"Just rip it out all ready!" Derrick complained. With his knees leant forward, his arms resting above, and his patience slowly eroding away like sand on a beach. He started to motion for me to just let him do it. Where as I held a pair of small, needle-nose pliers, bloody at the tip, and there was no way I was going to let him do it.
"Stop, and let me work it out. This does hurt, you know." I said stopping for a second.
It was my birthday today, and I'd be eighteen. But, instead of a party with many friends, I chose to stay at home while my dad and uncle went to Vegas. And while they were gambling at blackjack tables, and throwing ones at strippers, I was on the front porch of our house. Out in the cool breeze that negated the blazing summer sun. And I was ripping an in-grown toe nail, from the inner walls of both my big toes. And if it wasn't bad enough without any kind of pain reliever, I had Derrick over here, even if he was trying to help, making me nervous.
"Look! Just let me do it, and it'll be over in like, two seconds." He said, putting down his eighth beer of the day. I'd grown accustom to both of Derrick's personalities over the years. There was, "around-my-dad" Derrick, then there was, "not-around-my-dad" Derrick. The latter drank more and hung around the house a lot less. And here, even as I was trying to rid myself of the worse pain I'd experienced in a long time, he was sure to have a beer near by.
"No! Hell, no!"
"Why?"
"Cause, you're gonna fuckin' twist it, and I'm gonna hit you!" I yelled back. "Plus, you've been drinking since noon." I added, as I tried to twist the pliers under and over the nail to split it open. Blood oozed out of the crevice between the skin around my toe, and the nail that dug deep into it. And soon after the pain of it all, started to peak, it happened. A small split in my nail opened up, and to me it was like watching Mosses split the seas for safe travel.
"Alright! I got it! Now you rip it out," I said nervously, "And I'll try not to look."
"Finally." He said, thankfully ripping the pliers from my hand. I winced before he even started. Gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw, I waited. And it wasn't long before I felt the bloodied stainless steel teeth, grasp the split nail. It dug deep as he angled it, much like a door hinge, every time he went up, the other side went down. It was excruciating. And then, he ripped it out.
I grasped the left arm rest of the wicker chair I'd been occupying like it was a nova-Cain release valve. My right hand dug my bitten nails right through my pants and right into the skin above my knee. I didn't care that it hurt, just that it'd hurt somewhere else for a second.
"Alright," He said, showing me the fragment of nail. "I got most of it out, so it should just heal underneath, then grow out like normal."
"Thanks." I said, letting go of the arm rest for a second. My right hand stayed tense for a while as I took a few deep breathes and tried to summon up the courage to continue. But little came.
"How are you Dane's son?" He asked. Laughing at me. I knew we were different. Very different. Hell, we were pretty much exact opposites if you really wanted to get to the root of the situation. But we did bond, like father and son should. We hunted together, stalked prey together, we even teamed up to take down rather large buck a couple of days before his trip. But we were an anomaly of mixed preferences. He hated warm, humid weather. Often saying that we'd have moved years ago if the house hadn't had so much responsibility. With the occasional werewolf passerby, it was nearly impossible to even have a synchronized vacation. And with that, came the inevitable, two on, two off rule. Implying that two of us could take some leave from the house, any time we wanted, but the other two had to stay at the house, and clean, and prep for guests. Guests that came at random times during the day, and sometimes, the night. But I digress.
The warm heated wind coming off the gulf, was perfect for me. One of the very few things I could hang above my old man. I'd often try to get him to go hiking with me and Derrick (when Derrick wasn't working), and he'd get winded long before I. Something I made sure to comment on at every opportunity. We'd share a laugh, and we'd wind up changing, play fight, and then hunt. Which led to two of the only things me and my father held in common.
One was humor. Our little snippets were fun from time to time, but we loved to take advantage of one another's ability to complete a set task. For example, that car wreck I got Wilson and myself into on the way home from Claire's. If my father would have found out about that, we'd never hear the end of it until he forgot. He'd slip in names like, "Crashy", and "Wheely McSmashy." It was very uncommon. And because of the severity of the situation, the jokes took on a new sense of uncalled for. That's where we were similar. After a while, nothing was serious enough not to laugh at.
Two, was blood. I love the smell, he loved the smell. I'd claw through a brick wall to get too it, and I was sure he would as well. It was that substance, that no matter the dry climate, or perspire less conditions, could make my mouth water. And as I grew more and more accustom to it's look and the ever growing need to change just to see it, I found it to slowly start taking over. Not in a bad way, mind you. It just meant, that I wanted to hunt more. And even if it wasn't human blood that seeped through my teeth every night, I was more than content with whatever bloody mess of meat, hair, and bone hung lifeless between my jaws.
Though... It never stopped me from wondering how exciting hunting people would be. The danger! It made my skin crawl with excitement at the mere thought! Most people carried guns now-a-days as well, and that just amplified my want to hunt them. As I grew older, and this was something I'd noticed even as a newly changed werewolf, hiding under the shadow of his long lost father for protection, I'd come across the puzzle piece that was, the human factor. As time went on, people became more dependant on their technology. Guns, stun guns, mace, these things lined the purses and pockets of the people around me, and though their arms race was well above the curve on your average werewolf (I.E. Me), once disarmed, they were mere prey once again. But it would really hurt to get shot!
Without warning, Derrick ripped out the second infected nail, and he ripped a lot of it... right out.
"AAHHH! GOD!!!" I yelled, grabbing my bloody foot, and trying to squeeze the pain away.
Derrick laughed. He knew I wasn't paying attention, and after the pain receded I punched him in the arm, sat back, popped open a bottled bud light, and laughed. "You're a dick, you know that right?"
"Just when you give me opportunity!"
******************************************************************************
Hours passed, and just after five, I heard the familiar roar of my best friends truck. An old, beaten, black and rust colored farm truck. I don't know where his dad bought that thing, or even if he did (I'd muse it was stolen from a scrap heap, just to mess with Nick), but it didn't negate the fact that it was here.
It was a death trap. No seat belts, seeing as how the previous owner thought it wise just to cut them out and toss them. No air bags, cause... who the fuck needs those. The wheels haven't ever been rotated, at least since Nick got it for his sixteenth birthday. His dad told us to do it before we drove it, and since neither of us knew what that meant, we hopped in and decided not to worry about it. According to Nick, the sooner this truck bites the dust, the sooner he could get something worth driving around in. Mind you, it was a perfect A to B vehicle. I'm just saying, it was also perfect for riding around in the walmart parking lot in town, and hitting shopping carts left out for the next day... thats all I'm saying.
"Oh, God... Here comes Normie." Derrick said. He'd never approved me bringing a human here. But there was no danger, because he didn't know. He would never find out either. When guests would come by, I'd tell him I had to work that week or weekend. He knew that people came through here every so often, and it wasn't a problem. Mainly because, all we did together now and then, was talk about the crap we did in the past, and how we didn't die. Sometimes though, he'd surprise me, with something to drag behind the truck, or smash, or jump off of, or slide down, or break into, or mess with, or... You get the picture.
Another base I had to clear just to maintain this friendship was trust. I hunted more than ever now, and it started taking over my night life. I'd go weeks without sleep, running off the excess of energy from my nightly changes, and so I'd have to cut whatever we were doing short. But I'd just say I had to clean one of the back rooms before my dad got home, or something along the lines of before my dad gets home. He'd get it quick. Even after eight and a half, years of friendship, he was still afraid of my dad. It was just something, I thought everyone needed to get used too.
But tonight, was my birthday, and I was going to be happy, even if my feet were covered in dried blood, and the pain was still a bit stingy. I sipped my beer, and so did Derrick. We hadn't moved a muscle all day, except for when one of us went to use the bathroom. Wilson and my dad left us three hundred dollars when they took off the morning of their much needed vacation, and Derrick and I took it graciously.
We ordered Chinese food for breakfast, Mexican for lunch, and right now, we were waiting for pizza. Isn't life grand when your body burns calories like gasoline!
"Finally! I thought he'd never get off work!" I said, throwing my empty beer bottle over the porch rails, and into the open garbage can. With a thud and the sound of it smashing against all of the others, came the sound of the porch fridge opening, and me pulling the cap off with my hand.
Strength was one of the last traits when a werewolf grows out of adolescence. And it was one of those things, that after twenty broken, glass cups, I learned to control. It came with the territory, and that's all I really had to say about it. To me, this was just one of those perks that never failed to impress.
Nick's beat up, rusted truck pulled into driveway, on the far side of the house. I could barely hear him laughing as he opened his door, slid out, and slammed it shut. I heard some girl's voice, and it didn't stick with me at first. But as they rounded the corner, right in front of the rose bushes, I saw her.
The last time we met, her father tried to gun me down in his house. I was pretty sure he was going to shoot Nick as well. It wasn't a happy memory. That and the fact that she was here now, especially didn't sit well with Derrick. He'd been told the story by my dad when we got back from Camp hell on earth. He was quick to yell at me for not killing her when I had the chance, and as he looked to me then back to her, I could practically read his mind.
"Well, here comes your greatest mistake."
