Authors: RaShelle Workman
I groaned inwardly. Should I tell her I had a crush on Gabe too? Even as I thought about telling, I cringed. If Gabe knew Cindy was interested, there’d be no contest. I glanced sideways at her. She was wearing a baby blue mini skirt with a sleeveless, white peasant shirt. On her feet were strappy silver sandals, which matched the thin silver bracelets on both of her tiny wrists. Her hair was down, and curled to perfection. Her honey skin had that just
lotioned
look.
I glanced down at my black Converse, gripping my t-shirt, the way Gabe had. He’d said it was sexy that I wore his old t-shirt. I seriously doubted that.
It felt like something inside me deflated. Maybe if I told her how I felt. “
Cin
,” I started.
“Aha, this is the one.” She held up the case.
“Okay,” I agreed without looking at it.
Chapter 3
G
atsby, my gray rescue cat, snuggled next to me. He purred softly, like he didn’t have a single worry. I absently stroked his ears while I tried to block out the frightening images on the TV screen. Cindy hadn’t chosen
Scream
, but
Urban Legends
, another horror movie from the 90’s.
We weren’t sitting next to each other. I was sprawled out on the leather couch, and
Cin
sat in the burgundy high back. She had a bowl of plain popcorn on her lap, and a diet soda placed precariously on the brown-carpeted floor.
The family living room was medium sized, and occupied with furniture that would be considered eclectic. Nothing matched, but it didn’t matter. The couch, chairs, end tables, coffee table, TV, lamps, and curio cabinets all seemed irrelevant in comparison to my stepmother’s Disney collection.
On every surface stood, or hung, a statuette or painting. I’d counted once. There’d been over six hundred figurines placed around the house, and the number kept increasing. I mean, talk about extreme.
Cindy thought it was funny. She especially loved the Cinderella figurines, probably because she looked identical. Young girls would stop her in the mall, and ask if she were the real Cinderella. My stepmother agreed, and even gave her a Cinderella figurine for a birthday.
What was weird though? Out of all the figurines, paintings, pillows, dishtowels, and clocks, there wasn’t a single Snow White. There were several castings of the seven dwarves, the wicked Queen, the Prince, and even an apple, but no Snow White. I’d asked her about it once, when I was eight, and realized she was missing. My stepmother said, “My darling, I don’t need a Snow White figurine because I have you.” At the time I thought it was sweet, and tried to hug her, but now . . . I don’t know, it just seemed strange.
“For goodness sake,
Snow
. Open your eyes. You’re going to miss the best part,” Cindy hollered, throwing a piece of popcorn at me.
It smacked me in the forehead. I tried to glare. She giggled, which sent me into a laughing fit.
“There isn’t a best part in this movie. It’s icky, and it makes me feel icky.” That was the truth, the reason I hated horror movies. I didn’t like how I felt while I watched them, and especially after. The movie was almost over. Cindy would leave, and then I’d be alone in my old, creaky house, with only my cat for company.
“Are you kidding, watch this. It’s classic.” She pointed at the screen as she talked with popcorn in her mouth. “Here it comes.”
I couldn’t, and scrunched my eyes closed, wishing I had earplugs to block out the screaming, the spine-chilling music, and the terrible acting.
As I lay there working to think about anything but the death and mayhem going on, something bizarre happened. An image popped into my head, and began playing like a movie. I tried to shake it, but it was as though my brain had been hijacked.
A
man stood in the trees behind my house. I got the feeling he
waited for me to do something. Several of the guys—Sebastian
, Bart,
Salvatore,
Heathcliff, and Daniel
—plowed
out of my back door,
and wrestled each other as they trampled down the stairs. They laughed heartily.
I followed, along with Dorian, but Gabe wasn’t there. They were tossing something back and forth, and I was trying to
intercept it.
Suddenly they all stopped, and
their faces turned grave
. Sebastian had the thing I was trying to get in his hands.
He and the others circled me
. There was a coppery stench in the air, and it made my mouth water. Sebastian opened his hand. The thing, whatever it was, beat rapidly, and blood dripped from his fingers.
The
guys began speaking together,
their voices monotone.
“Lips red as rubies
, h
air dark as night. Drink your true love’s blood,
become the Vampire,
Snow White.”
“I want it.” Taking
the bloody thing in Sebastian’s hand,
I
brought it to my lips. It beat faster, and faster.
In that moment, I knew it was a heart
, the heart of my true love, but that didn’t matter.
Sinking my teeth into it, I tasted the blood, felt it run down my throat.
Like liquid pleasure.
I shuddered.
A cackle
rang through the night, and a profound darkness entered my body.
“Now you are mine.”
I screamed, grabbing one of the Disney inspired decorative pillows from the couch, and covered my mouth.
Startled, Cindy threw the popcorn bowl in the air. Fluffy kernels scattered everywhere. Gatsby gave me an evil eye, rose, and casually jumped off the couch. He sniffed a popcorn kernel before darting from the room.
“
Merde
,” she swore in French. “It isn’t that scary.” She skulked off her chair, and started picking up the mess.
I crossed my arms, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I whispered, unable to stop the trembling in my limbs or the chattering of my teeth.
Chapter 4
“G
atsby, c’mon kitty, kitty,” I called quietly into the darkness, and waited to hear the soft patter of his running feet. After five minutes he still hadn’t come.
Obviously must be upset with me over the screaming fiasco, I thought, shutting the screen door, but keeping watch.
Cin
had left already, with a quick hug, and a promise to call Sunday afternoon, when she returned from the Cape. The guys hadn’t ever shown, and Gatsby didn’t seem to want my company. Stifling a shiver, I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t cold so much as unsettled. The disturbing dream thing along with that horror movie had me all messed up.
Unconsciously, I searched the wooded area behind my house, checking between the low hanging branches that smelled of peppermint, and their leaves soft as butterfly kisses.
Would he be out there?
The man who’d been watching me in the dream.
A noise, like crunching leaves, pulled my head in its direction. My heart beat fast, like a thumping rabbit. Something moved. Opening the screen door, I stepped out onto the small terrace, hoping it was Gatsby. “Here kitty, kitty,” I called, hearing the strangled fear in my voice.
The noise grew more intense. I’d let the screen door slam behind me, and now reached back, grabbing the handle. Opening it, I put a hand to my throat.
If it is the man, what should I do? I won’t be safe in the house. I so needed a cell phone.
I was about to turn when two guys stumbled out of the trees, and fell onto the grass, laughing uproariously. A scream escaped my lips before I could stop it. I clamped a hand over my mouth, realizing it was just Salvatore and Bart. That’s what my eyes told me, the rest of me was frozen in fear. I wanted to laugh with them. They’d only been teasing; it’s what they did. I’d done it to them on more than one occasion, snuck into their yard, and scared them.
“You should see your face,” Salvatore said, rising and coming toward me. “I should’ve taken a picture.” Tears were streaming down his face from laughing so hard. Bart was in a similar state. But I still couldn’t move.
In the dream Salvatore had been holding the bloody heart.
The heart of my true love.
The brothers had been tossing it around like a football. And I’d tasted it. The remembered feeling of pleasure washed through me.
“How-how could you?” I stammered, tears filling my eyes, and streaming down my cheeks. “You know I’m all alone. You could’ve been a psychotic murderer.” I rushed into the house, letting the screen door bang behind me.
I’d seen their stricken faces, and knew they hadn’t meant to do any harm, but I couldn’t act rationally. Sobs wracked my body, and snot dripped from my nose. I ran up the stairs, past my parent’s unused bedroom, the bathroom, and finally stopped at my room. Flinging open the door, I launched myself onto the bed, and buried my head in my purple pillows.
A gigantic meltdown was coming. The dream had started it, and the guys scaring me ignited it. Now there’d be no stopping it.
All my sadness, my loneliness, my pent up hurts, and fears seemed to crash into me. Wave after horrible wave . . .
Why had my mother died? Why had my father remarried such a cold, uncaring woman? Why did they have to leave me alone all the time? Why did my dad choose her over me? Why was I such a dork?
The questions were unanswered, probably always would be. My life was what it was, and most of the time I accepted it, even enjoyed it. Right now was not one of those times. I’d fallen into my enormous chasm of hurt, and allowed myself to sink in.
“Hey, is there a pity party going on in here?”
At the sound of his soft voice I stiffened. There was a thud, and then I felt the bed give as four soft paws jumped up.
“Gatsby invited me. I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”
Two feelings swirled through my heart at once: relief, and embarrassment.
Relief, because I was glad he’d come, and that he’d brought Gatsby so I wouldn’t be alone.
Embarrassment because I was a blubbering mess, and he’d see me, and I’d never
be
able to look him in the face again.
Casually wiping my eyes, and nose on my pillowcase, I said, “Gabe, what are you doing here?”
The bed dipped as he sat. His warm skin so close to mine sent tingles through my belly.
“I told you, Gatsby invited me, and I never miss a pity party, especially not one thrown by my beautiful best friend, Snowflake.” There was laughter in his voice. He was trying to make me feel better, but that wasn’t the point of a pity party. You weren’t supposed feel better. It was about misery, and that’s what I wanted. Him saying I was beautiful just added to the many waves of hurt. It wasn’t true, and him rubbing that in didn’t help.
“Go away,” I said.
He answered by scooting closer, and I felt my body respond to his nearness. “I’ll go away when I know you’re feeling better. Professor Pops knows I’m here. He also has Salvatore and Bart on bathroom duty tomorrow. He wanted me to be sure to tell you that.”
“Huh,” was all I could utter, though I had to smile. “Serves them right.” I sniffled.
He shifted his weight, and pushed me over slightly, then I felt something fall over me. It was the quilt my mother had made. Tears filled my eyes again, and I squeezed them shut.