Love Bites

Truly Vibrant Colors

After an extremely awkward re-confrontation with my parents, I had barricaded myself in my room to wait until David had gone back to "work" and Sheri had gone to bed. It was around nine when I crept downstairs and out of the front door.

The Steinbeck pool party was the final major sunny soiree of the season before the winter chill became too demanding on the daisy dukes and bikini tops. I was about ninety-nine percent positive that Prue had probably passive aggressively revoked her plus one invitation.

But if there was a chance that I could talk to her, get the air cleared, I was going to take it. But it sure was a darn long bike ride to where the brothers lived on Verstovia Avenue.

The block leading to their massive, log-style home was packed with more kids than I was sure even went to Sitka High.

I rolled my bike up to the shrubs lining the patio steps, leaning it in and tugging it through the brush to keep it hidden from wandering, happy-fingered buffoons, beginning my search for Prue inside.

I kept my head down as I swiped through the mass of dancing bodies grinding against each other, some immersed in a game of beer pong, with spin the bottle in session in another room, while most were loitering the expansive halls, drunkenly clinging onto each other for support.

I searched for a good ten minutes, skimming the bedrooms until I came upon a door cracked open and caught a glimpse of dark hair inside.

I chanced a peek and froze when a nude, muscled back, dripping in beads of perspiration snatched my eyes and forced them downwards to his fit and equally naked bottom, the jeans and boxers cut off underneath it.

Satiated groans tumbled out of his mouth, as the man wrenched his arm in constricting motions, and in a single volt of horror, I realized what I'd just walked into.

And it was in that quick a motion that he turned his head to me, eyes immediately locking mine in place like a stunning spell.

I couldn't look away.

But it shouldn't have mattered, because any normal person who found themselves in a gravely mortifying situation such as this would've been able to do so.

He should've shouted at me, cursed at me, covered up, but instead his hand pumped harder, broad shoulders mirroring the movements, groans intensifying, uninhibited by the certain possibility that someone would hear him.

I still couldn't look away, my eyes drinking in Anthony Calvetti's fractious strokes of his member as he stared me down, his speed and motions halting altogether at the impact of his release—all the while never looking away from me.

And like a finger snap, the spell was broken and I jumped back, practically sprinting down the hall and, with luck that favored only me, right into someone's side. I looked to see Jeremy Steinbeck standing at the study entryway, his arms out to help steady me.

"Shoot, I'm so sorry," I rambled, "I didn't mean—"

"Hey, your Prue's little friend, aren't you? Didi, right?" he said.

"No, it's—" I blinked at him, surprised. "Y—yeah, that's right." I was half tempted to ask him just how he knew how to correctly address me, but besides not wanting to sound pathetic, I also really wanted to get the heck outta dodge and find a way to somehow scrub my brain clean.

"I'm Jeremy, by the way—"

"Roland's and Jeremiah's brother. I remember." I tried smiling, but I was pretty sure I left my wits back in the room with Calvetti.

"I heard about what my brothers did to you, I'm sorry about that. Hey, if they ever screw off again, just let me know. I'll give them a good kick in the ass for you."

Thankfully, Jeremy's surprising amiability was enough to distract me from the engraved images of Calvetti's behind—oh no, there it was again. I smiled at him, grateful regardless. "Thank you, Jeremy."

I'd usually be much more uncomfortable talking to a guy, especially one as handsome as Jeremy, but seeing as how he was in his late twenties and seriously out of my league, I didn't hold a prayer of impressing him, so the pressure was off—for the most part, anyway.

"Hey, um, have you by chance seen Prue around here?" I asked.

Or by chance, the nearest exit?

"Oh sure, she was out back in the pool last time I saw her."

"Thanks! Thank you! Um, bye, then." I gave him an awkward wave and turned for the back sliding doors that led to the deck.

Jeremiah was at the grill roasting a few kebabs, corn, and what looked like a loin of pork, with Amberlyn coyly feeding him slivers of watermelon, licking her fingers off from the excess juices.

Just behind them, I spotted a familiar mass of faux dark hair bobbing in the water of the pool. I really didn't know why I was doing this. After what had just gone down, I wanted nothing more than to hightail it home.

But with Prudence ignoring me in school, and her not answering her calls or her front door, this could be my only shot to get things straightened out. So, I pushed my nerves to the side for now.

"Prue!"

She flicked her head in my direction, her eyes rolling as she turned away. I could practically hear her sigh from the doors. I marched towards her, firing my hands to my hips, hoping to project stern authority, but grudgingly knowing that I was failing the whole time.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice brisk and assertive.

Prue, of course, saw right through me. "Oh? Whatever about, sweetie?" she droned idly, paddling to the stairs and climbing out of the pool with all the finesse of a bikini model. She wrapped a towel around her waist and strutted off for the refreshment table, leaving me to stomp after her like a petulant child.

"About—everything. You know where I'm going with this, Prue, so drop the act or else—"

Her turn to me was sharp, a challenging gleam in her eye. "Or else what?"

"Or else...Or else I'll tell everyone that you're really a bottle brunette!"

Her withering glare was nearly enough to turn me to stone right there.

"I'm sorry, I don't usually threaten people like this—it's obscene."

"Obscene? That's a joke. You can't even curse to save your f*****g life."

"Yes, I can."

"Oh, really? Say it then...Fuck."

"fffff—fffff—" I felt like I was about to have a stroke. "S—stop this, Prue! This isn't fair."

"Isn't fair? I'll tell you what isn't fair: Having your best friend play the home-wrecking harlot behind your back."

"We never did anything! I don't know why Ethan—"

She snapped towards me in a step. "Don't say his name."

"I—I don't know why the person you deem your significant other would—"

"He is my significant other! He's MY boyfriend, Didi!"

"I know that. That's not what I meant!"

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Yeah, it is. You've always had a pointless, little crush on him. What, you think I didn't know? You're about as secretive as a detained Russian spy. I don't know why you bother. Do you honestly believe he would ever be interested in someone as pathetic as you? I know sealed driveways with more personality."

"Prue, please, don't do this—"

"You dress with all the pzazz of a fifty-year-old kindergarten teacher, you've got as much s*x appeal as a bag of rice cakes, and you're about as interesting as the migraine you give me EVERY f*****g TIME YOU YAMMER ON ABOUT GRAY'S ANATOMY OR THAT DAMNED SITCOM, MASH POTATO—WHATEVER!"

I stepped back, wincing as if I'd been slapped, afraid that my body would convulse from the pressure of not turning away to run.

"Someone give the girl some salve for those burns."

I turned to the voice of Lenna-frickin'-Hoff from where she stood with Kendrick Olsen, heading fast to the point of tears at the sight of the steadily growing, snickering crowd we'd attracted, each onlooker appearing anxious for the next theatrical run.

At least Lenna Hoff had the decency to look pitying towards me, despite the jab.

"Can we—can we finish this outside?" I begged, turning back for Prue just in time to watch her tip her disposable cup of spiked punch over my head. I cried out as the ice cold beverage drenched through my beanie and shirt, its alcohol laced contents leaving a prominent sting in my eyes.

"Prue!" I shrieked, earning only a sneer in return.

"OHHH-HOOOO!" Roland screeched from somewhere behind me. "DID YOU SEE THAT?" He appeared then with his phone held out in front of him, and my heart did a double take.

Everyone that'd gathered had begun taping us, but for how long I wasn't sure. I stepped back from Prue again, slipping on the punch puddle I'd left behind. Humiliation seeped through me at the intensified heckling, but I couldn't stop myself from taking one last look at Prue from over my shoulder, who was now framed by the Three Lyns.

Heatherlyn looked both annoyed and disinterested, as she tugged on Prue's arm in the direction of the dance floor, Amberlyn twiddled her fingers at me in a brusque dismissal, while Katelyn's frown dipped her lips into a purse.

"Get. Out," Prue gritted through clenched teeth. "You weren't even invited." Finally, she allowed herself to be pulled back outside, her glare never waning until her head was completely turned, the Three Lyns following eagerly behind her.

Roland approached me with his phone halfway to my face, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Sorry, honey, this is just too good."

I felt myself about to burst like a dam and rushed past him, catching only a glimpse of one of the Sataners smacking him over the face with a pool noodle. Lenna Hoff's maniacal laugh was the last thing I heard as I tore through the front doors, past the few people who hadn't seen mine and Prue's confrontation.

I grabbed my bike, squawking at the flattening back tire that had obviously been tampered with, and peddled like the wind was chasing me back for Sawmill.

I'd only made it four blocks before the bike buckled and I was almost thrown off at the front. The tire had completely given up, flattened beyond use.

I threw it aside, grabbed at my hair and screamed. It was all too much, and the dam finally burst. I was there, slumped against the pavement for a time I couldn't tell, blubbering like an infant, but it was a while before I heard it—a growl from the trees, low, quick, but distinct, and I froze.

It was then that I realized my situation. It was nighttime, and I was alone with no means of transportation.

My parents had no idea I'd snuck out. My only friend didn't give a hot deviled egg if I was sitting out here crying like the fool I was, about to be murdered.

Catherine Hansen. Mr. Davenport. Oh, God.

When a branch snapped from behind me, I flung myself to my feet and toward the woods at my back. But there was nothing there, and all was still again.

Run.

I was a statue, fear prickling my nerves and rendering me dangerously motionless. But when two eyes, glowing subtlety white in the underbrush emerged from the shadows, my fear turned into red hot terror, jolting me with an almost electrical start. I turned and ran up the street, abandoning my bike.

I cried out when I felt I wasn't going fast enough, almost as if I was running through water, and the numbing pangs spreading through me left me with only the sharp jabs of the wind cutting into my dampened cheeks left to feel.

I wanted to scream for help, but couldn't pluck the words out from my parched throat, my legs, stunted by lack of exercise, were already crying out for me to stop.

And with a petrified screech, I did just that, when a shadow so slim and quick cut across my way, dodging into the woods, too fast to make out what it was. I should be tearing for home right now, not gawping at the timberline. But I couldn't move. I'd never in my life been this scared.

I'm going to die. Something in me, so sure and definite was telling me it was true. I was going to die tonight for being such an i***t.

The shrubs at my side rustled for only a second, enough time to jump at the surprise of it, but not enough to dodge the black mass that came shooting at me in the next second. It was barely enough time for me to scream.

But there was a scream, only it wasn't my own. Cold dread swept through me at the brisk realization that it was this thing that was screaming, and I was so stumped by the terror of it that my escape from death didn't register.

It was true, I was still here. And the creature—whatever it was—was gone. Swept away by another speeding mass, its screech ending in a crunch and the metallic clicking of pressed steel.

I stood there alone in the suddenly dead quiet, my heart feeling as if it would give out at a moment's notice. Barely a minute had gone by before the vibrations from my phone's buzzing had me nearly jumping into the nearest treetop.

My hands were shaking something fierce, as I fished my phone from my pocket and looked to see a text message from Ethan of all people.

Stay where u r. I'm coming to get u.

What? What was he talking about? How did he—?

Two headlights down the streets illuminated the front walk like spotlights, me standing like a captured deer within them. When his black pick-up pulled up next to me, I remained panting there on the sidewalk, my mind unable to process anything besides the still raging terror springing through my skin.

"It's all right, Didi," he soothed, looking uncharacteristically grim. "Just get in the truck—please."

My legs moved without my consent, my arm following suit as it reached for the handle of the door and swung it open. Once I was in the passenger side, the truck rolled forward, the headlights swallowing the oncoming darkness whole.

Four five grueling minutes, I didn't say anything to him. He didn't say anything to me. And I didn't realize we had reached my house until his cold hand on my shoulder jolted me back to the present. I was pulling at the handle the next second, scrambling to get out of the truck and into the house.

"Didi."

I didn't want to stop when Ethan called for me, which should've been ridiculous. Not just because of my silly, foolhardy crush, but because he hadn't done anything wrong.

But the terror was there, mounting every second, and didn't lessen when I looked at him from over my shoulder.

"Whatever you do—don't go out at night by yourself again," he said, staring solemnly, purposefully into my eyes. "Promise me. Swear it."

I was confused, exhausted, humiliated and terrified, and I couldn't force myself to do anything but walk the rest of the meager steps to my house and slam the door shut.

I never managed to make that promise, but I didn't realize it until the next morning at breakfast, where my bike with its fully instilled back tire was waiting at the foot of the stairs for me.