~Need You Tonight~ David x OC

Chapter One

"Wake up, sweetheart." The girl frowned as her mother patted her on the shoulder gently. Lucy Emmerson was sweet, but that was the opposite of her daughter. The girl in the back seat of the car groaned, keeping her eyes closed as she lifted herself off the car window. When she finally managed to peel her eyes open, she hissed silently. Despite her sunglasses, the light of the sun, low in the sky, was too much for her.

She clambered out of the car, grabbed a bag from the trunk, and headed upstairs to claim a room. Once she had hauled all the boxes containing her stuff up to her room, she closed and locked the doors. Flopping on her bed and closing her eyes, the girl dozed off. What felt like seconds later, a soft knock could be heard.

"Sweetie? We're heading to the boardwalk, why don't you come with us." Lucy attempted to coax her daughter out of her room. She was about to open the door and decline when she noticed the sun had almost set. She opened the door, and nodded. Lucy smiled, and attempted to hug the short girl, who ducked under her mother's arms, and hurried downstairs.

Oswyn Emmerson wasn't one for affection. Oswyn didn't hug, or talk at dinner, or participate in family game night. Oswyn didn't watch MTV with her little brother Sam, or help her twin brother, Michael, fix his motorcycle, and the closest thing to bonding she had done to bonding with her mother in the past 10 years (possibly her whole life) was ask for pads when her period first started. In true Oswyn fashion, she wasn't one for attachment either. She wasn't attached to her family, she didn't do friends, and every resident of Phoenix, Arizona, who had the distorted 'pleasure' of meeting her felt far too uncomfortable to stick around long. She wasn't antisocial, she wasn't shy, she didn't stick to the shadows like a creepy, lonesome, vagabond. Oswyn just didn't do attachment.

There were a lot of things Oswyn didn't do: bright colors, talking, loud noises, romance, or sleeping at night. As she had said (or written, seeing as she felt socializing with teachers was overrated) "I don't do daytime." This of course, led people to think she didn't care. She cared about some things—just not on the outside—so when the news of the move to Santa Carla came around, nobody cared to notice Oswyn, or her opinion. The move was, in fact, a big deal. Plans were canceled, big plans. Yet after a little research on her new home, she found a light on the horizon. Somewhat reliable sources had told her she was moving to the "murder capital of the fucking world baby!" (As it had been so eloquently put). The same somewhat reliable sources did later regret giving the terrifyingly enigmatic girl a reason to leave, but she was stubborn. Once she had made a decision, she had made a decision.

When she set foot on the boardwalk of Santa Carla, California, Oswyn was pleasantly surprised at what she saw. Leather jackets and spiked hair mingled with French cut swimsuits and copious amounts of Farrah Fawcett hairspray. All kinds of people clashed on the worn wooden boards. The air was some nauseating mixture of cotton candy and cigarette smoke. The last straggling parents attempted to drag their children away from the increasingly strange crowd. No two people looked the same and Oswyn didn't need to worry about blending in. She wasn't an outlandish looking person. She dressed normal, she looked normal, but if you looked long enough you'd notice the estranged look behind her eyes. She could hide in plain sight with little trouble. Her long, blonde, pencil straight hair and blue eyes made her appear to be some sweet, innocent, possibly slightly bratty girl (when adding her resting bitch face). Her sweet, slightly upturned nose sat above her small, pouty, pale pink painted lips. Though in Santa Carla, she could be considered normal, some things about her stuck out like a sore thumb in Fashion Forward Phoenix, where every girl's hair was teased within a mere millimeter of its life. Here, nobody even bothered to notice, much less point out the fact that she had decided against wearing a bra under her ruffled white tank top, and her shin-length, peachy pink skirt with the sunflower details embroidered on it was just another part of the scene.

She stood in observant silence, feeling out the new environment. It was common for Oswyn to zone out—or zone in, really—and as she tapped into her senses, the overall sounds and smells gave way for more precise observations. A baby was crying over a dropped vanilla ice cream cone, and a particularly sweaty hippie couple was sucking face over by the carousel. She could stand and observe these things for hours. People watching on this boardwalk was going to be most interesting.

By the time she noticed a familiar voice calling her name she had no idea how long she had been standing, in the same spot, watching all kinds of people walk, run, dance, trip, or whatever other way they moved by. A quick glance at her watch confirmed that it had been two hours. Funny, she reflected on all the people she's seen, for a town infamous for death there sure is a lot of life.

"Oswyn!" The girl turned around to see her twin standing by his motorcycle, and surrounded by four, admittedly somewhat attractive boys, and a girl with dark curly hair. She looked at Michael, giving him an exasperated look. She knew her brother, she had observed him long enough to know when he was uncomfortable. It was obvious he had gotten himself into a sticky situation. That was the only time he really interacted with her, when he needed help.

As she approached the group she saw the boys looking her up and down. She knew what they must be thinking. She looked like some sweet, innocent, easily intimidated girl. How wrong they were. Still, Oswyn avoided eye contact as cooly as possible. She wasn't here to make friends.

The petite girl looked up at her brother, who towered over her, along with everyone else around. She fixed him with her usual, bored, slightly ticked off expression. He had interrupted some excellent people watching.

"Are you ready to go home?" He asked. Oswyn raised an eyebrow. Are you kidding? "I mean it's pretty late, you've gotta be tired."

Jesus, Michael. Quit the "protective older brother act." Her face settled into an exasperated glare. Michael knew full well his sister wasn't tired. She had slept the whole car ride from Phoenix.

"What's up with your sister, Michael?" A spiky mulleted blonde with too-tight white pants asked, leaning on the handlebars of his motorbike.

"She doesn't look too tired to me, huh Paul?" A curly haired blonde with an interesting patched up jacket joked. The two were treated to a glare from Oswyn.

"Why don't you bring your sister along, Michael?" A platinum blonde with a particularly intense jawline said, catching the blonde girl's eye. When their gazes met, both were almost knocked back from the impact. Oswyn resisted clutching her stomach in pain. She was used to cramps, she was getting used to the hunger. She could resist the hunger, but this was different. It was painful but she wanted to be closer to what was causing it, the boy in front of her. As soon as she broke eye contact, the pain left. She missed it. God damn it. She thought of the most likely possibility. It wasn't pleasant.

The platinum blonde just turned to face her brother. "You know where Hudson's Bluff is? Overlooking the point?"

Michael looked the leader's bike up and down. "I can't beat your bike."

"You don't have to beat me, Michael. Just try and keep up. Now grab your sister and let's go."

"My sister isn't coming." He glared at the four boys surrounding him. Oswyn sighed.

"Fuck you, Michael." Her voice was raspy and quiet from lack of use, but she made herself heard as she bunched up her skirt to sit behind her brother on his bike. The boys laughed, revving their bikes. The group sped off.