š²šA Howl In The Night š²š
š¹She’s Mineš¹
š¼From Novel r0m@nƧĀ£š¼
šChapter 21š
***
“Mona,” a voice whispers, on the edge of my almost nonexistent thoughts. I am floating, suspended in time. For now, I am dead. Dead to my hopes, dead to my troubles, dead to reality.
A hand shakes my arm. “plea-se wake up, Mona.” The voice serves as a fishing rod, reeling me to surface no matter how much I want to l@ybeneath the murky waters. I cough and sputter, unwilling to revive myself. Being dead is so peaceful.
“W-what?” I gro-an , my eyes cracking open. The first thing I see is a clear, white ceiling. Then, there is a face. “Jake?” I wonder, spĀ©tting the crystal hair and the light skin.
“Yep, that’s me,” he grins with a vibr@nt smile someone could only describe as perfect.
No one else is around me, only the soft breeze and velvet covers. I peer up at his face as he continues to talk, obviously unwilling to surrender me to the void once more. “Xavier was here, but he had to go to his room to get re-ady for something about thirty minutes ago,” he chatters, “we are all sort of used to you fainting by now. This one was pretty bad, about three hours. It is almost six o’ clock alre-ady.”
“Three hours?” I shake myself free of the suffocating chains, “usually it is around thirty minutes!” She must have su-cked every ounce of energy I had. Anger flashes throu-gh my head at the thought that the beautiful woman took three hours of my life. Not that it matters anyway. I’m… immortal now, I suppose.
It is rather ha-rd to believe, that I will be stuck with them forever. At first it sounded appealing, but now the thought of not living out the rest of my life seems dull and boring. It is as if we took a video tape, pressed pause on a certain scene, and threw away the remote. I never should have agreed… and I wouldn’t have if not for my parents. But now it doesn’t matter so much. It isn’t like banishing these Shifters are helping my parents come back to life. However, it gives me a good feeling, as if my life is actually worth something. Although what I am now living isn’t true life.
“Wes is taking her to a nearby airport to sĀ£nd her to Europe. Apparently she knows some French, and we found a pas-sport in her wallet. Anywhere right now is better than America,” he smiles slightly.
“Did she remember what she had done?” I question. He shakes his head.
“When the Shifter left, so did her memory. Just like the last few.”
A sad, defeated feeling enters my che-st. Shifters are so mean… just waltzing in and ruining people’s lives for fun. Look at how they ruined me. I am who I am because of them.
Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?
I sit up, watching Jake stare out the window. He is alight with wonder, seeing the leaves shake off the trees and dance in the nighttime wind. They are swirling, twisting and di-ving, di-pping and weaving, waltzing in the sky. I turn to look at them also, my small, redl-ips p@rting in a smile. The sun is hanging just over the ground, so close that they are ba-rely an inch ap@rt. The orange and purple are just beginning to spre-ad across the horizon, and the garden flowers are shining like jewels in the light.
Then, I turn and peer at my own skin in its radiant beauty, creamy skin without a flaw. My hands are slender and smooth, along with my feet. I slide off the be-d, walking to a mirror. For a minute, I watch my bĀ©dy in all its elegance, its perfection.
I hate this bĀ©dy, for it has brou-ght me much sorrow. Beauty has a terrible, terrible price.
“Mona, are you okay?” Jake comes to stand beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. He must have spied the small, almost invisible tear brimming in my eyes.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I bluff, slowly pushing him away, “never been better.”
“That’s a lie,” he says softly. There is a pause while I just stare at myself. Trying to believe the person in the mirror is truly me. After a few more seconds, Jake can’t take it. “Go talk to Xavier about it,” he points towards the doorway.
Maybe that would be best. After a moment of contemplating, I edge out of the room, heading towards Xavier’s chamber slowly. My vision is still shaking, wobbly as I stumble over to the door. I think back to the school, when Xavier was talking to Sidney. Jealousy strikes like lightning, and I quic-kly shake my head. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want that green envy to blo-ssom within me until there is no containing it.
I knock on the door, feeling the carpet beneath my feet crinkle slightly.
“Who’s there?” Xavier opens the door slowly, looking out at me. Immediately his icy cold green eyes scan me, as if I am only a parcel. He seems tired, his handsomeness rugged. Slight circles are beneath his eyes, and he is wearing a t-shi-t and jeans. I detect strong cologne that nearly makes my eyes water, mixed with that attrac-tive scent that is on him naturally.
“What’s with that cologne?” I walk into the room, trying to find the bottle it c@mĀ£ from, “it is so strong!” Not that it doesn’t smell good, but its presĀ£nce is suffocating.
Xavier chuckles, immediately spiking my interest. “We both have strong s-en-ses of smell,” he smiles, “but regular people don’t.”
He feels so cold to me right now. Why is that?
“But there are no regular people here,” I point out the obvious, “only werewolves and… me.”
There is a brief silence as Xavier checks his watch. “Oops, got to go,” he says, “Iām going to be late.” He shoots me a brief smile, and before I can protest, lands a k!sson my forehead. Then he starts walking out of the room, inciting my anger.
“Where are you going?!” I yell after him, but no response follows. Running into the hallway, I race to the garage. He is sliding into a car, the Mercedes that is used to impress people. Why is he driving? And why not one of the cheaper cars?
Is he going back to that stupid club he said he would stĀ©p visiting?
I jog to the front door, and Zi-p into the wild un-derbrush. Tailing the car, I follow it perfectly. Yi has been teaching me stealth techniques, and I have gotten pretty good at it. My heartbeat pounds furiously in my che-st. Why can’t Xavier tell me what he is doing?
I begin to question my own actions. Why am I acting like the jealous girlfriend? Not that I am his girlfriend. Not at all.
I wonder briefly why I am such a good liar to myself.
The forest ends, and the houses begin. I find it a little trickier to maneuver throu-gh the scenery and behind the car. The car is easier to spĀ©t than most, with it being a strikingly red color. However, it must be incredibly easy for him to see me, wearing a light blue shi-t, dark jeans and is running like crazy.
quic-kly I duck behind a bush as the car suddenly halts. Xavier probably caught sight of me, and was wondering if the figure was really me, or a ghost. There is a few more seconds, and then the car starts again. I creep along, trying to let the car get as far ahead as possible without losing it.
I almost trip over a br@nch, scra-ping my foot slightly as I stumble along. The blood comes forth, and then disappears completely as the wound heals. With the fast recovery comes remembr@nce, and I recall Sidney’s deathly sharp nails as they scR@pĀ£d across my cheek…
With a shudder, I shake myself free of the daze and follow the car into a strange neighborhood. The houses are hvge here, almost like mansions. It reminds me of Ken and Barbie’s dream house, a perfect world for the perfect couple. Suddenly I think of how Barbie, the perfect girl, must have felt when she gained envious girls’ fondling and young boys’ hatred.
The car stĀ©ps in front of a gigantic house, the biggest one in the neighborhood. It is a creamy color, with enchantingly tall pillars and a beautiful, yet small fountain in the yard. Gorgeous flowers line the walls, and a hvge set of marble doors stand proudly in the front. It is beautiful, almost as elegant as the mansion in the forest.
The door swings open, and a slender, yet built man exits the building. I g@sp.
Ian?
He swings down the stairs with a swagger that suits him so well, sliding into the car smoothly. I suddenly hear Ian muttering, my br@in shockingly processing Ian’s words.
“I thought I wouldn’t have to go to her stinking p@rty…” he says sharply, “why do I have to help you, anyway?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll beat you up,” a melodious, joking voice replies, a hint of seriousness is involved.
“Whatever.” He slams the door shut, and suddenly I hear nothing except the grumbling of the engine. What p@rty would be going on right now?
I think briefly about the terrible feeling in my stomach. This feeling is usually as-sociated with one person, one I know very well. Didn’t Sidney say she had a p@rty on Monday?
But if I go to the p@rty, then won’t they see me? How am I going to sl!pin without being noticed…?
A stupid, obnoxious plan forms in my head, and I immediately act upon it.
I walk to the door after the car drives away, standing on the flawless floor. Excitement ripples throu-gh me as I raise my knuckles and knock. I have never done anything this crazy before.
A small, petite girl opens the door, her golden-brown eyes staring up at me in wonder. She is very slim, adorned in a mini-Sk-irt and a low cut tĀ©p, but so tiny she looks like a little girl. Her hair is a bright, dyed red, and her skin is a light brown color, probably generated from some tanning be-d. She is pretty, though, with pixie-like facial features and pink, k!ssablel-ips.
“Hey,” she scans me slowly, crawling over every inch of me. Then she lights up, joy in her movements. “You’re really pretty!” she smiles, her voice peppy. She sounds like a cheerleader, yet I can’t find it in my heart to dislike the teen.
“Thank you,” I laugh, hoping to win her over, “I’m Mona, Ian’s girlfriend.”
“Really? I’m his sister, Lauren.” She goes wi-de-eyed, “he got lucky this time! You might be the only girl so far that is as h0t as he is.” I narrow my eyes slightly. Did Ian hypnotize his own sister to be so adoring of him?
“Yes,” I try to get to the point, “in fact, I’m trying to find him right now. Do you happen to know where he is?”
“Ian?” she peers into the road, then back at me, “oh, he left. You just missed him.”
I choke back a laugh as I realize my plan is working perfectly. “Aw, that’s too bad,” I f0rƧĀ£ a pout to myl-ips, “where did he go? Maybe I could meet him.”
Suddenly she grows pale, her hand rising to her mouth. Her l!ptrembles slightly, and her next words seem restrained. “He said heās going to Sidney’s house,” she says softly, and then her eyes narrow. “You know her?”
“My bĀ©yfriĀ£nd’s ex-girlfriend!” I exclaim with faked recognition, “why would he want to go there?” My mouth p@rts in a perfect, astounded “o” along with the girl.
“I’m sorry Mona,” her face grows resolute, “but Ian might be cheating on you. He does it all the time… I tell him not to! He never listens to me, though.”
I mold my expression into one of fury. “I nee-d to catch him in the act,” I say angrily, all the while laughing inwardly.
“Yes,” she says, “but I think it is a p@rty where you won’t be welcome.”
This conversation is going perfectly. “What if I somehow get a disguise?!” I ask energetically, as if the thought just popped into my head.
She brightens up also, “that’s a great idea! Come inside, and I’ll dress you in some of my clothes.” Swinging the door open wi-der, she ushers me inside. For a minute, my eyes are overloaded from all the luxury around me, but then they slowly adjust.
Dark, elegant couches l@ybeside a roaring fireplace, a marvelous set of stairs to the side. The main room is hvge, accented by a very small pond filled with koi. A gorgeous chandelier hangs above me, crystals casting light along the ceiling. Lauren just walks past all this stuff as if it is nothing, starting up the stairs with the cli-ck of her heels. Even with her four inch heels she is about five inches shorter, and I am wearing sandals. However, she seems to wear an elegance, a dignity I feel that I may be lacking. This a rich girl’s aura, full of confidence and self-as-surance.
I scurry behind her, rather curious to see Lauren’s room.
As we enter, I notice immediately that it is not a hvge room. There is a beautiful, queen sized be-d, accompanied by some nice dressers and a desk with a hvge Mac computer. There must be more than this.
“This is pretty,” I try to get her to show off more so I can see the true splendor.
“Really? You think so?” she smiles like a puppy, “this isn’t even the best p@rt, though!” I laugh as she leads me to another door. It is so easy to re-ad a rich person’s mind.
She slides the door open to reveal a walk in closet about the size of her room, with sofas, TVs, and rows and rows of clothes. I stare at the racks, all labeled with the category they fit into. “I told Daddy I didn’t want a big room, but a big closet instead. And he got me one!” she cl@ps her hands happily, and I get a basic idea about just how rich they are.
Leading me over to the p@rty dresses rack, she calmly surveys me. “Most of my stuff won’t fit you, or will be very short. You will just have to try this stuff on.” Almost immediately she stacks a pile of dresses on me, and leads me to the hvge “hall of mirrors”.
“Start now while I find you a suitable wig,” she commands, then disappears into another rack. I stare at the clothes, at my bĀ©dy, and back at the clothes.
Fun.
I slide each dress on, one after the other, wincing at how short each one is. If it is short on Lauren, then that makes it incredibly short on me. Some aren’t even past my bu-tt, and others are like shi-ts.
I find a simple, yet sĀ£dƻƧt!vedress out of the pile, designed to reach right past Lauren’s knee, and slide it on. It fits perfectly, although the Sk-irt hits mid-th!gh. I decide to simply settle with that, liking the simplicity.
Lauren waltzes in with a dark black wig, straight and shiny. With a flourish, she pu-lls out a pair of black stilettos from the bucket by my side and practically throws it at me. “I think we are similar shoe sizes. squee-ze into it, okay?”
She pu-lls my hair back into a bun, placing the wig over it. It doesn’t look very real, but at least makes me look completely different. I watch myself in the mirror. This will just have to do…
“Thank you,” I offer her my best smile, “now, could you tell me where Sidney’s house is?”
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