I own nothing, it would be an enormous waste of time to sue me, since Charlaine Harris owns all these characters anyway. I promise to clean them up before I put them back. I swear.

Sookie finds her inner Goddess and puts the men in her life, back in their place, once and for all. *takes place after book 8*

Rated Mature for later chapters.

THE 'S' WORD

I'd just about had enough.

I mean, so far I'd been stabbed, shot, shredded, scratched, slapped, staked, and all the other 'S' words you can think of that describe violent physical trauma, and I was fed up.

I was fed up with Vampires, Weres, Shapeshifters, Witches, Fairies, Rednecks, Religious Zealots and all their stupid shit (pardon my French)

I was in desperate need of a nice long break.

The only good news was that Amelia had moved in with Trey Dawson and Octavia'd finally gotten her FEMA money to relocate, so she'd high-tailed it back to the Big Easy and opened up a Wiccan herb shop. I had the house all to myself, but I'd lost the extra income from their rents.

I tallied up my total earnings for this past 2 weeks, meager as they were, and sighed, this would be another lean month for me, what with me having done favors for the Shreveport vamps and their unending list of demands, and all that time off work, and none of it yet having been reimbursed. Ugh. It was too depressing to think about.

Eric had been especially obnoxious lately, I've no doubt it had to do with that blasted Blood bond he'd been forced to use on me in Rhodes, and his resulting memories returning about our brief (but sexually satisfying) assignation (word of the day) during his 2 week 'blackout'. We barely spoke, except occasionally through Pam.

Apparently, Mr. 'I'm-So-Gorgeous-You-Can't-Resist-Me' hadn't come to terms with the idea that he'd offered to reject his many lucrative business endeavors, relocate to a backwater bayou town with no Wal-Mart that no one in their right mind would want to live in, (not even those that were born here) settle into a 175-year old farmhouse directly across the graveyard from my first lover-now stalker Bill, chop wood, and hold my hand.

Yeah, right. That'll happen when Mars bleeds maple syrup. I wasn't surprised he was cranky. I sure was.

And Bill...well what can I say about Bill? He blows hot and cold and can't seem to make up his mind what he wants. I see him in town with his latest girlfriend, some gorgeous and skinny brunette real estate agent that makes me look like cow patties, and then he's at my back door at 3:am, 'just checking on me' and tells me he still loves me..

Yeah well, buddy, actions speak louder than words.

If that's not bad enough, my stupid brother drags me into his baby-mama-drama once again, and gets off scot-free. What are the odds?

Not to mention Quinn and Alcide continue to snarl at each other over 'Who should be Sookie's Mate', even though neither of them bothered to ask ME.

They can all just go pound sand.

I scan the newspaper ads and see a listing for a Travel Agency, it appears they need a part time receptionist and part of the perks are free travel vouchers. Oooooohhh. I figure, why the hell not?

I obviously can't afford to pay for my own vacation, and I'd rather gouge out my own eyeballs than to ask Mr. Great-God-Of-The-North for any money to go anywhere. He'd want too many questions answered, there would be too many strings, he'd want to send a bodyguard, which would probably end up being someone I couldn't stand, etc etc..so...

I scrounged up a nice pair of slacks and a cute blouse, wrapped my ponytail into a bun, and dragged myself into town, with the clipping in my hand.

The 'Three Wishes' Travel Agency, located in a sunny street in Bon Temps business district (which consisted of 2 streets running parallel to each other and topped off at the corner by the courthouse, with a nice blue and white shingle overlooking the sidewalk,) looked innocent enough.

My hands cupped around my eyes as I peered through the plate glass window and scanned the interior for signs of abnormal activity, since I was now an expert on the subject.

Looked pretty quiet. No fangs anywhere, no yellow eyes, no furry appendages, no pentagrams or FOTS flyers, at least that I could see. This might just work out.

My interview was short and sweet, the owner (a nice looking older lady named Imelda) needed someone to answer phones during the day, 3 days a week, while the regular receptionist (Becky) was at her doctors. Seems she was 8 1/2 months along and fixin' to Domino any minute and they needed to train someone immediately.

"We need someone with as few outside obligations as possible, do you have a husband or boyfriend at home that will object to your sometimes working late at night? "

"None living", I replied, using my best Crazy Sookie grin.

"Lovely, there's the phone, the message pads, pens and Xerox machine paper. Welcome aboard".

A monkey could have done it. I was in.

After a period of a couple of weeks, Becky's imminent stay at the hospital became a reality and I was asked if I could fill in full time during the day. She'd be taking maternity leave indefinitely so now I had full time all week to look forward to with weekends off.

Ahhhhhh. No rude and drunk customers, no 'accidentally' overhearing Arlene bitch about me, no 'just dropping by' by one Vampire or another, no family drama, no grab-ass by LSU frat boys on a bender. No serial killers looking to make a name for themselves in the paper.

Silence.

I think I'm home.

I grinned.

Sam didn't take it too well. I told him I could work Saturday nights until he found a replacement but the weekdays were definitely over for me.

I think I actually did him a favor, I'm sure the other waitresses, (Arlene especially) were sick of my ever-changing schedule and last minute crisis time-offs. I also deliberately didn't tell him where I was working, that way Bill and other various Supes couldn't find an excuse to just 'stop by'.

I told him I was going back to night school and would keep him in the loop as soon as something concrete presented itself. I hated lying to him, but if Sam knew where I was, then so would Eric, Bill and Jason. Those four couldn't keep quiet if Moses himself duct-taped their mouths shut.

Nope, this was going to be my little secret.

The first couple of weeks working full time were great, it was peaceful, quiet, and the most interaction I'd had with anyone (or anything) living was to refer an elderly lady to our Special Needs Agent, who wanted to make arrangements for her wheelchair on her Caribbean cruise.

Ahhhhhhhh. Bliss.

All I had to do now was to wait until I was there long enough to qualify for my little vacation package. (6 weeks worth of work = 3 days, 3 nights in the beach resort of my choice, budget package of course, with airfare, meals, and tips included.) and the pay wasn't bad either.

I was so giddy at the prospect, of course, I neglected to consider the amount of time I was 'incommunicado' (new word of the day) with the rest of civilization. Or what could pass for civilization in Bon Temps, which at the moment, was more or less, Vampires, Shifters, and sundry other previous annoyances in my life.

My last shift at Sam's had been almost 2 weeks ago, and so far, I hadn't heard of any incidents involving shootouts, bombings, stabbings, werewolf attacks, arson, stakings or anything unusual at Merlotte's since I'd left.

Wow.

Apparently it was Deader than Dead at the bar, now that its chief Drama magnet, Sookie Stackhouse, had moved on to greener pastures.

When I had run in the back door of the bar one afternoon to pick up my final paycheck, Sam was so busy with all the new business, he'd hardly had 2 words to say to me. He hadn't seen Bill, or Calvin, or anyone other than Jason, who never even noticed I wasn't working. Gotta love big brothers. They can really put you back into perspective.

Well so much for Miss Drama Queen and her entourage, apparently I was under the radar once again. I did feel a little put out about not being the center of attention as usual, but wasn't this exactly what I wanted? Sort of? Maybe?

You know when they say 'be careful what you wish for"?

Well no such luck for me.

I got home late one afternoon, and was greeted by a blinking message light on my answering machine. As I looked at the Caller ID, I noticed it was a 318 area code.

That couldn't be good. It wasn't Eric's number, or Fangtasia or even Pam's. The only other person in Shreveport that might be calling was either Clancy or Alcide. Crap. Ok, *deep breath* here goes.

"Beeeeeep: You have TWO messages: Message One."

"Hey Sookie, this is Clancy (DAMN DAMN DAMN !!) and Eric wants me to ask you ...um...well his exact words are ..'WHAT THE FUCK?", so I think maybe you should call him back or something? Pam says Hey and well, I gotta go now, you know the number."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Message Two:"

"I suppose you're off with another man again, another Vampire? Or is it a Were this time? It's becoming difficult keeping track of all your many lovers. Call me?" Bill's cool voice growled over the machine.

Yeah, well that's why God invented GPS, Mr. Compton.

*sigh*

I gotta get out of this town.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Imelda had good news for me, she was heading off for a symposium in Hot-lanta for the long Labor Day weekend, and was going have the office closed for those 3 days.

"How'd you like that little St Bart's cabana package for that weekend, Sookie?"

Stunned, I looked up from my travel magazine and grinned..

"Does Rose Kennedy have a black dress? Sure, I'd love it !"

"Splendid, use these two vouchers for airfare and THIS one (handing me a plastic travel agency gift card) for the hotel and meals. Don't forget to use a passport for customs and don't bring back any plants or liquor, I'd hate to have to pay a fine..."

"No problem Imelda, I got my passport last year, so I think I'm all set! Wow, thanks !"

My smile couldn't have been any wider if I'd won Miss Supernatural of 2008.

As Imelda left the office, waving goodbye, I danced around the room like an insane person.

"Hot Damn!! "

My next mission was to blaze a white-hot trail home and pack, I had just over 2 hours until I could catch that puddle-jumper in Monroe that would take me to Miami, then St. Bart's.

My house looked like a laundry room had exploded, I was throwing clothes everywhere in an attempt to find something that could remotely be called 'resort' wear.

I finally settled on 3 different bikinis and a couple cover-ups, one nice slip-dress, 1 pair of jeans and shirt, 2 pairs of sandals and one pair strappy heels. Oh and of course, my newest obsession, thongs. Yes, I know, I know, who's there to see them? Well I'd thought about that, but I really liked the way I looked in them, and who knows, maybe some hot dark-eyed Latin lover would appreciate me just for me, and not what I could DO to enhance their careers and social standing. For God's sakes. *sigh*

So I packed several pairs of black lacy ones, a couple white lacy ones and I'd found some especially sexy red velvet thongs at Tara's Togs on sale. After Christmas thing I guess. I took one bra, hell, that should be enough.

I was off.

Six hours and 2 plane changes later, (thank goodness I took only carry-on luggage !) I was winging my way to St Barts over a gorgeous aqua-blue ocean, with the setting sun sparkling on the water and the wispy peach-colored clouds caressing the sun's last rays.

Heaven.

I looked at my cell phone. Three calls from Fangtasia, with no messages, 2 more from Bill with the usual veiled accusations of slutty behavior. If he only knew what I'd planned for myself when I got to the island, he'd be deliciously furious.

I quietly chuckled and tried to talk myself out of the temptation of shoving my cell phone down under my thong, taking a picture and sending it back to Bill with the text message, "This is what you're missing." But it was a very near thing.

It must have been that Gin and Tonic I was inhaling.

The only person I'd told that I was leaving town, was Sam. I figured they'd all ask him anyway, and he'd get some street cred for being the only person who knew I was out-of-pocket. It would make his day to have something over on the 2 Vamps that had become the bane of my existence.

Of course I gave him absolutely no details. I told him I was at a day-spa, getting 'refurbished' and I didn't want any visitors since it was for females only. To head off any possible interference by Pam, I told him I would be there in the daytime only and would contact him when I got back. I'd hoped I'd covered all the bases.

I felt smug that I'd eluded all these Oh-So-Superior-Males and mentally flipped them all off. This was going to be fun, if not for the actual experience, but just imagining the looks on their faces when they realized that I was out of the scope of their influence. At least for the time being.

I giggled so insanely at the mental image that the flight attendant passing by me flinched in alarm.

I guess she'd never seen a runaway burned-out telepath before.

I was beginning to have serious doubts about my sanity.

One white-knuckled Piper Cherokee plane ride later and I was standing in the lobby of the Isle de France in the French West Indies island of St. Barths, looking for all intents and purposes like the quintessential (new word of the day) American tourist.

I'm sure the front desk clerk thought I was drugged because of my slower-than-a-sea-turtle response to their questions about the accommodations I'd wanted. Finally, after having the staff wave hands and hold up numerous fingers to check for pupil dilation, I was escorted to my cabana on the beach. It was just dark, and the torchlight and bonfires cast romantic shadows and flickering light across the powdery white sands.

I clutched the arm of the caramel-skinned bellboy, and demanded...

"A Mai-tai, can I get a Mai-tai, do you think?"

"Yes, Miss Stackhouse, of course, let me get you settled in, and I can have the bar send a drink right out to your cabana."

The first thing that crossed my mind was.

"That's it, I'm moving here."

I thought about the beautiful sunsets and the warm sands, the exact opposite of what the Vamps in my life could appreciate or give me. They wanted me heeled, subservient, beholden, and enthralled to them. Preferably in the dark, in snow (take that Eric !) or in bed (take that Bill ! )

Screw that shit. (Pardon my French again) I have a feeling my French is going to get much more pronounced before this trip is over.

So far, my 'S' words had been about pain, upheaval and unhappiness. Maybe this trip will change all that. I plan to work on it. Now I need to find something to wear down to the bar....

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room was gorgeous, all bamboo wood and ferns and white wispy sheer drapes. You'd never believe in a million years that there was snow anywhere in the world after seeing this vision of the tropics. After unpacking my meager luggage, I pulled out my little blue slip dress and flat sandals and headed down to the bar to get that drink.

The very next thing I did, while moseying through the lobby, requisite Mai-Tai in hand, was to pick up a pre-paid disposable Cell phone from the gift shop. I programmed in my important numbers, just for emergencies, then dawdled back onto the beach, the evening trade winds whipping my long blonde hair every which way, and pitched my regular (the one Eric gave me, damn thing probably had Satellite tracking on it) cell phone as far into the surf as I could possibly throw it.

I waved goodbye to the annoying and offending bit of my last tether to Bon Temps, and vowed to keep a straight face when relating that a rogue sea-weed wrap masseuse had accidentally dropped it into the mud baths, resulting in a scalded Sim-card.

Hey, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The breeze was warm, and fragrant with plumeria and gardenia, and I was enjoying myself immensely, until I looked around and realized that every other person was paired up with a boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, rent-boy, professional escort, etc.

I was the only solo act here.

Damn. Damn damn damn.

Well this would not do. Not at all.

As if it were pre-ordained, an unbelievably gorgeous 30-ish 6 foot tall guy with long dark brown hair, and sea-green eyes, tapped me on the shoulder, holding out a dripping cell phone.

"I believe this is yours, Miss.....?"

His raised eyebrow indicated that he was expecting a response sometime this century.

"Ah, yeah, I was getting rid of it, it's well....a long story", I sputtered, grinning like an idiot. Damn Mai-Tai

.

He stepped a bit closer, looking around with a conspiratorial air, and whispered, with a hint of amusement on his tanned chiseled face..

"Whoever he is, you must be pretty pissed off at him.."

A very unladylike snort escaped my lips..

"Him? Try THEM...", then thought it might make me look a whole bunch more slutty than I was in real life. But then people had always assumed that of me anyway, what was one more? How much alcohol is in a Mai-Tai anyway?

"I think you might want to return to the relative safety of the lobby, if nothing but to refresh your drink.."

He gently guided me back to the interior, his strong hand on my lower back, and attempted to peel my claw-like hand away from the cold glass I was holding.

"Heyyy...I'm not done with that". I snarled.

By now, my jet-lag, general anxiety and alcohol-fueled righteous indignation had all ganged up on me and threw me directly under the bus.

Holding one hand over his mouth to avoid laughing directly in my face, my escort, all 6 gorgeous feet of him, leaned across the bar and spoke to the barkeep, while my gaze drifted toward his lean torso, then his narrow hips and long legs, all of this wrapped in a lovely ensemble of a gauzy white cotton shirt and pants.

I was silently begging him to turn around so I could scope out his backside, when I distinctly noticed from an 'impression' in his white cotton pants, that he was going commando.

Oh yeah. You couldn't hide from me, could you?

Have I mentioned how much I like Mai-Tais? Anyone?

What's even funnier, is that the whole time I've been here, I haven't heard one thought pop out of anyone's head, accidental or otherwise. A sudden fear rushed over me, had I run across the only tropical Vampire retreat in St Bart's by accident? I checked around...No, no void spots, just no thoughts being slung my way. I wondered about that. I wondered if it had anything to do with being so close to the Bermuda Triangle or something, or they maybe had like, a jamming system for radar, or whatever.

My escort turned around, with a brimming cup of coffee in his hand.

"Maybe we should let you sit down for a minute, you're looking a bit wobbly".

I took the coffee, letting the glass slip from my hand towards the tile floor. My escort caught the glass inches from the tile. Good reflexes.

I plopped myself in the nearest overstuffed chair, took a sip of the hot coffee and looked up into those mesmerizing green eyes.

"Hi, I'm Sookie Stackhouse, nice to meetcha", holding out my free hand. "What did you say your name was again?"

My knight in shining white cotton leaned toward me, pulled a wisp of blonde hair behind my ear, and murmured..

"Enchanted, Miss Stackhouse, I'm Eric".

Oh HELL !