A Wolf's Kiss

THE SUN was setting, casting long shadows in the quaint little apartment that Dove Herveaux and her best friend, Becky Powell, shared. The apartment was a sanctuary for the girls from the craziness of the outside. It held so much character of both girls—the comforting smell of old books, alternative music softly blaring from a speaker, the smell of m*******a, pop culture magazines, and displaced clothes flung around by Becky that she never picks up. Shelves on the walls, crammed with textbooks, their spines worn from the countless readings. In a corner just by the window, there was a large red overstuffed chair—the glow of the sun highlighted it. Dove loved to do her reading there with a cup of tea, while Becky was out and about not having a care in the world. Dove was a gentle eighteen-year-old who had the beauty that was deemed effortless and understated. Platinum curls framed her face, a single birthmark marking her long nose. Her elegance was timeless. Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of Luma—they reflected how deep and thoughtful she was. “Come on, Dove! Today was the last day of the exam! We’ve been buried in books for months—we deserve a night out!” Becky’s voice rang from the other side of the room, bursting with enthusiasm. She was the exact opposite of Dove in almost every way—she was untidy, vibrant, and outgoing—the life of the party. Her strawberry blonde hair shimmered every time she moved, complementing her lively face. Her honey-colored eyes sparkled with mischief, and her slender frame seemed to vibrate with energy as she rummaged Dove’s wardrobe, searching for the perfect outfit. Dove, however, was unconvinced. She sat at the edge of her bed, watching Becky with a pout on her face. “You know that’s not my scene. We can just stay in and watch some series and eat some popcorn and pizza. Hmm, watcha think?” Dove asked. Becky let out an exaggerated sigh, throwing her head back before turning to face Dove with playful exasperation. “Dove, you can’t spend the best years of your life hiding away in this apartment. You’re young—you should live a little!” She paused—her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Dove’s expression. “Besides, this isn’t just about attending a party. It’s about celebrating the fact that we survived those exams! Babe, we earned this.” Dove shook her head at her friend. Becky had hardly even done any reading, but she didn’t want to break Becky’s heart because she had been planning for this moment since the examination began, and Dove had promised to go out with her if she read. Becky held her side of the bargain as best as she could. Dove bit her lower lip, a habit she had whenever she was nervous or contemplating. Becky was kind of right—the semester had been grueling, filled with late nights of endless studying. The pressure had been intense— everyone knew that the first year in college was the foundation of how your entire school year would play out. The weight had been lifted, and she did want to do something fun, but she was so scared to try something new. The thought of stepping into a crowded place, surrounded by strangers, was terrifying. Her natural inclination was to retreat into the familiar comfort of her books, where she could immerse herself in a world created by others or unravel the wonders of the world with facts. Seeing Dove’s hesitation, Becky let out a sigh and took a seat on Dove’s bed. “Listen… I know this isn’t your thing. But I promise, we’ll have a great time. We can have a couple of drinks, dance a bit, and then we leave whenever you’re ready. Sounds like a plan?” “Ugh… fine! Sounds like a plan.” Her friend’s face lit up with a wide grin. “Yes!” she squealed in victory, placing a kiss on Dove’s cheek. She leaped off the bed to resume her duty at the wardrobe. “Now, let’s find you something to wear. Have all ‘em lads lining up to have a word with you, mama!” Dove couldn’t help but smile at Becky’s enthusiasm. “You’re so silly. I’m ordering some food from Sugar Pastries—I need something in my tummy before we go,” she said. “I want fries and a blueberry milkshake.” “Same here, but I’m a vanilla girl, so that’s a vanilla milkshake for moi.” *** After the very persuasive Becky had given her a makeover, Dove found herself standing in a throbbing, neon-lit warehouse in a black, form-fitting dress that hugged her curves, accentuating their hourglass figure. Her hair was in loose waves, and a touch of makeup highlighted her high cheekbones and piercing Luma-colored eyes. The bass vibrated through her chest like a disgruntled drumbeat. The place was a sensory overload. People moved their bodies to the hypnotic rhythm. “Let’s get f*****g lit!” Becky yelled in her ear. Dove shut her eyes tight from the unprepared attack on her eardrum. She held Becky’s hands, and they made a path as they parted through the sea of intoxicated youths. Becky was in a silky red gown that shimmered under the party’s lights. Dove felt like a fish out of water. Dove felt a bit woozy—the flashing lights and pulsating colors not only threatened to blind her but also threw her off balance. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, jays, and perfumes. She clung to her best friend like a lifeline—her eyes scanned the scene with fascination. Her anxiety crept up on her under hungry gazes. She wondered if they knew she didn’t belong there.