First Impressions

FIRST IMPRESSIONS
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Chapter 1
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The large room was the epitome of masculinity, with the highly polished mahogany wooden floors, creamy walls, and dark furnishings. On the immediate right side of the door, an antique desk set with a small bookcase held many well-worn religious texts and dictionaries, with many piles of papers, paper clips, and high school pictures forming small islands upon it. There was another huge modernistic black desk, with a large black Dell PC, with a little shelf screened with a glass; a showcase of collective shot glasses from many different areas of the world, several decorative knives, and a case of Cuban cigars with one missing. Scholarships and trophies were carefully set on the desk, as well as a few bartending guidebooks.

She set her dark magenta Kipling travelling duffel bag upon the floor, sitting on the edge of the large king-sized bed that belonged to her best friend's older brother. Kayla had immediately bequeathed this room to her, saying "Since Danny's never home anyway, it doesn't make a difference if you stay here." The reason why Anne was staying here was a simple one- she had nowhere else to go.

Anne felt hollow as she studied her new surroundings with derision, thinking of her life as it had come to pass so far. When she had been only eight years old, her father had died of a heart attack, and it had disintegrated her world. Her mother, grieving terribly, had been hardly unable to take care of herself, let alone a young daughter. After packing all her clothes and tucking Anne's favorite stuffed dog in the little girl's arm, the woman had sent her off to live with her late father's brother Edward and his wife, Evelyn.

She didn't really feel much resentment towards her mom for abandoning her and subjecting her to a miserable existence. To some extent, Anne understood why her mom had shed off the painful past to lead a new life. However, no one knew just how much pain Anne had withstood at the hands of her guardians, for she hid it all with an optimistic smile.

Until Kayla had come along, Anne had not confided of her life to anyone. They had first met in high school, and something had clicked between them. Whether it was the unconscious recognition of lonely souls, or simple attraction of fate, the two girls had become the closest of friends. Everyone was surprised, because they were extremely different people. Kayla Dawson was a darkly striking girl with a steely intelligence and temperamental. She didn't take crap from anyone, and demanded respect from all she met. Not overtly studious, Kayla passed with flying colors by combination of pure genius and charisma.

Anne was a quiet, polite girl. She would stay in the library during lunch period and absorb classic novels with a hungriness inspired by the restriction of her guardians, who forbade her to read anything that was outside the narrow guidelines dictated by the school textbooks and the Bible. That was where Kayla and she had had their first real conversation. Although the two girls had several classes together, they didn't associate within the same social circles. Kayla had many friends, both female and male, being popular, while Anne didn't really have any friends at all, not surprising because it had been freshman year.

However, one day Kayla had approached her in the library, seeing the girl sitting on one of the comfortable squashy bean bag chairs hidden behind the large bookcase, reading as quickly as she could while still getting the clearest meaning possible from the tragic tale of Anna Karenina. "That's one of my favorites," she had said, making Anne look up. From then on, their similar love of books had drawn them together.

They grew to be very close, and Kayla had introduced the shy Anne to her group of friends. Though rather cool to the girl at first, Kayla's friends had quickly grown to like the girl. She wasn't just a boring nerd, it seemed. Under Kayla's kind guidance, Anne transformed into an optimistic, cheerful girl who always listened to others' problems without burdening them with her own. Always rather aloof, yet so openminded, Anne became loved by many people.

Yet the only person Anne really trusted was Kayla, and vice versa. She had learned that Kayla's parents were in Russia. Kayla and her older brother Daniel had been sent off when they had been only eight and twelve to the States to live with a friend of theirs so that the two could live a better life. Though the Dostoyevsky family was rich, with the father being an influential governmental leader and the mother having an extremely wealthy background, the children were sent off to America for their safety. The two children had been constantly threatened by kidnapping attempts, and were in mortal danger at all times. Under a created name, Dawson, the two had been taken in by the trusted friend, where they grew up without parental care.

When Kayla had told Anne, the two had cried in one another's arms and from that moment on they had been inseparable friends. In turn, Anne had hesitantly told the story of her abusive life with her uncle and aunt, causing great indignation in her friend.

"Come live with me," Kayla had demanded. "I have enough room in my apartment." After her older brother had turned eighteen, their parents had purchased a spacious two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan for them. "You could stay in my brother's room since he lives in his college's dormitory."

When she'd first been given the offer, Anne had been hesitant and refused. She knew her guardians would be furious that she even had a friend. They disliked any outsider influencing her, especially one who wasn't of the Catholic religion. The only friend she was allowed to have was a boy her age named William, whose parents were just as confining as her aunt and uncle.

However, Anne was now turning eighteen and she had had enough of their abuse. She was tired of her aunt's slapping, the painful daily beatings that lingered on her flesh, the raw bloody knees she suffered after scrubbing the house inside out with only a bucket of water with disinfectant and a much-used grungy sponge, without even rubber gloves to protect her hands. Her uncle merely looked on with a satisfied gleam in his blue eyes. The final straw had come when Uncle Edward had coerced her to dust and clean his bedroom when his wife was out grocery shopping.

Anne closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memory as she unbuttoned the pale silvery gray sweater with milky pearl buttons that Kayla had given to her last Christmas, and peeled off her faded jeans. She swiftly changed into fresh underwear and an oversized college T shirt she had found in the drawer, smelling vaguely of expensive cologne and laundry detergent. She remembered how he had spoken softly, his sweaty palm landing on her shoulder and caressing it. Her skin had crawled with fear and disgust, but Anne had remained silent.

"I know what you've suffered at my wife's hands all these years," the older man had breathed moistly into her ear. "I could make her stop it, you know." Then, he had pushed his greasy, short-fingered hand into her short, grasping her breast hard. She had gasped in pain, trying to move from him, but that had excited him further. Uncle Edward had pushed her onto the bed, where she had lain immobile with shock. Then, her senses had returned, and Anne had struggled under the heavy paunchy body. He had smacked her hard across the face, his lips landing bruisingly on hers, and forcing his garlic-flavored tongue into hers. Tears had exploded out of her as his fingers kneaded her soft breast and the other hand searched under her skirt, stroking the vee between her thighs. She had felt vomit coat her throat, and she'd squeezed her eyes, resigning herself to the horrible fate, wishing she could die. "Good girl," her uncle had grunted, his repugnant breath floating over her face. Just as he had torn off the plain cotton panties and unbuttoned his pants to release a swollen red penis, the door had swung open, revealing her frothing angry aunt.

For the first time in her life, Anne had been happy to see her aunt, and sobbing she had tried to explain what happened. She was slapped hard, her hair pulled until tears flowed even faster down her face, kicked, punched, with screams of "You're a whore, just like your skanky little mother. I tried to stamp it out of you, but bad seeds always grow up to be bad apples. SLUT!" After the beating, Anne had run into her room, packing the money she had saved over the years for emergencies and college from her multipe jobs, the clothes into the bag she'd found at a secondhand store, determined to leave.

She stayed for the first few nights in a cheap motel, to hide the heavy purple bruises from her friend Kayla. Despite all her bravado, Kayla had a soft heart that would have broken at the sight of her in pain, and she waited till the swelling had died down, and the yellowish color could be hidden by makeup. Terrified that her aunt would come after her, and unable to remove herself from the memory of her uncle almost raping her, Anne had spent a horrible few days. Today, Anne had called Kayla's phone number, and immediately the girl had come in a cab to pick her up from the place, crushing her with a tight hug. Kayla hadn't asked any questions, bless her heart, merely accepted her.

Now, she was sitting on Kayla's brother's bed, and Anne still felt the fear. Anne wished she could have someone to hold her, to make her feel safe. She couldn't tell Kayla... she couldn't. She exhaled shakily, wishing her best friend was here all the same. But it was one o'clock in the morning and Kayla was asleep, as she herself should be.

She hated being alone and the thoughts it provoked. She was only seventeen and she had her whole world ahead of her yet Anne felt like she was a hundred years old with nowhere to go.

Drawing the soft, heavy sapphire blue blankets around her, Anne shut her eyes and fell asleep, the masculine smell of the room following her into the uneasy land of dreams.

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Daniel Dostoyevsky, better known as Danny Dawson, had imbibed quite a bit of vodka, and even being the hardcore Russian man that he was, he was admittedly tipsy. However, at twenty two years of age, Danny was certainly accustomed to drinking, and it wasn't as if he overdosed on alcohol nightly. It was not often that he even indulged in a glass of wine, but tonight he had needed the numbing lull it brought.

He had fallen into one of his moods again. A brooding man, with a dark countennance and a rather pessmistic outlook on life bred of fate, Danny was normally outgoing despite all that had happened to him. Rarely did he let himself despair at the consuming loneliness but at times he had the melancholy fit, and that was when Danny drank.

It was strange, he thought, as he stepped into the elevator. Everyone thought Danny was the happiest man alive, always with a mischievous smirk on his face, and a smart retort. He got good grades, he was wealthy beyond belief, he got all the damned freedom he wanted. Yet Danny had always wanted what the normal young person disliked- the restrictive love of parents, a set bedtime, having to work for his money. Instead, Danny had to cope with the very real danger of being found out his true background, and his sister being possibly kidnapped. They were constantly on the edge, and he missed his parents dreadfully.

He could remember them clearly. His father, a severely handsome man that he had received most of his genes from, had been broad-shouldered and dark-haired. To his adversaries, his father had always given an icy smile which contradicted the anger simmering in his eyes. Danny remembered he had always been half afraid, half admiring of his father... but he'd always loved him. Mother had been beautiful, a truly beautiful woman inside and out. Her long night-colored hair had always fallen around a sweet, pale face in pleasant curls, and he remembered how as a child, Danny would stroke it with a pudgy baby hand. He remembered her eyes were as warmly dark as chocolate, and how her small lips would curve in a loving smile when looking at him or Kayla.

When at the age of twelve years old Danny had been forced to leave his parents forever, he had stood stalwartly as his mother gave him a long last hug, not returning the caress. She had had tears in her eyes, and she'd whispered in Russian, "Are you so very angry with us, Daniel?"

He knew his face had been as remote and frigid as the Arctic, and he'd refused to say goodbye to either of his parents. As Daniel had grasped his sister's small hand in his, he had not looked back once for a final glance.

The elevator finally stopped on the tenth floor, and Daniel got off, walking towards the apartment. Drawing out the key from his pocket, he inserted it in, twisted two times to the right until the door opened, then removed the key and replaced it into his jeans. A yawn escaped his lips, and Daniel was glad that his room was close to the entrance. He opened the door, tripped over something large on the floor, and cursed softly.

Shucking off his jeans and sweater until all he wore were his boxers, Daniel climbed into his huge bed, sleep immediately closing his eyelids. The last thing he thought of in the nanosecond before dreams claimed him was the unusual scent of almond flowers on his pillow.

Author's Note: I'm sorry for so many stories, there's just alot of ideas in my head. I hope people like this one... it's bound to have a lot of drama and sex and angstiness. Please review if you have the time- I'd really appreciate your comments and I'll try to take criticism well :D