Capítulo 7: 07
She wouldn't be proud to admit she had waited for a full four hours. But, well, it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go in this damn universe she was stuck in. The Vampire Diaries, seriously? She couldn't even recognize the damn protagonist.
Sitting on the sidewalk as the sun began to rise, she felt lost, unsure of what to do next. Out of all her options, she was tempted to search for that body's brother; he was the only guide she had at that moment of solitude. But what was she supposed to do when the bastard had simply abandoned her?
Rebekah looked up, trying—really trying—not to cry.
What would she do?
What. The. Hell. Would. She. Do?
Certainly, sitting there in that empty, dark parking lot wasn't the solution. When she finally stood up, her body protested with a symphony of cracks from the hours she had spent still, like an abandoned statue. She bit her lip, trying to push away the irritation—it felt reminiscent of childhood, when determination and stubbornness had kept her awake until she passed out from exhaustion. Now, after four hours of waiting, it felt almost like a victory she was trying to convince herself of.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on what to do next. The logical path was clear, but not at all appealing: pursuing her psychopathic brother, with whom she shared a tenuous bond of love and hate, was out of the question. There wasn't any vampire hypnosis strong enough to control that creature. Dismissing that option, another idea—equally insane but tempting—surfaced in her mind: break into some innocent person's house and make use of her hypnotic ability, which, by the way, she was far from mastering.
She drummed her fingers on her hip, contemplating her last option, when a name suddenly fit into the mess of her thoughts: Dumb & Dumber, those brothers obsessed with Elena. What were their names again? Ah, yes, Stefan. He seemed like the type—the typical tormented vampire, radiating that —melancholic dark prince— aura, complete with a carefully tousled quiff. A caricature of a supernatural romance protagonist.
Rebekah laughed to herself. Well, who cares?
She walked through the streets, unsure of what to do next. Staying close to the protagonists was dangerous, but could she really keep her distance from them without risking death or being attacked by one of her brother's many enemies? She'd bet her damn blonde hair that her psychopathic little brother must have a list of enemies trying to kill him—hell, she herself wanted to kill him for abandoning her.
Taking a deep breath, she messed up her own hair in frustration. Not far off, a man walking his dog was approaching her. Whatever she was going to do, it had to be now.
—Come on, come on, — she repeated quietly to herself. —You can do this.—
She waited for him to get closer while trying to fix her hair, which she had just disheveled. Her smile faded, transforming into a thin, calculated line as she approached him with fixed, intense eyes, forcing herself to concentrate all her will into that hypnotic gaze.
—Could you help me?— she said, letting the words flow like honey. But instead of giving in, he merely raised his eyebrows, casting her a confused look.
Maybe it was the strange way she was staring at him? Damn it. Was she missing her focus? —Shit, — she thought, feeling frustration boil inside her.
He hesitated, the words coming out slow and wary. —With… what?—
She took a deep breath, reconstructing her smile with the precision of a blade. —I lost my brother. Could you let me stay at your house?— She leaned in slightly, trying to envelop his senses, ignoring even the urge to blink, every fiber of her being focused on compelling him to her will. This time, he would have to give in.
But the look he gave was one of pure astonishment, as if she were a crazy person who had stumbled onto the sidewalk. He blinked several times, flustered, as if he were dealing with an unwelcome stranger. Then, once again, that miserable man shook his head.
—No…?—
The rejection echoed in her head like a slap. Rebekah felt the heat of blood running under her skin, each heartbeat reinforcing the growing irritation. Without wasting a second, her fingers closed around his arms, the grip firm like claws, before he could even think of escaping.
— Let go! — The man struggled with desperate urgency, his wide eyes filled with fear as he tried to wriggle free from her grip. He pleaded, his voice wavering with fear, but the shout came out muffled by the sound of his hurried breathing. His heart beat like a frantic drum, quickening with each second, and Rebekah felt the warm, metallic scent of blood boiling around her, tempting like a whispered invitation.
—No! I'm calling the police! — He made a move to reach for something in his pocket. Rebekah could hear the little dog barking at her, but she ignored it. She felt frustration boil inside her, mixed with need, and fixed her gaze deep into his eyes.
—Take me to your house.— This time she was irritated; if this didn't work out, how the hell would she survive without money?
His lips trembled, and the rigidity in his body crumbled like a house of cards until he responded, almost as an echo from a distance, his eyes glazed.
—I… I'll take you to my house.—
Rebekah let out a sigh of relief, but he barely had time to get the words out before the little furry demon charged in with desperate fury. The poodle, with its wide eyes shining with disproportionate rage, lunged at her ankle as if the fate of the universe depended on that fierce attack.
She tried to stifle the scream, but his teeth sank into her skin with the precision of sharp needles, piercing deep. It was a sharp, quick pain that pulsed and spread through her leg, hot and electric, like a direct shock to the heart. Her breath hitched, her lips compressed into a thin line as she struggled to maintain control, to avoid exploding from pain and frustration.
And there was Rebekah, standing stiff as a statue, every muscle tense as she tried, in vain, to shake off the canine terror clinging to her leg with the tenacity of a mastiff. She could feel the blood beginning to trickle down in a thin, warm stream; she tried to shake her leg to force it to let go.
—Popcorn doesn't do that!— she heard the man scold, trying to pull the dog away.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Apollonos
Apollonos Just a short chapter to let you know I'm back. Sorry for disappearing; I ended up without my main means of writing. Thank you for the support! I’m a bit slow since I haven’t written in a while, so please bear with me.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder