Temple

This is set in the evening of the same day as the previous spin off chapter, the day Arc 4 ended and Erind had met SpookyErind.

The Sunday Night news didn't have anything about a giant werewolf rampaging in the downtown area of La Esperanza. Just a boring marathon of various government officials—from the president, some BID people, the governor, down to our mayor—outlining their plans for aid and promising that this string of Adumbrae incidents wouldn't happen again. Like, how are they going to do that?

Normally, I didn't want to see myself in videos or pictures. There was nothing much to see anyway. And I felt that leaving visual records of various faces I had for different people—the outgoing cheerleader in high school, the fiery debater in college, the timid girl in law school—might trip me up someday and cause contradictions and unwanted constraints for future faces. But what I did want to see was my transformed self kicking ass.

Reginus' video of my fight at Serenade Bazaar versus snake mutant buddy should be floating somewhere out there on the internet. Authorities did try to delete it, but as they say, 'once on the internet, always on the internet.' I looked pretty fucking cool in that video; I'd imagine my giant werewolf form would be way cooler. Unfortunately, not even a short clip was available. Actually, I would've been satisfied if someone took just a blurry picture of me as I leaped from building to building.

"No mention of me at all, huh?" I said as I flipped through other news stations. I kept on pressing the up button on the remote in frustration until I reached the movie channels.

A woman was hollering on the screen, comforted by her female friends, because her fiancé cheated on her with another woman a week before their wedding. Very messy, indeed. I loved drama and I also loved watching movies, but I just couldn't get into watching ones like these for some reason. Perhaps I could only enjoy drama if I was the one who caused it. Immersion and all that.

"I didn't know you watch romance movies." Deen walked out of the hallway and into the living room. The wailing lady on TV drowned any hint of Deen’s bare feet walking. She was starting to become like her sister, roaming around the house like a silent ghost.

My gorgeous—a fact, not my own opinion—blonde-haired 'best friend', heavy quotations on the best friend part, looked immaculate even in casual home wear. She still hadn't combed her bed hair from this morning, but instead of it bringing down her goddess image to a human level, her messy hair looked like it was styled for an avante garde fashion show. It inexplicably irked me a bit.

Changing out of her clothes I splashed earlier, she had donned a matching lavender tank top and shorts that accentuated her figure and showed off the milky skin of her arms and legs. Patches of faded color on her outfit made me somehow relieved that yes, Amber Deen Leska did wear old clothes—or those were just some new trendy design I wasn't aware of.

Fuck, I should've just stayed in my room to watch TV, I cursed in my head. But the TV in my room was angled sideways to be in view from the study table, not the bed. I didn't want to sit on hardwood for hours; I wanted soft cushions. "It doesn't look like there's much romance going on here," I said, pointing the remote at the lead actress trying to throw herself off the balcony in grief. "And I was just channel surfing and got surprised by all the yelling."

Deen stood behind me and bent down, resting her chin on her palms with her elbows resting on top of the sofa's backrest. "I'm not a fan of romance either. I've seen a lot of those with my sister already. Each guy she dates could practically be one movie, a whole range of sub-genres to choose from."

"So what do you want to watch?" I said, checking the other movie channels. "Not sure if there's anything good on."

"Why are you asking me?"

"You are gonna stay and tease me, aren't you? Might as well pick a show you like if you're going to hang around. I don't have anything particular I want to watch in mind."

"Such blatantly false accusations!" she loudly declared in an obviously fake offended tone. "I come in peace to visit Erind Hartwell! My intentions are pure." Her voice began to crack as she droned on, struggling to keep her giggles down.

I rolled my eyes and just ignored her speech. "How about this? Fashion Channel. Do you watch this?"

"Wow, somehow I feel like you're stereotyping me."

"Oops, sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Kidding, I do follow 'Fashionista Empire'." She stuck her tongue at my frowning face. "I was watching it in my room when I thought to check up on you. And here you are!"

"You're awfully energetic tonight."

"Just happy. Happy that you're safe. Happy that you're here, somewhere I can see and under the protection of my Guardian Angel." Her upbeat voice suddenly became somber, her voice quieter as if she was talking more to herself than me. Her expression turned cold, her narrowed eyes glared intensely at the TV like she could burn holes through it with her sight. "I shouldn't have let you go back to your condominium. If only I stopped you that time. If only I didn't invite you to lunch at Sanders—"

"Deen!" I said, sort of weirded out with her trance-like state. "What's wrong with you? I'm not blaming you for anything, okay?" But I'll blame you someday if I’d need to manipulate you.

"I, uh, yeah. Was just thinking about…stuff." She shook her head to clear her thoughts, her golden locks slapping my face, some strands of hair even getting in my mouth. "I should just focus on the now. What's important—"

"Blergh!" I spat out her hair. "Sorry for ruining your emotional moment, but don't feed me any part of you. It's already a challenge having you close to me. I don't want you in me."

She stared at me with wide eyes, her blue irises almost like sapphires. "Phrasing is something you should work on. But don't worry. I'll keep myself outside you if that's what you want, whatever that's supposed to mean. I'm perfectly fine with this." She bent lower so she could rub her cheeks against mine. I tried to lean away from her, but she held my shoulders in place and succeeded with what she wanted to do. "You're like a cat aggressively avoiding head pats."

I had read the phrase 'smooth as silk' used to describe skin in many books. Sure, silk was smooth and soft, but human skin was a different thing altogether, right? It was only when I had rubbed cheeks with Deen—we had done it a few times by now; not voluntary on my part at all—that I could say I had finally understood what the expression meant, and that it should be used to describe her. Was it genetics? Her myriad of expensive beauty products? Her skin felt like she was almost cheating on life in some way.

It made me a bit conscious of myself, wondering if my cheek was oily or my skin was dry. I did use lotions and those crap, but nothing like a full-blown skincare regimen that someone like, I dunno, a famous actress would have. Maybe I could ask for her advice? I wasn't big on appearances; it wasn't like I could become the next Ms. USA or something. But having perfectly moisturized and bouncy skin felt like something I could aim for. Just girly things.

Deen gradually increased our cheeks' rubbing speed that I feared she might cause a fire from the friction like rubbing stones in those survival movies. Okay, I was just exaggerating, but it didn't seem like she planned to stop anytime soon. I gritted my teeth in annoyance, then hastily unclenched my jaws. Did she feel my muscles tense? Or my teeth grind against each other? It might encourage her to tease me more if she knew how irritated I was. What could I say to get her off of me?

"Your skin feels nice," I accidentally blurted out my thoughts. Fuckity fucking hell, I didn't mean to say that. But it somehow worked because she stopped what she was doing and looked at me with a raised brow. "Uh, I mean, what products are you using?" I sniffed her.  "Like something sweet, I think. Cotton candy scent or something?"

"Woah, don't smell me!" She pulled away, standing up straight behind the sofa.

"Why not?" I asked, turning around to look at her.

"Because I haven't taken a bath the whole day. If I knew you were going to sniff me, I would've."

"You're lying..." I began to say, then I noticed her furiously blushing cheeks and a genuine frown on her face. "Seriously? I usually shower after we eat breakfast."

"Yeah! Why would I lie about something like that?" She tightly pressed her lips together, their pink color matching her cheeks, and glared at me as if I had insulted entire generations of the Leska bloodline. "We weren't going out today," she said with an aggrieved huff, "so why would I shower? I just wanted to laze around all day." She raised her arm and sniffed herself. "I don't smell bad, do I?"

"No, you don't," I said, trying to comfort her. The truth was that she had the scent of a baby. Not an actual baby—those little gremlins just pee and poop and drool nonstop. I meant the ones in those commercials for baby powder or diapers or something. Kind of like how a burger in the ads looked like a model compared to what you'd actually get when you buy it. But, of course, I wasn't to tell Deen that. I settled for, "You smell nice. Reminds me of candy. That's why I thought it was your soap or shampoo or something because I also noticed that scent this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Maybe it's from when you took a bath yesterday after we came back home from city hall."

"Uhm, I guess…" She put her hands on her hips. "But don't smell me again. Thank god there's the air conditioning, and I wasn't sweating. Just sniffing me out of nowhere. What the hell?"

Did I finally find Deen's weakness? Could this be the way to shoo her away? I grinned at her. "I haven't heard you say 'what the hell' before...I think? I would've remembered if you did."

"Is there anything wrong if I say 'what the hell?’”

“Nothing,” I said, giggling. Next time, I was going to try to bully her back by smelling her—hmm, there’s something wrong with that sentence. “So, are you going to watch this show, or what?”

She leaped over the sofa and landed beside me. “You’ll love ‘Fashionista Empire’, I swear.”