Our Favorite Obsidian Scenes

The Doll Scene

He blinked. “You look like you’re twelve. No. Maybe thirteen, but my sister has this doll that kinda reminds me of you. All big-eyed and vacant.”
I reminded him of a doll? A vacant doll? Warmth burned in my chest, spreading up my throat. “Yeah, wow. Sorry to bother you. I won’t be knocking on your door again. Trust me.” I started to turn, leaving before I caved to the rampant desire to slam my fists into his face. Or cry.
“Hey,” he called out.
I stopped on the bottom step but refused to turn around and let him see how upset I was. “What?”
“You get on Route 2 and turn onto U.S. 220 North, not South. Takes you into Petersburg.” He let out an irritated breath, as if he were doing me a huge favor. “The Foodland is right in town. You can’t miss it. Well, maybe youcould. There’s a hardware store next door, I think. They should have things that go in the ground.”
“Thanks,” I muttered and added under my breath, “Douchebag.”
He laughed, deep and throaty. “Now that’s not very ladylike, Kittycat.”
I whipped around. “Don’t ever call me that,” I snapped.
“It’s better than calling someone a douchebag, isn’t it?” He pushed out the door. “This has been a stimulating visit. I’ll cherish it for a long time to come.”
Okay. That was it. “You know, you’re right. How wrong of me to call you a douchebag. Because a douchebag is too nice of a word for you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “You’re a dickhead.”
“A dickhead?” he repeated. “How charming.”
I flipped him off.
He laughed again and bent his head. A mess of waves fell forward, nearly obscuring his intense green eyes. “Very civilized, Kitten. I’m sure you have a wild array of interesting names and gestures for me, but not interested.” I did have a lot more I could say and do, but I gathered my dignity, pivoted, and stomped back over to my house, not giving him the pleasure of seeing how truly pissed I was. I’d always avoided confrontation in the past, but this guy was flipping my bitch switch like nothing else. When I reached my car, I yanked open the door.
“See you later, Kitten!” he called out, laughing as he slammed the front door.

The Nightmares scene

Leaning forward, his warm breath danced along my cheek when he spoke. “Less people will stare without the splint is all I’m saying.”
I didn’t believe for one second that was all he was talking about. On top of that, with him this close to my face, everyone was staring. And we weren’t looking away from each other. We were stuck in the middle of an epic stare-down I refused to lose. Something passed between us, reminiscent of the strange current I’d felt with him before.
A boy on the other side of Daemon gave a low whistle. “Ash is going to kick your ass, Daemon.”
Daemon’s grin went up a notch. “Nah, she likes my ass too much for that.”
The boy chuckled.
Eyes still on me, he tipped his desk forward even further. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I checked out your blog.”
Oh. Dear. Baby. Jesus. How did he find it? Wait. More importantly was the fact that he had found it. Was my blog now Googleable? That was awesomesauce with an extra heaping of sauce. “Stalking me again, I see. Do I need to get a restraining order?”
“In your dreams, Kitten.” He smirked. “Oh wait, I’m already starring in those, aren’t I?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nightmares, Daemon. Nightmares.”

The slipping scene

For some stupid reason, one I would probably never know, I’d forgotten the reason why we were here. Somewhere between seeing him half naked and then thinking he was dead, I’d lost my mind.
“Well, make sure you tell Dee we had a wonderful time so that you can get your stupid keys back,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Then we won’t need a replay of today.”
The smug smile was plastered across his face. “That’s on you, Kitten. I’m sure she’ll call you later and ask.”
“You’ll have your keys. I’m ready—” My foot slipped over the wet rock. Thrown off balance, my arms flailed in the air.
Moving lightning fast, his hand shot out and grabbed mine, pulling me forward. The next thing I knew I was against his warm, wet chest and his arm was around my waist.
“Careful there, Kitten. Dee would be pissed at me if you end up cracking your head open and drowning.”
Understandable. She’d probably think he did it on purpose. I started to respond but couldn’t. There wasn’t much separating our skin in terms of clothing. My blood was pumping way too fast. It had to be the whole almost-drowning incident.
A strange edginess swamped me as we stared at each other, the slight wind brushed along wet skin that wasn’t pressed against one another, making the parts plastered together seem even hotter.
Neither of us spoke.
His chest rose and fell, the deep bottle-green of his eyes shifting by degrees. It was a powerful, almost electric feeling that coursed through me—answering something in him?
Well, that was strange, foolish, and illogical. He hated me.
Then Daemon released my waist and stepped back. He cleared his throat, his voice thick. “I think it’s time we head back.”

Spaghetti scene

Daemon lifted his head from Ash’s neck long enough to rake a long, confusing look over me. “I think it’s obvious if you’re wanted here or not.”
“Daemon,” hissed Dee, her cheeks red. She turned to me, tears in her eyes. “He’s not being serious.”
“Are you being serious, Daemon?” Ash turned in his lap, head cocked to the side.
My heart was already pounding in my chest when his eyes met mine. His were sheltered. “Actually I was being serious.” He leaned over the table, staring up at me through thick lashes. “You’re not wanted here.” Dee spoke again, but I was beyond hearing. My face felt like it was on fire. People around us were starting to stare. One of the Thompson boys was smirking while the other looked as though he wanted to crawl underneath the table for me. The rest of the kids at the table were staring at their plates. One of them snickered.
I’d never been more humiliated in my life.
Daemon turned away, staring over Ash’s shoulder again.
“Run along,” Ash said, flicking her long, slender fingers at me.
All the faces staring up at me, a mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment, threw me back three years. To the first day I’d returned to school after my dad had died. I broke down in English class, crying when I learned we’d be reading A Tale of Two Cities, my dad’s favorite story. Everyone had stared at me. Some felt bad. Others looked embarrassed for me.
It reminded me of the same looks the police and the nurses had given me at the hospital the night I’d been attacked, reminding me of how helpless I’d been.
I’d hated those looks then.
And I hated them now. There was no excuse for what I did next except that I wanted to—needed to…
Hands clenching the edges of the plastic tray, I leaned over the table and turned my plate upside down over Daemon’s and Ash’s heads. Chunks of noodles and spaghetti sauce fell. Most of the red gunk hit Ash and the noodles covered Daemon’s broad shoulder. One long, stringy noodle slid over Daemon’s ear and hung there, flopping around.
There was an audible gasp that rang out through the surrounding tables.
Dee smacked a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and full of barely restrained laughter.
Shrieking, Ash leaped from Daemon’s lap, her hands out to her sides, palms up. One would think I dumped blood on her considering the horrified look on her face. “You…you…” she sputtered, wiping the back of her hand down her sauce-stained cheek.
Daemon plucked a noodle off his ear and seemed to inspect it before he dropped them on the table. Then he did the oddest thing of all.
He laughed.