Chương 199: B4. 7.3 - A Dinner Between Best Friends

I expected Deen to be furious at my joke, and I braced for another kick. But her expression turned worried instead of angry. Didn't look like she was concerned with someone overhearing us. What the hell was her problem this time?

"Your food will be here soon," Deen said in an oddly gentle tone.

"Five minutes? I'm not sure. If, uh, you can't wait that long, if you can no longer endure your hunger, we can ask them to serve what they've already finished preparing. Do you want me to do that?" She sounded like she was trying to calm a child having a tantrum.

"Endure? What are you talking about? No need to bother the waitress. I prefer eating when everything's on the table."

"If you're certain you can control yourself… Don't think about food. And ignore those guys. What do you want to talk about? What do you want to do in Vegas?"

"I don't know," I said, raising a confused brow.

"We're not going to Vegas because we wanted to do some stuff there. We just wanted to get out of La Esperanza. If you mean Cecilia's thing of looking for an Adum—""Everett hasn't called me," Deen said, looking at her phone.

"Does this mean their meeting with Dario didn't push through?"

"I guess?" I covered Deen's phone and pushed it down on the table.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I forbid you from transforming and eating people," Deen whispered with a firm tone, holding my hand that covered her phone.

"Stick to regular food, okay? You can do this." Deen's super serious face stopped me from bursting out laughing. My best friend really thought that I was losing control and was about to go full-on Adumbrae, eating humans and maybe destroying buildings and stuff. Did she also assume I wanted to eat lots to subdue my appetite for humans? The transformed part of my neck must've spooked her into coming up with crazy ideas. As Deen's very best friend, I wanted to be very supportive—I'd encourage her crazy ideas.

Messing with Deen would distract me from all the bullshit that was pissing me off. That was what she wanted, so I wouldn't feel guilty about this. I couldn't feel guilty about anything anyway. I matched Deen's glare.

"I know not to eat people," I said through clenched teeth, my lips barely moving.

"But if they keep annoying me, I just can't help but be angry."

"That's not you… That's the, uh, the you-know-what inside you." Deen squeezed my hand.

"Fight it."

"Oh, come on, Deen. You're doing the thing you promised not to do." I pulled my hand away.

"You still think I'm not myself." The more I denied it, the more Deen thinks I was lying. My psycho best friend believed that only she was right. Everyone else was wrong. How do I spin this to convince Deen to let me terrorize the frat boys for fun? Well, fun for me. The frat boys should be terrorized for bothering me.

"I'm not saying that you're not yourself," Deen said.

"But some aspects are—""That's the same thing," I cut in.

"You're also pissed at them, aren't you? But you're not seeded. So, why—?"

"Shut up," Deen snapped, flicking her eyes to the waitress coming, carrying a tray of our orders.

"Fix your hair. Hide your neck."

"Yes, mom." I should've strangled Deen more times earlier.

"Here are your drinks, girls." The waitress set a steaming cup in front of Deen, the tea bag's string dangling over its lip, and a tall glass of chocolate milkshake for me.

"This looks great," I said, marveling at the amount of sugar I was about to consume.

"Do you know them?" asked the waitress, nudging her head towards the six monkeys.

"No," I said.

"Those drunk guys saw us earlier with our car windows down and decided to follow us. Um, we don't know why," I innocently added.

"I can guess why." She nodded at Deen, who determinedly stared at her tea.

"We have all kinds of nasties passing by these parts," the waitress continued.

"If they misbehave, if they stick even a toe out of line, I'll kick them out. We can also rely on them chunkers back there for help." She jabbed her thumb at the truckers. One of them raised a hand to acknowledge her.

"Thank you very much," Deen sincerely said.

"I hope it doesn't escalate to that.

"I'll bring the rest of your order," said the waitress.

"Make sure to enjoy your food." The spread looked way better than I expected. Even Deen agreed, her stressed face lighting up at the different kinds of food in front of us. Or maybe she was happy I had human food to eat instead of eating humans.

"The waffles are great," I said. If only these frat boy gits weren't here, this would've been an enjoyable and nostalgic road trip. Gits—the British says that right? What did that mean? It sounded fun to say. Anyway, really too bad I couldn't enjoy this diner experience in peace. Memories of carefree days. Was I becoming… what's the word… sentimental? What was that supposed to feel like?

"We could return here someday to eat peacefully," Deen said, as if reading my thoughts. I expected the frat boys to bother us. They'd ask for a taste of our food or something, and weave in sexual innuendos. Deen was tense as she ate the littlest scrapings of our food. Oddly, those fuckers didn't come at us, too preoccupied with their loud, annoying chatting, which forced us to eavesdrop even if we didn't want to. Apparently, they were on their way to attend a weekend party in Las Vegas.

Many Eloyce students were going there, it turned out, taking advantage of the cancelled classes to escape the stifling state of our city, with all the security and checkpoint stuff. The idiots debated about installing augmented penises while they were there. Was that a thing? I didn't need this information. Their conversation shifted to the newest ComExo models, including military ones, to be displayed at the upcoming Greaves Fair next month. Guys talking about giant robots and giant dicks, typical.

They could talk about whatever they wanted so long as they didn't bother us. The Greaves Fair… I had attended it three or four times when I was a teenager, accompanying Mom, who'd give speeches in some forum or present new Greaves' products. I never understood Mom's explanation about tech stuff, but I behaved as a very supportive daughter should. It had been a while since Mom attended the Tech Fair, since she was a consultant now.

The frat boys complained about how long their orders took and started to play loud music. The family had their food wrapped and left, the mother herding her kids away from the 'bad men'.

"We're not bad men!" Goatee Guy shouted. But the family was already out the door. A trucker walked over to the frat boys and told them to turn their music down. A mini argument ensued. The other two truckers also stood up. The frat boys deflated—though it was six against three, the morons had enough brain cells to realize they were in no condition to fight. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"I'm so ashamed of bothering these people," Deen murmured. I stopped slurping my milkshake.

"You're not doing anything." This was my field of expertise, and Deen was incorrect with her interpretation of the law of bothering.

"They were harassing us. Now, they're annoying others. They're exercising their free will, very poorly at that, and you can't control them."

"We know why they're here."

"Just because you're beautiful doesn't mean you should be blamed for the actions of others. Was Helen of Troy blamed for the Trojan War?"

"She was, though," Deen said with a quizzical look.

"Remember the saying, 'the face that launched a thousand ships' to refer to Helen's beauty."

"Oh…" I needed to brush up on my Greek Mythology.

"Those Ancient Greeks were wrong to blame her then." One of the frat boys approached us, the mayor's nephew. Goatee Guy and Skull Tattoo seemed to be bossing him, pointing at our table. He looked extremely uncomfortable, clenched fists by his sides, hesitantly walking towards us.

"Uh, hello?" His eyes, partially covered by his messy brown hair, darted in every direction except ours.

"My name… I'm called, uh… I'm Yves. Yves, that's spelled with a 'Y'. Yves Goodwin." He mentioned the President's surname with a bit of pride.

"Hello," Deen curtly replied. She faced the other way, making it clear he wasn't welcome.

"What's your name?" he asked. Did they really not recognize Deen? Deen chose to keenly examine newspaper clippings on the wall. I followed Deen's lead and didn't reply either, poking my waffle with a fork. Not that I was the one being asked the question. I doubted whether this Yves kid cared for my name.

"The hell, Yves?" Goatee Guy thumped the table with his palm.

"The fuck kind of limp-dick opening is that?"

"Go on!" said another older frat boy, whom I hadn't nicknamed yet. I decided to brand him 'Coconut Head' because of his atrocious haircut that looked like a coconut husk capping his head. He egged on the timid kid.

"Ask for her number!" I tilted my glass of milkshake. It'd be a waste to splash this on the Yves kid. It was a cliche move in drama movies—I didn't usually watch those, but I couldn't deny there was an oomph to it. Very dramatic. Yves scratched the side of his neck.

"So-sorry for… for bothering you. If it's alright, can I ask fo-for your—?"

"No," Deen shortly said. Yves flinched. He gave a panicked glance at the other guys. They laughed at him. Turning back to Deen, he tried again.

"Can I—?"

"No."

"We're eating here." I almost felt sorry for this kid. But then, I remembered I hadn't felt sorry for anyone. Ever. And yeah, Yves was a kid in my eyes. He was a first-year undergraduate student, so I was like an ancient dinosaur compared to him. I could tell Yves wasn't scared of Deen. Just intimidated. But he was extremely uncomfortable with bothering her. He was really scared of the other guys, though. That much was clear. Yves stepped away.

"Sorry about that." He returned to his friends—if they could be considered that. They slapped his back and pushed him around a bit before allowing him to sit again. The asshole brigade wasn't done with their antics yet. Skull Tattoo sent over the two other freshies, one by one, to try their luck with Deen. Or rather, to make fun of them while they bothered us. Their names were Tahir and Lee. Something like that. I wasn't paying attention because I was busy enjoying my apple pie.

Both the crust and the apple filling were so awesome that I considered ordering a whole one for takeout. Cover it with a tub of vanilla ice cream and watch a movie. Not the time, Erind. Unlike Yves, Tahir and Lee were more confident; they had the looks and charisma to back it up, which the mayor's nephew lacked. Deen shot them down just the same, an experienced veteran. How many guys had she shot down before? Dozens? Hundreds? Had girls ever tried hitting on Deen? Probably.

The freshies returned defeated to their table to the jeers of their seniors. Nothing happened after that, and I thought that the frat boys had tired of their antics. Deen's strategy worked! I was very wrong. Deen and I were about finished with our meal, with most of the eating done by yours truly. The truckers had left the diner to do trucker stuff. With them gone, the frat boys were emboldened to resume bothering us.

This time, it was Skull Tattoo, Goatee Guy, and Coconut Head who came over, ready to show the freshies how harassment was supposed to be done.

"Where are you headed to?" Coconut Head asked while his burger.

"Want us to accompany you?" Deen shook her head. She looked me in the eye and gazed down at my food, telling me to hurry eating.

"Don't treat us like we're not here, Blondie," said Goatee Guy.

"Can we join your table? See, we're being polite, asking before sitting down." Deen tensed, looking around the diner for possible help—I knew she didn't want me to inadvertently use superstrength. The guy reading the newspaper was still at the counter, purposely ignoring what was happening. The two old men were of no use. Where did the waitress go? Was she in the kitchen?

"That's ungenlet-un-ungentlemanlike… fuck, I'm stumbling over my words." Skull Tattoo supported himself on the backrest of the chair beside Deen.

"That's because you're so pretty, Blondie."

"Why don't you talk to us?" Coconut Head stood next to me, though looking at Deen.

"You got a pretty mouth."

"You got a boyfriend, Blondie?" Skull Tattoo asked.

"Want one? We got three eligible ba-ba—" Goatee Guy puked something nasty on the floor.

"What was I saying?"

"We're… three bachelors," answered Skull Tattoo.

"But you're not available, man?" Coconut Head patted Skull Tattoo.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"Bachelors… means not married. I'm not fucking married." Skull Tattoo tried to reach for Deen's hair. She recoiled and scooted her chair to the wall. They laughed after getting a reaction from her.

"Don't be shy now…" He tried sitting on the empty chair next to Deen, but he tumbled to the floor instead. Just one punch, I tried to telepathically communicate with Deen. She continued to ignore this? It was time for drama! Maybe some action, too. Deen subtly shook her head at me. I frowned in response. I wasn't going to punch their heads off, blowing our cover in public. But I knock down one of them and—"Hold it right there, young men," said a sandpapery voice. One of the old men ambled over.

"We're trying to have a good time here, gramps," said Goatee Guy.

"Return to your retirement home, will you?"

"You disrespectful rascals!" Grandpa One's quivering finger pointed right at Goatee Guy's ugly mug.

"Didn't your mothers teach you to be respectful to your elders?" They both sound just like they're in a movie! I mentally clapped, excited at this development. Their dialogue was lovingly generic.

"Shut it, you, old farts," Skull Tattoo said as Coconut Head helped him off the ground.

"Ugh, the world's fucking spinning." Grandpa One shouted!

"Get out and don't bother these ladies!"

"Or we'll call the police!" chimed in Grandpa Two. That's useless, I thought. The frat boys had several encounters with the police in the past few hours. They thought themselves untouchable with their connections. And I wanted them to continue bothering us anyway, so I could finally make my move.

"Fine!" Skull Tattoo wobbled away.

"We're fucking leaving! Happy now, gramps?" Excuse me? Just like that, they were giving up? I wanted a commotion! I wanted to make at least one of them go to sleep right fucking here! And I hoped to scare Deen into thinking I was losing control of my mind, the Adumbrae feeding on my anger at the frat boys. Could I convince Deen to allow me to eat them? I wanted to see how different their entrails were from gummy worms. This plotline had lots of potential about to be wasted.

"Off your asses." Goatee Guy waved at the freshies.

"We're going."

"Don't want these old guys to have a heart attack," said Coconut Head.

"I'm glad you have some sense left in you, young men." Grandpa One pointed a gnarled finger at the door.

"You didn't have to make a big deal out of it, gramps," said Skull Tattoo, turning around to wink at Deen.

"We were just getting to know Blondie. See if she has a boyfriend." It clicked in my head. The perfect way to escalate the situation. A brilliant idea to keep the frat boys around.

"She doesn't have a boyfriend," I blurted. All of them—Deen, the dick squad, and the grandpas—looked at me in surprise as if I had popped into existence.

"She doesn't have a boyfriend, because she already has a girlfriend—me!"