I Refuse To Fall, When They Still Exist

Rio has been hunting for angels since she can remember; travelling from state to state since she was born. When a shadowey succubus nearly takes away her breath, she has to fight to survive. And fight off her desires for the mysterious emo kid that helped her out.

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2. Chapter 1

Warm and comfortable, I hunker down under the quilt, relishing the comfort. My ideals are shattered though, when my alarm clock bleeps its annoyingly cheery sound. Like, "Hello, I've just woken you up and pissed you off for the rest of the morning. Have a nice day!"

I thrashed my way out of my tangled blanket, before nearly freezing my ass off. Dad hadn't turned the heater on. He keeps forgetting that we're above the Mason-Dixon now, so everything is freezing. Especially as it's mid-January, and not July, as he thinks.

It took a good half-hour in the shower before I began to feel even close to awake. Or human. By the time I'd stomped downstairs, I was already in a foul mood, and rapidly getting worse. My favourite dark-blue jeans were still wet, my hair resembled a cheerleader's pom-pom, if they came in dark brown, and there was a painful zit right on my temple. As my jeans weren't dry, I'd gone for a red long-sleeved t-shirt, grey hoodie, camo-print cargos, Dr. Martens and no makeup.

Why bother? I wasn't going to be in Devil's Lake, ND for much longer, right?

I stomped into the kitchen, where Dad was sitting. He was loading bullets into a clip, with several more already full. The bullets were classy ones, with a full silver coating and a message (Bye, Bye, Motherfucker!) carved into them. It's the personal touches that make it just right.

"Mornin' sweetie." Dad said, not looking up from loading the clips. Each click signalling that a bullet had slid home.

"Mornin' Dad." I replied, taking the carton of orange juice out of the fridge. What was left of it, sloshed around in the bottom. I'd watered it down once before, and it was still nearly gone. I'd have to buy some more. I downed the last of it, as the ice-cold liquid burned my throat. I wiped my bottom lip and belched musically.

"Ladylike." Dad snorted, still filling clips. "You should eat something. Make some fried eggs or french toast."

This was a total joke; I've been breaking egg yolks all my life, even after he told me to jiggle the spatula when taking them out of the pan. Mom was the same, telling him that runny, or over-hard was what he was going to get. He'd grab her around her waist and play with her hair, and I'd say "Ew, no kissing!", making them both laugh.

That was Before, a thousand years ago, when I was little.

"I'll get something on the way to school." I said, going to Dad's wallet. Mom's picture was still under the plastic sleeve, next to my ultrasound picture and their wedding photo. I stroked the plastic over Mom, smiling away with her curly, salsa dancer hair and Latino-esque high cheekbones. She was damn pretty; I could see why Dad fell for her.

"How much you takin'?" He asked, snapping me out of the daydream.

"Twenty", I replied.

"Take another twenty, just in case." He said, as I slipped the bills out. He must be out hunting tonight, as he normally wouldn't even let me take ten.

"Going out tonight...?" I asked, wanting to add "without me?" to that sentence.

"Yep, I won't be back until at least midnight."

"Need my help?" I asked.

"Nope."

He was going alone. He must have gotten some intel, but how?

Probably the old-fashioned way. He liked it that way.

"I could carry the ammo, hand you the Holy water," and warn you when there's something shady as fuck staring at you.

"Rio." One little word, told me to back down. The glass bottle by his side warned me: Jack Daniels Prime Whiskey. It had been three-quarters full last night, but now only the glowing amber dregs remained. I'd best not argue with him; it's not worth it.

I picked up my black messenger bag; the strap rasping harshly against my double-paired gloves. They're scratchy, but they're warm. And you can take off the fingerless ones when your hands are hot, but it's too cold to go without gloves.

"That's a good girl. How's school going?" He asked, turning his blonde head back to the clips. He was pale blonde, almost like a really-young kid is, but his roots were a golden brown. He reminded me a bit of Jasper Cullen, from Twilight. A.k.a, The Biggest Setback In Feminism. Thanks a lot, Bella Swan. Thanks a fucking lot.

"Fine." Just freaking dandy. After all, two weeks in a new town is enough time to make me tons of friends.

"Just fine?" He asked.

"Fine's good enough for me. You know how it is."

"If you're ok with it, then that's good enough for me."

I left the house, trudging through the thick snow. The dead pot plants on our porch were buried under mounds of it, and only the very tips of the picket fence poked out. A few of the planks were missing, so the fence was like a gap-toothed smile.

I never saw Dad alive, again.

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