Maeve blinked multiple times and hurriedly covered her eyes with a hand. Bridget turned with a look of confusion.
'Fuck!' Maeve cursed inwardly. It had taken her a few seconds to understand what Bridget's little brother meant, but remembering the golden glow in Aaron and Ryan's eyes…
Even though it had all but been confirmed, Maeve didn't truly feel the reality of her identity until now. She indeed was a werewolf; her eyes did not shy away from reflecting it.
But why now of all times? Even as she asked herself this, Maeve felt an inkling of the answer dash against her mind.
"What's wrong?" Bridget asked and she held Maeve's shoulder.
"Uh... it's nothing..." Maeve said, panicking. How on earth she was supposed to turn off the glow in her eyes was beyond her. She couldn't let Bridget see!
What added fuel to the flames was that even if Maeve managed to change her eyes back to normal, she wouldn't be able to tell. She hadn't felt anything when they changed just now.
"Did something get in your eyes? Let me have a look," Bridget said and she stood on her toes and attempted to pull away Maeve's hand.
After blinking a dozen times with her hand playing a conceptual version of keep-away, Maeve decided to just show Bridget her eyes. She was lost for excuses.
What could possibly happen even if Bridget saw that her eyes were golden?
It's not like she'd immediately attach a weird identity – like, say, werewolf! – to Maeve there and then, right?
Maeve's eyes came into full view and Bridget looked intently at them. She squinted as she held Maeve's cheeks.
"Hmm... doesn't seem like there's anything wrong," Bridget said as she tilted her lips.
At first Maeve was stunned, but then relief washed over her. She was in the clear! She didn't know how but all the same, this was great!
She secretly sighed
The boy in front of the two still had his sight fixed on Maeve's eyes, wondering just how she had managed to change the colour of her eyes.
"Hey. How did you—"
"Billy! Get the bag in the flipping house!" Bridget commanded, cutting the boy off. She didn't seem to have caught on to Billy's accusation about Maeve's eyes at all.
Billy heeded. He straightened and rushed into the house with the satchel.
Maeve's gaze lingered on him. Her face might have been an ugly sculpture if her emotions in this moment were used to craft it.
It had been a while since she'd seen Billy, and the opposite was true. She could tell the little boy didn't recognise her even though they'd shared a room on several occasions. This added a darker layer of hurt on top of Maeve's already impressive struggle.
When she had seen Billy rush towards Bridget just now, she had been reminded of the haunting fact that she hadn't had a proper talk with Jimmy. She hadn't considered how he'd feel when he watched her walk away earlier today.
She had left him with a soulless "See you around", and she had only said that to sound calm as she was kicked out of the house by her foster parents.
The sharp twang of guilt lit her eyes gold, she imagined. But then she thought, did her eyes also turn gold in other instances before this?
"Are you just going to stand there staring, you little rat?" Bridget's bark tore Maeve out of her thoughts.
Bridget was yelling at the young man leaning against the door – her other brother. He sauntered his way towards them, his eyes fixed on Maeve. He whipped away his atrocious, black bangs from his eyes and wore a smile so corny it might have needed seasoning.
"Hey," he said in a low voice that was intended to sound sultry.
Maeve's face collapsed in on itself from cringe.
"Hie, Roddy," she said, and she pushed the large bag in her hand into his gut. The young man, Roddy, lost all semblance of cool and as he oofed and hunched over. "You're such a gentleman."
Unlike Billy, Maeve knew Roddy well – all too well. Puberty was hitting the young man in all the wrong ways and she had had a front row seat when it began.
Soon, the trio had entered the house with the luggage.
The polished, tiled floor and foggy grey wallpaper to match was refreshing to look at; simple but refreshing. Even better were the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen, which was the first thing one would see upon entering the house.
A slightly plump woman with short, straight amber hair was in the kitchen, humming as she opened the oven – a haven for most the deliciousness wafting towards the trio. On hearing the door close shut, she turned and her bright hazel eyes gleamed with joy.
"Oh, look who it is? Come here darling," she said as she strode over and embraced Maeve tightly. Maeve would have loved to reciprocate but too late, the plump woman drew away and pecked her cheek.
"Hey, Mrs P. It's…been a while," she said before turning to Bridget and secretly mouthing 'help me'.
Bridget ignored and rushed up the stairs with Maeve's luggage, assisted by an unwilling Roddy.
"Took you long enough to decide you didn't have to live in that awful apartment! I was so glad when I heard that you'd be coming to stay. Make yourself at home darling. Dinner will be served in a bit," Mrs Page said, beaming.
In response to this, Maeve's guilt weighed on her like an anvil.
The dining table was set before she had a chance to go see where she would be sleeping tonight. She had practically been poured into a seat on the redwood dining table covered gracefully by a blue and white scorch sheet, and was the first to witness the feast Mrs Page had prepared in her honour.
"You've been… busy, Mrs P," Maeve said nervously, eyeing a large bowl of lasagne glazed with something Maeve couldn't name.
The golden-brown skin on the full chicken next to it was sweating scrumptiousness all over itself, its aroma composing a delightful fragrance to the nose when paired with the savoury waft of all kinds of greens and carbs.
The looks on Billy and Roddy's faces told Maeve this was well above and beyond what a typical guest would get as a welcoming dinner.
Maeve groaned inwardly.
"Well, I want to make sure you know – truly – that you're welcome here," Mrs Page said with a smile. Her deep dimples spelled no lies.
Maeve groaned again.
She began questioning why she thought this was a good idea again.
Yet still, she proceeded to partake in the feast. She stole modest portions of the dishes and spilled them onto her plate. Everything was delicious, so delicious that she wanted to slam her fists against the table and confess her guilt at letting these good people stow a 'monster' like her.
But she couldn't.
The front door suddenly swung open, and a tall, thin man walked in. He had a balding head with brown hair peppered with white and sunken grey eyes that hid behind a pair of spectacles. His overall figure looked effortlessly wiry.
"Something smells nice," the man said as he entered the dining room. He gave a short greeting to Mrs Page in the form of a peck on the cheek and found his seat beside her.
The two boys were too busy wolfing down their food to greet their father. Bridget gave a, "Evening, dad" that made Maeve nervous.
"Ah, Maeve. I cannot tell you how glad we are to have you," the thin man, Mr Page said amicably. The warmth from his voice contradicted his tired look, but it was obvious that he meant what he had said.
'Are you?' Maeve thought to herself before responding:
"Uhm...yeah. I really appreciate this. I-I just need a few days to—"
"You can stay as long as you want," Mr Page said and he poked the lasagne with a fork only to get whipped by Mrs Page's hand as she hissed, "Did you even wash your hands?"
Mr Page grumbled before turning back to Maeve.
"You don't have to think about doing anything else away from us. We can support you. All you need to do is ask," he said.
'School,' Maeve thought immediately. Mr Page had always been insistent about her going to college like Bridget. Bridget always told her about it. How was she supposed to even think about school right now though?
Maeve smiled.
"Thank you," was all she had to say.
The rest of dinner was mostly quiet. The Pages took their eating seriously, Maeve knew. During the several times she had been here, she had learned to observe silence when in the dining room.
Shortly after, Mr Page announced that he would talk to Maeve at length the next day, and Bridget had seized and dragged her upstairs.
"We'll be sharing," said Bridget as she presented her bedroom.
Inside, the hot pink, white and gold theme on quite literally everything nearly blinded Maeve. Two beds could be seen as well as a dressing table and a large closet in the room.
Bridget went to sit down on the bed with a floral duvet. Maeve narrowed her eyes.
"I always hated this room," she said as she scoured it.
Bridget laughed. "That's your bed. I figured if I gave you sheets and covers like mine, you'd throw up."
Maeve looked at the bed opposite Bridget's. It spotted a black and red duvet.
"Thank fuck."
"No, no, no. Keep your eff-bombs to yourself. And the b-bombs, and even the d-bombs," Bridget scolded.
"Right," Maeve said, chortling and she sat on her bed.
A grating silence ensued before Bridget shattered it.
"I've wanted this for so long. I've always felt powerless ever since you told me about those… creatures you used to live with. I couldn't do anything back then and it seemed like after you told me, a distance began growing steadily between us. I want to fight that at all costs," she said, smiling sadly. "This isn't a damn favour that needs to be repaid. You are family to me, Maeve."
Maeve's heart skipped a beat. She found it difficult to keep staring in Bridget's eyes.
"You'll be safe here," Bridget said reassuringly.
"Thanks," was the only thing Maeve could say even if as she doubted her safety.
And sure enough, enemies laid in wait to prove her right.