Chapter One

It was October when I met Darrien.  Mama was scared half to death when she laid eyes on him for the first time when he showed up at the restaurant.  He was of course, perfect in my eyes and I soon became obsessed with him.  I wanted him more than I had ever wanted any man.  It only took one look from him to make my blood boil with desire and lust.  Chella always teased me because of how I drooled over him.  She called him the “Goth Prince looking for his Goth Princess.”  How true, I thought.  And perhaps I was that “Goth Princess” he sought out.  I looked and dressed like a “Goth Princess of Darkness.”  My skin was so pale it almost looked translucent and my ice-blue eyes seemed to glow with a cold fire.  My hair was below my waist and layered with thick crimson curls.  The girls in my school were extremely jealous of me.  I had grown to be very beautiful and so they feared me.  As for the guys I went to school with, they wanted me even though I seemed untouchable.  I always had to face challenges with guys who asked me out.  Most of the time, the guys who drooled over me had girlfriends already, so I made a ton of enemies.  Despite all that, I’d smile to myself as I walked through the hallways of the school like I owned everything and everyone.  Teachers were even intimidated by me.  I was smarter than all of them and I did what I wanted to do so no one argued with me.  The only two kids at my school that I ever allowed to get close to me were Chella and another outcast kid named, Michael Xanders. 
Michael was an absolute sweetheart and harmless kid that I adored with all my heart.  We were more like brother and sister than just friends.  Chella was like my sister.  The three of us were inseparable.  We always did everything together.  We even went out of our way to get identical tattoos (except for one tattoo, a raven holding a bleeding black rose located on my right shoulder blade) and body piercings.  Mama and Papa didn’t approve of my tattoos or of my tongue, nose, and eyebrow piercing, but they accepted them.  They knew how much I wanted them and Mama went behind Papa’s back to fill out the permission slips for me to give to the tattoo and body piercing shop.  She just shook her head from side to side and signed all the papers I gave her to have my body art done.  When Papa took one look at me after I had “mutilated” myself, as he likes to say, he just threw his arms up in the air and didn’t even bother to ask me ‘Why?’.  At first, he wouldn’t allow Chella and me to expose our body piercings and tattoos at work, but eventually he gave in.  Most of our customers asked us if it had hurt to get tattooed or pierced in the locations we had chosen.  And as always, our reply was the tattooing hurt more than the piercing.  At least what we had done was tasteful and not like some of the weirdoes out there.
For the month of October, we went all out and decorated the entire restaurant for Halloween.  I dressed up like a vampire and Chella dressed up like a faery.  The other waitresses and busboys dressed up in various costumes.  From pirates to French maids.  The customers loved our costumes and even gave bigger tips.  For some odd reason or another, this specific October brought in more customers.  Papa was absolutely tickled-pink over the profits.  I asked Mama and Papa if we could host a Halloween costume party and have our band play on Halloween night.  I had a horrible feeling that Papa wouldn’t hear of it.  Needless to say, he shocked me by giving permission to go through with our plans.  Three weeks before Halloween, we made our announcement that ‘Luigi’s Fine Italian Dining’ was throwing a special party for Halloween night for anyone who wanted to enjoy good food and great entertainment.  The entertainment was to be provided by a DJ with the special guest appearance of our band.
Promptly at nine, the Halloween party began.  Most of the people who attended were around my age, but some of our regular customers showed up and even several people who were just passing by decided to stop by and see what all the fuss was about.  It was fantastic!  Every imaginable costume glittered and gleamed throughout the restaurant, turning it into a world of the supernatural and fantasy. 
Michael, Chella, and I sneaked upstairs to the office and smoked a joint before attending the party.  Michael dressed up like a Victorian vampire.  He looked so hot that I kept telling him I needed to suck on his neck to taste his sweet blood.  He laughed and gently shoved me away when I tried to bite his neck.  The look in his eyes though, said something else.  Chella stood in silence as she watched how the two of us flirt with one another.
“Okay you two, either go and get a room or get ready to perform.  Fredrick and the others are waiting for us, so I think we should…”
“I know, I know…I was just havin’ some fun before stage fright takes over me.”  I giggled.
“Is your cello tuned?”  Michael asked me.  I played the cello and sang for our band.  Michael played lead guitar and Chella played the keyboards and her violin and viola.  The other members of the band, Fredrick Cowder, Marcus Donovan, and Simone Harper (who preferred to be called “Sissi” and nothing else) were waiting patiently for us when we went into the apartment that I rented from my adopted parents.  I didn’t really live there; it was more like my home away from home.  A place where we could write, record, and practice our songs and hang out and do “bad things.” 
“Yep, ‘Romania’ is tuned and all shined up.”  I named my cello, Romania, after of my obsession with the gypsies that originated from Romania.  I named my computer, Transylvania or Sylvia for short after my “Vampire” obsessions.
“Well, we better go meet up with everyone else.  I hope your parents will like us.”  Chella said.
“Chella, my darling, my parents will love us no matter what!  You know that as well as I do.  Hell, even Michael knows that.  We’re all talented musicians and personally, I think we even have a chance to make it big out there in the world.  We’re just as good, if not better, than some of the famous bands playing today.”  I always wanted to be a famous musician.  I started the band myself because of my ambition to succeed as a musician.  Our band recorded some of our favorite songs onto my computer and then later we burnt our own CD’s to sell at some of our performances to bring in some extra cash.  Michael’s father worked with graphics and made our liner notes and even designed some t-shirts for us to sell at our performances.  Most of the time, because of school and because of our ages, we had to play at select bars or clubs on the weekends.  Gradually, we were booking our band for gigs all around the city.  I truly loved life!  All the dedication, work, hours, “smoke breaks” for inspiration, and just being together was what I lived for.
Fredrick was tuning his bass when we entered the apartment.  Sissi was drumming out beats with her drumsticks on one of the walls.  Marcus, on the other hand, was rolling a big fat joint while a clove cigarette hung from his lips.
“You didn’t already smoke, did you?”  Sissi asked as soon as we plopped down on the couch.
“A little, but that’s okay!”  Michael confessed.  The one thing I loved so much about Michael was how he loved to have fun.  His quiet presence at school made everyone think he just stayed at home and drowned his sorrows into poetry and Anne Rice novels.  In truth, he was a club kid.  Together, we always went out club hopping both Friday and Saturday night or whenever they had under 21 nights.  Most of the time, after our performances, we would just hang out at the clubs we played at and had a good time dancing and taking smoke breaks out in one of our cars.  Chella really wasn’t into clubbing, so she’d just sit at the bar and talk to people while Michael and I danced.  If the rest of the band stayed behind, Marcus and Fredrick, who were old enough to drink, would hit on girls and get drunk.  Sissi would either sit with Chella, to keep her company, or danced with us.  I loved it when it was just Michael and I hanging out at our favorite clubs.  Secretly, I was madly in love with Michael, but too afraid to tell him for fear of messing up our perfect friendship and rejections, as well.  Many nights I would lie in my bed, stare up at my ceiling at the glow-in-the-dark galaxy I created and wondered to myself, what it would be like to kiss Michael?  Sometimes I saw us kissing tenderly.  Other times, the passionate enchantress in me saw us kissing hungrily.  Almost as if we couldn’t control the lust that boiled in our veins.  But then I’d come to my senses and get all depressed because I knew, deep down in my heart, as much as I wanted to be Michael’s girlfriend, it just wouldn’t happen.  He was like me, in the sense that we’re just plain old untouchable.  I never wanted any man, but the right one, to know how exotic I could be.  I wanted Michael to know.  He didn’t see that side of me.  I protected that identity when I was around guys, especially him.  I was afraid of letting my walls of protection to fall and let anyone in my world.  I knew I was beautiful with a hint of danger in my eyes.  But I never wanted anyone to know my passionate side unless it was through my writing or the songs I composed. 
The band and I passed the joint around and then practiced a few songs.  My stage persona was that of a Victorian Mistress of the Dark.  I was wearing a black satin velvet corset with black laces and ribbons.  My skirt was a very full black crinoline that I found at a second-hand shop.  Its layers of black chiffon, lace, and an iridescent black red gauze overlay made me feel like I was in an emotional cocoon.  There was also the reason that I wore fuller skirts thanks to my past experience with dresses.  The fuller the skirt, the easier it was to straddle my beloved cello and still look like a lady.  The corset was useful, in a sense that it helped keep my body in perfect posture so it was easier to play my cello and breathe correctly while I sang.  My Mama thought I was insane.  She didn’t know how a corset could help me gather the air in my diaphragm while I sang in my operatic voice and sit on a folding chair with the posture I needed to play my cello.  I wore a replica Victorian ruby necklace, matching ruby teardrop earrings, and hand-length black lace hand-warmers.  Where I spent most of my time preparing was on my crimson hair.  Almost all the girls in school hated me because of how beautiful my hair was.  I imagine that if I were to straighten the natural soft looking curls, my hair would be almost to my knees.  Whatever the reason was, I never had to deal with expensive hair cosmetics or frequent trips to the salon.  My mama adored my hair but always seemed to be spooked out by my eyes.  I knew she could see my mother when she gave me that distant look while she was talking to me, but then she’d make eye contact with me and grow eerily quiet.  It always spooked me out the way she would stare at me and not say a thing.  So many times, I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but held back because of the promise I had made long ago about revealing the identity of my real father.
As a child, I always wondered why everyone I loved feared my eyes.  I loved my ice-blue eyes.  Every time I played my cello and sang, Chella told me that my eyes seemed to glow.  I’d always teased her and said it was my “magical powers and passion.”  I also noticed how my eyes seemed to glow when I was angry and or excited.  I would later discover my eyes would show their true nature.  The furious passion of sex and hunger.  A hunger I had yet to discover.  As I grew up, I found out why my eyes made Mama shiver.  My mother’s eyes looked nothing like mine.  Her eyes were blue, but not that blue.  All the photographs I had of my real mother I kept sacred and stored in an expensive storage case, decorated with purple satin and black bugle beads and amethysts. 
I had bought the antique case while Chella, Michael, and I were going shopping in our favorite antique stores.  I had no idea how old the case was, but as soon as my set my eyes on it, I knew it had to be mine.  I asked Henry, the antique dealer, if he could locate any information on it.  He was successful and told me it was made during the Victoria era.  I’d sit alone in my bedroom or the apartment, drinking glasses of Absinthe, a very religious ritual I’d do when I felt melancholy.  After consuming about half a bottle of my favorite brand of Absinthe and spending countless hours starring at my mother’s pictures and crying, I put two and two together that my eyes resembled my father’s eyes.  My eyes reminded Mama of the man that seduced my mother, got her pregnant with me, and then suddenly disappeared.  Tragically, it was the cause of my birth that killed my mother.  She bled to death while giving birth to me.  Mama never told me what exactly had happened in the hospital.  She only told me the small details, leaving parts out of the story.  I knew it had to be a terrifying experience for Mama to talk about, so I never asked her about it.  I wanted to ask her and someday I’d get enough courage to ask her to tell me the whole story.  And then, I would know everything. 
I finished playing around with my hair and decided to tie it up in a Gibson Girl twist with scattered braids and ribbons and scattered loose curls specifically styled so the curls would encircling my face.  I wore bright red/black lipstick, translucent foundation, black mascara, and black eyeliner.  I refused to wear anything that was too gaudy when it concerned my make-up.  Because my complexion was already sickly pale, so pain-strikingly pale, I was almost forced into wearing make-up to hide what changes that I was going through.  Since everyone around me found me to be some kind of Goth Princess, I had enough money to fulfill the perfect cover-up. 
My ice-blue colored eyes were glowing from the anticipation of performing live for the very first time in front of my family.  I knew a lot of people that came here to see us were regular costumers, so our music might be a little unsettling to them.  But that didn’t bother me one earthly bit.  I was a musician and nothing would ever stop me from continuing my studies and performing.  “Children of Gaia” were begging to be heard and I wanted to make that dream happen for everyone.  It wasn’t just a selfish wish, was it?  To be successful?  I figured my powers would come in handy someday if a talent scout was out in the audience listening to us. 
Chella wore her faery costume.  She resembled a sexier Tinker Bell from Peter Pan.  She had the perfect haircut that made it possible for her to spike it and achieve the perfect pixie look.  Michael as always was a distinguished gentleman in his Victorian garb.  Every time I looked at Michael, I smiled and thought to myself that we were a Victorian Gothic couple.  I loved him so much, but was too fucking scared to ever act on it.  There had been many times that just the two of us hung out and wrote music together, while drinking absinthe and smoking pot.  I treasured every second I spent with him.  It saddened me as well, because I knew he didn’t feel the same way about me as I felt about him.  It was heartbreaking. 
I constantly wrote in my diary sharing my secrets and fantasies about Michael.  One day, he almost read my diary by accident.  I had left it out on my desk and he thought it was a book of poetry or lyrics.  He innocently began reading it while I was getting ready to go out with him.  When I saw what he was reading, I freaked out!  I know I scared him because I overreacted and yelled at him.  He began to cry and then I started crying.  I told him that it was my diary and I didn’t want anyone read it because I had written really private thoughts and things that I was slowly discovering about myself.  After I had told him that, he apologized and I told him to just forget about it.  Since then, I kept wondering what he had read that day.  I wanted to ask him, but as always, I became too scared and never asked.
  After we finished sharing the joint, I watched the other members fix their costumes and tune their instruments.  Fredrick was wearing a dark red velvet suit.  Marcus was wearing his usual black t-shirt and black corduroys and Sissi was wearing a tight black vinyl mini-skirt, black vinyl corset, fishnets, and combat boots.  We were definitely a very interesting band.  Our music ranged from loud gothic rock to baroque grunge to medieval choir.  Chella always compared our music to the band, “Miranda Sex Garden.”  It was Chella who came up with the band’s name, Children of Gaia.  Everyone in the band loved the name and began plotting our stage persona, our photo shoots, and even the composition of our music.  I loved playing my cello and singing.  Sometimes, some of the members would play their string instruments instead of their usual guitar, drums and keyboards.
Marcus grabbed his laptop computer and zipped it up in its protective case.  I sat on a folding chair and rosined my bow.  My mind was working overtime.  I wasn’t even paying attention to anyone until Michael came over to me and shook me a little.
“Earth to Raven, come in Raven?” he teased.
“I’m sorry.  I was just rehearsing the lyrics to our songs in my mind and lost track of the time.”
“I’ll say you lost track of time.  We have exactly ten minutes before we’re supposed to perform!”  Chella exclaimed. 
“Let’s get downstairs now, okay?  We certainly don’t need to be in a negative mood about this, Chella,” Marcus said.
We picked up our instruments and headed downstairs.  When we reached the lower landing, I felt Darrien’s presence.  I looked out over the crowd, but didn’t spot him.  I knew he was there though.  I smiled and started for the stage.