Wolven, p.3
Wolven, page 3
"I can be a black swan for Easter," I whispered to the mirror, smoothing over my own anxiety. Even my dress was too dark a blue, though it really was the only nice one in my closet. “That’s a thing, right? I’ll get good attention for a lay, at least.”
"I want to see how many people fit in, like, exactly every single one of their closets," Elsie whispered back, her brown eyes glowing amber. Even her silvery-purple dress looked better for the occasion than mine. “I bet you five bucks I count at least six bathrooms between the two of them. Six and a half.”
She pulled her car into the nearest empty space. As I stepped out of the car, I couldn't help but feel excitement course over me. I could hear the beat of the music pouring out through the open door of the farthest house. The people flooding the cul-de-sac seemed to already be in a stupor, but a majority of the people were inside. I could see them fluttering by in the arching house windows, most of whose curtains were drawn back to allow an overspill of light.
"Which house do we explore first?" Elsie giggled. "I mean... they're all so gorgeous. I say we pick the one with the trees in front. Look, isn't that Carrie and Marc under the tree? You may not stick out at all if people are already blasted. Maybe it’s even a good thing we’re late."
I followed Elsie without apology into the house she'd chosen. I'd never been in such a beautiful home; this one made my own look like a rickety shack. A great antique table sat boasting even more drinks and finger foods. On the right, the hall split between stairs to a basement and a living room with a modest TV and a mid-room fireplace the size of my kitchen. Right in front of us, a wooden staircase spiraled in both directions. Elsie quivered in my clammy grip.
“Holy shit, holy shit!” she whispered. She jumped so hard against me it threatened to yank me to my knees. She only stopped to greet the couple who had come up behind us. “Hi, Ivy! We didn’t think you’d be here.”
My sister was the last person I’d have imagined to show up at a party for upperclassmen that wasn’t part of some official school organization, but we’d already severely misjudged the kind of night we’d come upon.
I set it into my mind to give Tristan a good throttling whenever he popped up around here.
“We’re actually headed out,” Nick told us, his arm looped with Ivy’s in the classic perfect-Christian-couple-going-steady pose. “We have a movie to catch downtown.”
“April invited us to the luncheon earlier today,” Ivy added. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows drew into a tight knot. “She said the evening party would be less our taste... Please let me know if you’re going to be out late.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, only half listening.
Baxter emerged from one of the halls just over Ivy’s shoulder. He took one look between my sister and I, and then ducked back behind the wall before having to get involved. It wasn’t that Baxter hated Ivy—he’d actually had the most embarrassing crush on her since the second grade—but he had less patience for her maternal lectures and monologues than I did. He’d learned the hard way, too, when in sixth grade he asked her to marry him. That particular lecture lingered on his face for months.
“Well, enjoy your movie,” I said to Ivy and Nick, “and don’t forget to play responsibly.”
Nick winked at me, though Ivy didn’t find it so funny, tacking on a sharp, “You too, Jade,” as Nick ushered her away and out of the house. Once they were far enough away to entice Baxter from his hiding place, I let out the breath I’d been holding tight in my chest.
“Someone please,” I said meekly, letting Elsie and Baxter scramble to catch my dramatic ass between them, “get me drunk before I kill Tristan.”
It didn’t take long to find which drinks had already been spiked. And Tristan, in an effort to save his own ass when he finally appeared, had an unopened bottle of Jameson tucked under his coat. He assured us several times he had more in the bed of trunk “just in case.”
Things after that got a little hazy. At some point early in, I lost track of Elsie and had to ask a bunch of other mostly drunk teenagers if they had seen her anywhere. When I finally found her sitting on a stranger’s lap, I had to tear her away from him with a slurred apology. The dude was chill about it, flushed as his cheeks were.
I remember the bone-deep beat of the music, gravitating from bangers to ballads with hardly a hiccup. Somewhere between one of the dinner stations and a half-hidden stairwell, Tristan pulled me from the crowd into the nearest closet. I remember Elsie drunkenly weeping against the wall of the hallway to Baxter, our beloved designated driver, who nodded along with a sympathetic look on his face while trying to keep her on her feet. Not much more after that slipped through the haze.
The worst part about the party, by far, was waking up the next morning.
My conscious surfaced like thunder from my brain; it felt like the inside of my head being sledge-hammered. I was too exhausted to move at first, much less open my eyes. But when I did, my heart began to race.
Where the hell was I?
The terrible taste in my mouth hinted all the potential mistakes of last night. Always Jameson—knocked me out with no mercy every time. The initial confusion of waking up in someone else’s bed was a common side effect.
I was naked, I noted as I pushed myself to my elbows with a yawn. Naked and hungover as hell. My head throbbed just with the effort of breathing. I sunk back into the soft pillow, stifling a moan. I knew I should get up and get out before I got in trouble for trespass or, by worse chance, got caught in a clarifying but embarrassing conversation about my levels of sobriety with whoever caught me on my walk of shame.
I thought about sneaking out the window, but the bed was just so comfortable. And I didn’t know how far the drop would be on the other side. So instead, I closed my eyes and rolled onto my back, stretching out my arms to enjoy the coolness of the bed.
The back of my hand brushed against something warm. I stiffened, my heart pounding. I turned to look over at what I'd touched, trying to remember who I’d ended up with. Usually, I could remember.
The guy in bed with me didn’t ring a bell. Didn’t look all that familiar, either. The covers around his waist revealed the olive shade of his skin. Definitely not Tristan’s pasty white ass. His dark hair was a little fly-away, sticking up in all sorts of angles. The curve of his torso rose and fell as he breathed, but still no memories reached me.
My body shuddered in deep places, as if reliving whatever had happened last night. I could smell the sex and alcohol that hung between us, and tried to guess who it was from the soft sound of his breath. It must be John Stevenson, I decided with a hint of embarrassment. That wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with Elsie again. Even worse for Tristan to find out. Tristan would kill me if it were John Stevenson.
Maybe it was for the best I didn’t stick around to see who it was.
Moving as quietly as I could, I swung my legs over the side of the bed so I could stand up when the world stopped rocking beneath me. My dress and heels sat in a haphazard pile near the door. Or... one of the doors. There were three doors in this room, not even including the closet.
The faint thought of heading back home to Ivy, who I’d definitely forgotten to text last night, made me hesitate. No doubt she’d flooded me with calls and angry messages. But where the hell was my phone? Elsie had been holding it for me; I couldn’t remember if she crashed in some other guest room or if Baxter had driven her home.
I have to move, I told myself with exhaustion, and pushed myself up from the bed.
A hand grabbed my wrist. I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart slamming into my throat as I turned around. In my attempt to rally, I hadn’t even noticed my bedfellow stir awake.
"I'm sorry," he said when I turned around to face him in shock. It was not, in fact, John Stevenson, but a ridiculously, outrageously, devastatingly gorgeous face that I only barely recognized in my faintest memory.
“I, uh... for what?” It took half my strength just to get the sentence out. His hand still clasped my wrist, warm and firm enough to set my head pounding even harder. I tried to blink the blush out of my face.
"I didn't mean to take advantage of you last night," he answered. The rough, 'I've-just-woken-up' huskiness of his voice made me quiver in the most awkward way. His blue-grey eyes searched me, asking a question I didn’t understand. "I drank a bit more than I meant to. Things just... happened. I’m so sorry."
I stared at him, my mouth agape until my brain managed to get it working properly.
"It's fine," I told him, my voice softer than I intended. I'd never had a guy apologize for having sex with me before. Usually they just jumped straight to begging me back to bed. Or to kicking me out the door. "It's just sex, no big deal."
I tugged a little bit at my own wrist, but he didn't let me go. His intense gaze was still searching for... I couldn’t say. His stupid face was so stupidly gorgeous that it was making me flustered and uncomfortable and excited all at once. Stupid.
“Let go of me,” I told him, wiggling my trapped fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and released me as if he hadn’t realized he’d grabbed me in the first place. The skin around my wrist flushed back to color. “I forget it’s different...” He seemed to struggle to find his words. “Did I hurt you?”
“Feels great compared to this hangover,” I told him. His eyebrows twitched in concern, so I reassured him: “Seriously, don’t worry about it. But I feel like it’s getting way too close to the afternoon. I should go, right?”
He dropped himself from his elbow, his head falling back to the pillow. His expression lessened into melancholy, the shadow of something heavy lingering in his gaze.
“If you want,” he said.
"I mean... if you want me to stay, I can stay," I offered, feeling irrationally guilty. Half of a smile crept up his lips, lightening his face; a dimple formed in his cheek I mentally smacked myself down as heat flooded to my face.
“If you want,” he said again.
My stomach lurched. With vomit or butterflies, I wasn't sure.
"You’re one of those new kids at school, huh?” I asked him.
"Clay," he answered with a smile, reaching out a hand to shake.
"Okay, Clay, nice to meet you. I'm Jade. Welcome to our shitty little town." I paused, turning back to face my clothes. "I, uh... You know, I will stay. For a few minutes, why not? But I'm going to get dressed again because... I’m kind of uncomfortable."
He seemed satisfied with my compromise, sitting up again to reach for his own boxers which lay strewn across the foot of the bed. I tried not to let myself gawk at him as if he were a zoo animal, being a new kid and all. Part of me was trying to find any signs of similarity between him and Coal, but the only thing that matched was the dark brown of their hair.
Before I’d managed to reach my clothing, one of the doors swung open with half a knock of warning. Outside light flooded the room, making Clay and I cringe. When my vision cleared away the swirling dots, my blood froze.
An older woman stood in the doorway, her piercing blue eyes looking me over. The look on her face was hard to read, harder even so when she cast it upon Clay standing behind his bed. He’d had time to slip up his boxers, at least; I slammed my arms up to cover my chest, feeling the nauseous heat of my cheeks in knowing that the dress dangling from my grasp barely reached far enough to keep me covered downstairs.
There were the similarities I’d been looking for, in the dark line of her brow and the natural smirk of her lips. It had to be Clay’s mother. Clay’s mother had just walked in on me hidden in her son’s room, hungover, ass-naked, and ready to hurl.
shards of glass
Clay
Our plan was simple: find the girl from the woods to see what she remembered. She hadn’t been particularly threatening that night, but we felt better safe than sorry. It just happened to be the perfect weekend for it, with Ostara finally come around and Ma wanting us to make friends with the locals. The parents loved April’s carefully planned luncheon: conservative company deemed respectful enough to mingle with our older folk.
Ivy showed up among the early chatter, and April had been excited to point her out to me. Before I could get carried away by my own hot-headed jealousy to see her clearly with a boyfriend, I determined off instinct it wasn’t the same girl from the woods.
“I could have told you that,” Coal told her in good humor. “Ivy doesn’t look the kind to wander the woods stoned out of her mind.”
“Twins,” April said. Her head shook in delight at having been duped.
“Maybe she’s one of us after all,” Coal mused.
“Imagine triplets,” Flint joked.
I tried not to imagine triplets, but as the afternoon went on and the girl from the woods didn’t show up, it became a running joke for Flint and Jag to point out Ivy every time she passed within sight. Until finally Jag got bored and went to go find Amber, and April disappeared somewhere with Rowan and Flint to help close out the luncheon and prepare for the rowdier guests sure to come for the evening party.
It took a lot of convincing to allow this part. Dad tried to argue it was too much of a risk, being so new to the community and the region itself, not to mention what kind of unforeseen disasters a group of spirited high schoolers could cause. But Ma stood in our favor: we’d tried isolation and it failed us twice as hard. Strengthening our ties with the community could be our best chance of protection.
And we were responsible enough, weren’t we?
But then the sun began to set and our parents disappeared up into the woods for ceremony. A new wave of guests started to arrive in awkward clumps of friends and classmates; none of which made a move to acknowledge any of us without our initial approach. I couldn’t blame them for it. We were a bunch of strangers moved into their quiet-enough town with hardly a hint of warning.
Flint finally said, “This will be much easier if we spike the punch.”
So Jag spiked the punch. And the lemonade, and the sodas, and just about all the rest of it that wasn’t water. Flint was right, anyhow. Once they’d washed away enough of those sober walls, they were hard to wrangle. The music got louder, the food disappeared, and Rowan found me trapped in a literal corner by a couple dancing just a bit too close to each other.
“I’ve got you beat,” Rowan said, pulling me out from my wedge. He rubbed at his forehead, smudged with peach-pink lipstick. “I think I was just molested, but on the bright side: I think I’ve also found your girl.”
I’d already given up on finding her at the party. Ivy had long since disappeared, and most of the people in my house were trashed enough to fill a dumpster. I was a drink or two in myself, but when he mentioned that bit of hope, the rush of the room as we moved towards my backyard hardly swayed me.
She was talking to Coal. Good ol’ Coal, standing there with her in the middle of the yard just within reach of the porch light. The drunken flush of her cheeks emphasized the aggressive way she spoke. As soon as Rowan pulled open the glass door, I could already hear her voice.
“I lose her every goddamn time,” she told Coal, who nodded in absent understanding. “She’s like a fucking fish... she spots something flashy in the crowd and boom she’s just gone—”
She saw Coal motion eagerly to us and followed his gaze. The way she jerked made me hesitate. Was that fear in her expression? Anger?
“Hey, you!” she said, lurching forward. But it wasn’t me she grabbed for; it was Rowan. He caught her with surprise, leering at me in panic out the corner of his eyes. “I am so sorry about Elsie, man. I was just telling Coal how fucking relentless she is when she’s drunk. I... we brought a lot of booze to the party. I should apologize for that too.”
And then, finally, she turned and noticed me. There it was: like the strike of a snake sending my pulse painfully fast in my veins. Just like the first time, having come across her during our run. Her lips parted, painted a dark purple that made her smile a shade of toxic, and said,
“Hello... you.” She straightened up off of Rowan with a teetering smile, and offered me her hand to shake.
“We brought booze to your party,” she said with burning cheeks. She swallowed hard, trying not to betray herself with a giggle. “I know it’s irresponsible. It was Tristan’s idea, and weird shit was being said about you guys, so it just seemed easier... to do this drunk.”
“Most of the people here are drunk,” I told her, “and not because of you.”
“No offense taken, anyhow,” Rowan said at my side. “Hey Coal, you wanna...”
Coal got the message without having to hear the end of it, trailing off after my cousin with a sheepish but encouraging smile. Jade stood there, evaluating me with pursed lips before finally pulling herself back together.
“Do you want a drink?” she offered.
The way her head tilted in a wry smile set my face on fire. She suddenly tipped, leaning so far over herself I had to catch her by the arm. The look in her forest green eyes set off inside me an irrational fear of losing her in the crowd.
Jade proved hard to keep up with—by alcohol and by socializing, which seemed to be the same thing for most of the people here.
Now she stood before me again, fully naked and with the morning light of the high windows seeping through to set her body aglow, a goddess brought to life. The uncomfortable knot of her eyebrow seemed to fight hard against the half-smirk on her lips.
"What’s your name, again?" she asked.
The sound of her voice whirled around in my head, making me feel dizzy. The back of my head screamed to reach out to her, to touch her again, just to hold her—it took all my efforts to control myself. I answered her, unable to help the smile off my own lips.
"Clay," she nodded, looking down at herself. She half-heartedly attempted to cover herself with her arms. "Nice to meet you, Clay. I'm Jade. I'm going to get dressed again, because this is uncomfortable."
