Chapter 2: Who the Heck is That?

The funny thing about turning people into marine animals is that they can’t talk back to you. But then again, most people happened to not hear the continuous screeches of zooplankton begging for mercy when you clean out a fish tank.

And most people could not hear their fuckingly annoying ex-boyfriend yell at them to be burnt at the stake over and over and over again.

You heard that, you evil bitch? I said that you should-

“Die in a mass of fiery conflagration with my eyes scooped out and my entrails draped around a Christmas tree?” I finished, cupping the tiny bucket of seawater in my hands and rolling my eyes. We’d managed to clear out of the Biology labs without incident (guess mass marine genocide had to wait for another day. Damn. ) and all I wanted to do right now was head back home, stuff some aspirin down my throat and pretend this whole catastrophe never happened in the first place.

Yeah, and that too!

Damn. Nudibranch Dylan was still bitching. He was cute, but definitely not a happy camper.

“Relax,” I commented lazily, crossing the parking lot in short quick strides and bee lining towards my car. “I will find a way to change you back, all though I’m sorely tempted to chuck you into that damned tank and leave you there.”

He sniffed. I always knew you were a freak.

I glowered at the tiny thing swimming around in the round plastic container, refraining from picking it up and squishing it under my heels.

“Might I remind you that just twelve minutes ago, you’re the one that wanted us to get back together?”

That was before oh, I don’t know, YOU TURNED ME INTO A BLOODY WORM! He retorted angrily.

“Nudibranch,” I corrected, my breath misting in the cold draft. “Not a worm.”

He growled – no, seriously, I heard this tiny ‘Grrr…’ – and kept quiet for once.

I sighed, temporarily relieved by the sudden quiet. It was quite chilly for October, and I regretted not bringing my windbreaker. So I just stomped across the desolated lot as fast as I could, keeping high hopes that things will look up and I’ll be safely ensconced in the comfort of my battered Toyota without the need to thaw out my fingers later. But that was of course before an ominous rumble rolled through the pregnant grey skies above, and something cold and wet slapped against my cheek.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned aloud, shivering with revulsion as more pearly rivulets dropped from above.

I hated it when it rained. Rain meant more water, and more water meant hearing the thoughts of every Godforsaken ground soaked critter. And somehow, listening to the ramblings of an earthworm going, ‘Damn, that’s one big pile of humus! Me likey! Huggles!’ did not sound so appealing.

Did you hear me? Dylan tittered, his voice rising to a nasal-like quality.

“What?” I muttered, distracted for a moment. I was too busy wrestling my keys out of my jeans pocket and trying to get out of the bloody downpour to pay attention to the squeaky voice from the container.

I said you’re so gonna get sued for this!

Aw, dammit. Bitchy whiny Dylan was back.

But hey, on the bright side, voila keys!

I slipped them into the lock and sidled into the car happily, propping Dylan’s makeshift holder on the dashboard.

Oof! Watch it!

I ignored him and revved the engine, before throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the WU student lot.

“Layla, wait! Layla!”

My feet slammed on the brakes and the car jerked from the sudden force in protest, causing Dylan to squeal.

God, he sounded adorable.

No, wait. You did NOT hear that.

“Layla!”

I rolled down my window and watched Eric Karkowski run towards my car, shielding his head with a copy of Ruppert, Fox and Barnes Invertebrate Zoology against the steadily increasing respite.

Oh my God, I knew it! I knew you were cheating on me, you little slut! Dylan yelled as Eric slipped into the backseat, a relieved smile crossing his lips.

“Shut up, you paranoid twerp,” I shot back fiercely, freezing as I caught Eric staring at me curiously through the rear view mirror, his eyebrows raised.

“Had a rough day,” I mumbled, throwing the car back into reverse once again. “Don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t going to,” he responded, shrugging mildly and clamping his seatbelt.

I can take him on. Just let me at him. I swear I got bigger balls than he does.

“Not at the moment you don’t,” I retorted automatically, once again earning another quizzical look from the skinny boy behind me.

“Sorry, I have a nasty habit of talking to myself at times,” I explained lamely, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

And turning people into marine worms! Dylan added angrily.

I ignored him and drove straight into the adjoining highway, twitching in my seat when I watched Eric purse his lips.

Eric and I weren’t exactly very close per say; we had a more platonic relationship that bordered friendliness. He carpooled with me every Friday after his first year Zoology class, and normally kept quiet. The only reason I made the trip to the opposite end of the Eastdale suburb (and a good seven blocks away from my house) to ferry him back and forth was because I owed his brother, Todd, for babysitting my little brother during weekends when I was at work.

A mutual give-and-take partnership. Sorta. Meh.

“So why are you smuggling a nudibranch from the marine tank?” Eric asked, his voice dangerously soft and his hazel-green eyes bright.

I stiffened. Uh-oh. Forgot to count on the fact that Eric was a strict by-the-book rule follower and bible thumper. Break a law in front of him and he proclaims blasphemy. Did I mention that we weren’t really friends?

She turned me into a worm! Dylan whined, edgy machoness absent from his tone. Get her – report her to the police, priest, Osama, Jesus – anyone! She’s a witch!

I hissed at that term and narrowed my eyes on the saltwater container. A feeble ‘meep’ followed shortly after.

The impatient rasp of a knuckle hitting the armrest of the car door brought my eyes back up to the rear view mirror.

“Professor Kirk allowed me to borrow him for the weekend,” I lied smoothly, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Said I could dissect him-” I shot a killer glance at the nudibranch, which oddly went stiff and if possible turned greener than usual “-for my favorite phylum project this year.”

Eric’s eyebrow crept higher, and if possible disappeared into the lanky strands of tousled brown hair that resembled a bird nest on his head.

“I thought Dr. Walsh was handling the Marine Bio classes this year,” he mused aloud suspiciously, his lips a firm line of disapproval.

Damn, this kid isn’t making this easy.

“But Professor Kirk is the Head of MRB1011,” I continued crisply, “and his word is law.”

That seemed to settle it. Eric leaned back in his seat, his face smoothing out. But the glint in his eyes told me that he didn’t quite believe me just yet.

Please don’t ask me anything else, I begged silently, counting down the minutes it took to reach Melwood Drive – and hopefully get rid of the creepy kid in my backseat. Just revert back to your trademark stoicism.

“So…” he started again, and I winced, “do you want to come to church this Sunday?”

Oh no…my mind moaned as I thought of the next lecture session I had endure. It was the same unbreakable routine week after week, him, asking me to go with him to church and me, concocting some lame excuse or another to avoid going in the first place.

She doesn’t go to church, idiot. She’s a witch. Haven’t you been hearing anything I said?

“I’m not a witch!” I seethed, before I could catch myself. The car jerked as my hands veered for a moment in anger, and the engine whined in abuse of the sudden switch in gears.

“I never said you were one,” Eric remarked casually from behind.

I suppressed the urge to groan, jump out of the car, throw St. Peter out along with the bloody mollusc on my dashboard and run straight for the hills. Damn, life cannot get any worse than this.

A full minute of silence passed before creepy kid tried again.

“You never answered my question.”

“I’m busy this weekend…” I replied through clenched teeth, rejoicing as we zipped pass Mulgrave Avenue. Two more streets and I’ll be rid of one of my problems for the day. “Got the project to finish.”

I heard a deep sigh from behind but didn’t bother to glance up at the mirror to see his expression.

“Another time then,” I heard him mumble, before exclaiming in a louder voice, “I’m guessing you’re picking molluscs as your project piece then?”

I nodded mutely, not really paying attention. My eyes skimmed over the rain smeared mailboxes erected in front of grassy lawns, honing on to the glossy golden digits painted on their sides…22, 24, 26, 28…Bingo!

Hallelujah! my mind screamed as I slammed on the breaks, sending Eric tumbling forwards and causing Dylan to squeal in surprise.

Are you insane? he cried, horrified. I could have splattered myself all over your windshield!

“And I’d have rejoiced,” I muttered lowly.

“Thanks for the ride,” Eric chirped politely, before unclasping his seat belt and gliding out of the car.

I drove off immediately without even looking back, letting out the breath I’d been unknowingly holding all the while. Then stiffened when what Eric said came back to me.

‘I’m guessing you’re picking molluscs as your project piece then?’

Wait a minute. Scroll back up and hit pause. Molluscs meant presenting about starfish.

Oh hell.

I could almost picture that evil five armed twit waving his multi-colored tentacles at me, taunting me with it’s sheer innocence and stupid regenerative capabilities that made it impossible for me to chop them off without watching them grow back and harass me again. Urgh.

“If there’s a God, he really hates me,” I grumbled bitterly, heading back to Waverly Street.

Barely two minutes later and I was already breezing in front of familiar terrain – namely a two storey red-brick house with a chipped white picket fence, crushed bed of magnolias courtesy of moi this morning (mum was going to freak if she found out, but in my defense I was running late for my Animal Behavior class and Dr. Logan doesn’t let us slip in late unannounced) and a huge mover’s truck.

Wait, wait. Mover’s truck? What in seven levels of hell…?

I rolled down my window and stuck my head out, nearly coughing as stinky acrid rain water dribbled into my mouth.

Ew, ew, ew!

“Hey!” I shouted, trying to get the attention of one of the men clad in white overalls with ‘P.T. Movers – Work the best, beat the rest’ stamped across his back, “Hey, buddy! Can you move your truck?”

The man glanced up at me and shook his head, sending all three of his chins wobbling, before hefting another piece of furniture out of the eighteen wheeler and hauling it through the rain.

“Great, just great,” I growled, irritated at the new distance I had to trudge across to get to my house. “Why do all guys have to be dickheads?”

Why do all women have to be bitches? Dylan mumbled, gliding towards the bottom of the container.

I bit my tongue on a nasty comeback – it’s not like he could do anything anyways, I thought dryly – and parked my car, reached out to grab my bag and the seawater container – Hey, watch it! I get motion sickness very easily! – rolled my eyes and stomped out into the rain.

Hey buddy, can you toss me back into the grass? I can’t seem to find my way back…

I looked down and stared at the large pink rainworm wriggling on the wet asphalt. I scowled at it, turning away to run back into the house as the rain increased its tempo – Please? It whined pathetically. I’ve got a wife and a few hundred kids to ditch soon.

Guilt warred with my conscience and I sighed heavily, backpedalled, stooped down and picked up the hideously slimy thing with my fingers – Urgh! – and lobbed it back onto the lawn where it belonged.

Thanks! a tiny voice cried in gratitude.

“Whatever,” I muttered, shivering as I ran towards the battered picket fence and pushed past the makeshift steel gate at the front.

By the time I got to the door, I was cold, wet, hungry, severely pissed off and drenched to the bone. More shivers raked through my spine and my fingers trembled, nearly losing their grip on the container.

Bleurgh, my water tastes funny now, Dylan whined, his blonde spikes bristling.

“Shut up and stop bitching,” I shot back, shaking the plastic prison vigorously.

Hey, quit that! I’m gonna vomit!

“Then swim in your own puke and asphyxiate to death,” I hissed, glowering at him. “See if I care.”

Layla…! he screeched indignantly.

“Might I ask what did that worm ever do to you?”

I squeaked and swiveled around sharply at the unfamiliar masculine tone from behind, nearly dropping the container. Seawater sloshed over my fingers at the sudden movement, and Dylan screamed abuse as usual, but I ignored him.

Teal blue eyes stared down at me in amusement, the one on the right a shade darker than the one on the left. Pink lips curved upwards in a friendly smile, accentuating high cheekbones and highlighting a strong jaw carved at the bottom of a lean face with an aquiline nose.

I stared up at the mysterious man, my eyes nearly bulging out of its sockets as I noted the wet strands of curly black hair that clung on to his face. Sexily, in a good boy gone bad kinda way, I might add.

Ai caramba! A garden snail tittered from one of the hydrangea bushes, it’s greedy eyes fixed on the masculine specimen on my doorstep.

I absently flicked the leaf it was resting on, relishing in the small wail it belched out as it was catapulted into the neighbor’s lawn.

“Sorry, I just came over to introduce myself,” the stranger spoke, his voice smooth and flowing like honey and velvet.

Flattery won’t get you anywhere, pretty boy, Dylan chipped in snidely. The bitch’s a witch.

I stamped down a growl of utmost rage and shot a look of pure venom at the bright green nudibranch in my hands.

“I’m guessing you’re a resident of this house?”

I looked up and the man stared at me quizzically. “Is this a bad time?” he asked, a concerned frown crossing his face. “I mean I do realize it’s raining but I needed to-”

“I’m Layla,” I blurted, mentally kicking myself for the abruptness. “I live here.”

A sly smile crept up his face and he stuck out a hand. Wow, big hand. Slender fingers. No calluses. Ooh, you know what they say about guys with big hands…a dirty part of my mind sang in the back of my head.

Quiet you, I retorted mentally.

I held my hand out, but instead of shaking it, he just turned it around and curled my fingers in, before bringing it up and pecking my knuckles with a sweet kiss. Heat suffused my cheeks instantly.

Suck-up, Dylan sniffed.

“Chase. Chase LeMarc.”

“Layla Delatorre,” I squeaked, cursing myself again when my whole body trembled.

Chase smiled and stepped back, reverting to his full stature. Which I slowly realized as the cogs of my mind unfroze and began to rotate again, that he was a good foot taller than me. Which was quite tall for any guy, because I knew for a fact I was taller than the average girl. Being 5’8 wasn’t a blessing though; I was vertically challenged for the most part during high school, despite the fact that my failed coordination had mellowed quite a bit since I got into uni two years ago.

But the way Chase moved was effortless and smooth, almost as if coordination had never been a problem for him at any point in his life. I could almost envy a guy like that.

“Then I guess I’m giving this to you.”

He gently took my hand and tilted it until my palm faced upwards, before unfurling my fingers and pressing a tiny golden key into it. I frowned at the object, not quite understanding.

“Why are you giving me this for?” I blinked and looked up.

Chase laughed when he noticed my confusion, and that was when I heard Dylan remark snarkly, Because he’s moving next door, stupid. Geez. How did I ever fall in love with a dense girl like you?

My jaw dropped as I stared at the harmless nudibranch. That was definitely the pot calling the kettle black!

“I’m moving in next door,” Chase said quietly, repeating Dylan’s earlier words. “But I won’t be around much during the weekends, and I thought I should let someone hold on to the keys just in case anything happens while I’m away.”

“Of course,” I mumbled stupidly.

Why else were the movers here just now?

I always knew the house on our left was vacant for three years, but I pretty much never expected anyone new to shift in, what more during autumn of all seasons. Most chipper people preferred switching dens when it was late spring or early summer, when the weather was much more tame.

The impatient rustle of fabric straining against muscle greeted my ears and I stared numbly as Chase ran a single tanned hand through his hair. My eyes flitted quickly towards his outfit then, taking in the soaked formal wine colored shirt obscured by a thick leather jacket, followed by neatly pressed pants and a pair of loafers.

Hmm…A man with taste, no doubt, I mused, slightly surprised.

Take your eyes off her or I’ll rip them out and strangle you with them, Dylan suddenly threatened, causing me to raise my eyebrows.

I frowned and stole a glance at Chase’s face, which seemed mildly amused for some strange reason as his eyes flicked back up to meet my own.

“Well, I’ll catch you later then, Layla,” he said silkily, breaking out into another warm smile as he turned away and headed back out into the rain.

I just stared after his departing figure in shock, until a not-so-happy voice yelled from between my hands.

Can we get inside? My water’s freezing and I think I just contracted hypothermia.

I looked down and thought I saw the nudibranch give a convulsive shudder.

“Whatever you say, Dyl,” I mumbled automatically, balancing Chase’s key and his container on one palm while scouring blindly for the house keys amidst the potted geraniums on the steps. It didn’t take me too long to find it, but when I did, I just mechanically slot it into the keyhole, my mind still reeling from confusion and an odd surge of pleasure from my encounter with my new next door neighbor.

Wait, what did you call me? The nudibranch asked, its voice hopeful and partially affectionate.

I disregarded it and pushed open the door, before shutting it close and pressing my back against the wooden surface. A silly grin crossed my face as I looked down at the minuscule new key between the fingers of my right hand.

Hmm…for a shitty day, I’d say it turned out to be pretty good by the end of it.

Bra! Noodles suddenly screeched from his bowl in the living room, greedy eyes glued to my wet chest…and as I looked down with numb horror and disbelief, spotted the clear contours of my black lacy bra standing out against my soaked white T-shirt.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!

-

A/N : My apologies for any grammar/spelling errors in this. Was typing really fast and practically skimmed through the editing process. Hehe.