Scratch That: by Judy Colella (short books for teens .TXT) 📖

wearing clothes, were they? And if the whole Adam and Eve thing had really happened, they hadn’t require outfits until they’d messed up and decided it wouldn’t be polite to have a serious talk with the Almighty while they were naked. Besides, animals wore fur the way she wore skin – not that they didn’t have skin, too, but that wasn’t the point. The only animals with clothes of their own were rich-lady lapdogs, pets owned by people who preferred them to actual children, and the occasional chimpanzee. So why did humans insist on burdening the mortal frame with expensive bits of cloth?

Okay, there were some people whose bare bodies would probably send everyone else screaming off into the streets, so maybe there should be exceptions. But still.

Since there was nothing wrong with her own body, other than those whacky scratches on her arm, she stripped, tossed her dress and underwear into the hamper in her bedroom, and sat down on the sofa to watch some television. She’d have gone to the movies as originally planned, but since at least one or two cells in her brain were still functioning properly, she admitted that the guy at the ticket window might get fixated on her breasts or something and sell her too many tickets.

Fine. That part of her brain wasn’t functioning properly, either.

A loud knock on the door several moments later caused her to throw the remote down on the sofa in disgust – she hated unannounced visitors.

“Hold on,” she called, going to the door; irate to the max, she flung it open and found herself being gaped at by Mack, the band’s drummer. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, completely oblivious to what her naked body was doing to him.

“Y-y-you’re, uh, y-y…” He stammered to a halt and swallowed hard.

Deva was about to slam the door in his face when she noticed – as she had earlier when Vec was there – his male scent. Interesting. She took a step closer and sniffed. Then closer, drawing in a deeper whiff. “Huh. Nice.”

“Meeeh…” he quavered.

“Was that a goat imitation?”

He put a hand to his mouth and bit hard on the knuckle of his index finger.

“Oh, for god’s sake, come in, Mack. I mean, really!” She stepped back and he slid in, his gait that of someone who for one reason or another was incapable of walking in a normal way. “Can I get you anything?”

She turned away after shutting the door, her unclad backside swaying away from him toward the kitchen.

“Eh, hem! Ahem! Heh! No!”

Deva shrugged and turned back, this time leading him into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, one leg bent, her foot on the cushion in front of her, the other foot on the floor, she was exposing everything Mack didn’t have. He turned away.

“Take your coat off, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I? No, Deva, I c-cant. Not if you were freezing to death and needed to borrow it or die.”

“Whatever. What are you doing here, and how did you get my address?” Then, tilting her head, she added, “I wish you’d take off those stupid clothes, too! You look so uncomfortable.”

“Ah, Vec, why didn’t I listen to you?” He shook his head, his next words uttered in a way that made it sound to Deva as if he’d become unhinged and was holding a conversation with himself. “Under other circumstances,” he murmured, “this would be a guy’s dream situation, but I know damn well she isn’t thinking straight, and her invitation to get naked has nothing to do with a desire for sex. Then again, that inexplicable yet appreciative sniffing at the door…Nah.” He turned back, averting his eyes from her crotch to her face, and said, “Deva, we have to talk.”

She gave him a smile. “Okay. Now I’m curious. Why don’t you sit down.”

“Er, no. Just listen to me. I know what happened to your arm.”

“Did Vec tell you?”

“No, Vec didn’t tell me. I know because, um, because, oh, Lord. I know because I – I did it.”

“You did what?” The curious smile began to degrade into something almost lethal-looking. She knew this, and didn’t care.

“Scratched you. I’m, um, I’m a werewolf, Deva.”

She frowned, her expression angry now, and began to stand up. He cringed as she stepped closer, but an instant later, her face contorted and she yelled, “Oh, gross! That was you?! Yuk! Ew! Oh god, no!” She shuddered, a motion that made certain things quiver, and he steadied himself by grabbing the edge of a nearby table.

“W-what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” It was practically a shriek. “Have you any idea what you look like from the back when you’re a wolf? Especially one that big? Graaah! Shit, Mack, you – you dangle! Badly! Oh, help…I need to – what the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey! Don’t disparage my manhood, Deva!”

“Is that what you call it? Wouldn’t ‘wolfhood’ be more appropriate?”

He nodded. “Look. I know I should be insulted. I do. But how do I do that when facing a girl who not only has the potential to be my partner for life, but who is also wearing less, and looking more beautiful, than a centerfold? I don’t, Deva. Instead, I do this!” Mack took one of his business cards from his wallet, tossed it onto the nearest surface, and bolted. He was out the door, out of the building, and in his car in less time than it took her to pick up the card, puzzled, and use a mildly bad word.

“This is nuts,” she grumbled, her eyes bulging a split second later at the phrase she’d used. Giggling, Deva said “ew” a few more times, and read the business card.

 

Matthew McCoy, Associate

Mainframe Medics, Inc.

8596 Trevor Plaza, Suite 18-A

- - - - - - -

(800)555-8596

 

She turned it over and saw a number scribbled across the back, assumed it was his cell, and wondered aloud how he could possibly believe she’d call him. She followed this with a sarcastic “ha!” and went into her room. She had no idea why. In fact, she had no idea about anything much at that point, only that it felt nice to be wearing nothing…

Some brave part of her human brain that had been working feverishly at making a comeback chose this moment to get serious about it. Thoughts burst through to the forefront of her afflicted mind, thoughts that made her remember everything Mack had told her; thoughts that showed her what she’d done to Vec; thoughts that said, “Hey, stupid, you’re naked!” She went all bug-eyed again, looked down at herself, and screamed.

Nothing about her body was worth screaming over, and she wasn’t in any sudden physical pain; no, the cause of this was the jarring awareness that she’d just held an entire conversation with the drummer of The Empty Wallets without a stitch of clothing on.

Looking reminiscent of Bette Davis during a tragic movie scene, she clutched at the side of her head with one hand, pulling her hair, and began pacing in a circle in front of her bedroom window. Then came the realization that she lived on the ground floor, was still undressed, and that the landscape guy was staring at her from behind a hedge. Wailing in mindless embarrassment, she threw herself to the floor, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling.

“I died and went to hell. That’s what happened. The wolf didn’t scratch me, it tore my throat out and I died. And went to hell. The this-is-where-you-dream-you’re-walking-along-and-suddenly-realize- you’re-naked hell, so you can’t wake up. You just keep going along, naked, holding conversations with drummers and flashing apartment employees. Yup. I’m dead.” Her expression morphed into something a little more resigned, conversational, maybe, as she got comfortable, folding her hands across her stomach.

“I mean,” she continued, “since this isn’t real life, I suppose it doesn’t matter that Mack was here talking to me while I was naked. ‘Course, he did say he was a werewolf and was the one who scratched me, but wouldn’t a dream-werewolf guy say that, too? Or one that lived in hell? Sheesh. Would that make him my neighbor? Ha! The neighbor from hell! Hahahaha!” She laughed hysterically, closing her eyes and rolling over onto her stomach, until she couldn’t laugh any more.

Swiping the tears away with one hand, she propped herself up on her elbows, chin in cupped hands, thinking now about Rochelle. “Look!” she said, softly. “My head is coffee cup!”

“Miss? What are you doing?”

She raised her eyes and found she was no longer alone. A policeman stood in her bedroom doorway, a puzzled look on his face.

“Talking to myself. And being naked. In hell. Why?”

“Uh…” He didn’t seem to know what to say to that at first; finally, though, after several unsuccessful attempts at speech, he said, “Some of your neighbors said they heard you scream, and when one of them tried knocking, you didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear a damned thing. Like that? ‘Damned’ thing? Ha!”

“Ma’am?”

Oh, so it was ma’am now, not “miss.” Had she experienced rapid aging during the past few seconds? “Look, officer, or whatever you are,” she said, climbing to her feet (much to the man’s obvious alarm), “I didn’t invite you in here, I don’t believe anyone knocked at the door, I do think I have some really nosy neighbors, and you, sir, are violating my Constitutional rights!” She crossed her arms over her, well…she crossed her arms, leaned her weight on one hip, and gave him an arch stare.

“S-sorry…” He turned and let himself out of the apartment.

“Ha! I like the Hell Police!” she exclaimed, impressed at how obedient he’d been.

With an inaudible Tarzan yell, her sanity muscled its way back in and told her to shut up and get dressed, to stop behaving like a demented Lady Godiva, and to try getting some sleep. Crazy wolf-lady then asked herself what chocolate had to do with any of this, and was treated to a few moments of well-earned sarcasm involving naked women on horseback.

In the end, Deva went into the kitchen, downed the entire half-bottle of Vodka, went to bed, and slept like the dead until the day of the night of the full moon.

 

*******

 

She looked almost normal. The sunlight dancing along shafts made by the plantation shutters at her window played with the highlights in her hair, her slumber undeterred by its attention. Vec stared, perplexed by Deva, by what had happened the other day, by what was happening now...

In sleep, her face was rather child-like, he thought, a sharp contrast to her not child-like and very unclad figure. She’d thrown the covers off, and was on her side, her mouth partly open in a silent snore. The only thing that was disturbing about this – aside from the fact that Vector was sitting on the side of the bed next to her and staring like a wannabe incubus – were the fangs. He knew damn well they hadn’t been there three days ago, even when she’d bitten him. Furthermore, they weren’t the straight, pointy little things associated with vampires (ha! As if there were such things!); nope, these were the longer, somewhat curved fangs of a wolf. Yup, like his.

He shifted his gaze to his hands where his normally short-nailed fingers were sporting what appeared to be talons. These, like Deva’s canines, were also curved. He didn’t bother checking his own teeth. The nasty cut on his tongue from running it across them had told him everything he needed to know about those teeth. His hair, too, had that morning begun to appear bushier, more Beethoven than Steven Tyler. But why?

Okay, yeah, without question Deva had been attacked by a freaking werewolf, yet it had scratched instead of bitten her. Maybe that was why she looked less wolfy than he did. And then she’d bitten him, a more direct attack, so now he was a werewolf, but in the conventional sense. So why