margo knew about the nightlife, he wished she could be part of it, so they could go out, so they could learn, so he could protect her. Though they were part of each other's life, spending almost every day together, even in school (especially in school), they had never dated- though he wanted to.
As Lyon moved to his closet to get changed he noticed his cellphone was vibrating by the clothes he had prepared. He picked it swiftly and with an agile flick of the wrist, he turned it the right side up to check who the caller was. Margo, with a selfie of her with a black night dress, low cleavage doing a kiss face as profile- a picture taken at her birthday a month ago on May 7th. Lyon smiled and quickly answered the phone, apparently he was going to have plans.