Monster High: Fright On! | Monster High Fanfiction

Hope Crashing

When he stepped out of his closet (it was just barely a walk-in, only big enough for him to do a 360 degree turn but not big enough for him to actually take a step in any direction) tugging an athletic shirt over his head, Clawdeen was sitting criss-crossed on his bed, a frown on her face as she scrolled through something on her phone. He wasn't surprised that she was there - she'd been spending nearly all the time she could with him rather than wallowing in her own loneliness. Howleen still wouldn't talk to her, he's quite sure that she's still estranged from all of her friends as they'd chosen Draculaura's side (which made sense even though he hated it) over hers, and the only people she'd gotten along with during her rebellious phase (Torelai, Meowledy, and Purrsephone) she refused to interact with now. Even the ghouls from her cross country and soccer teams were giving her the cold shoulder, and the complete and total lack of friends wasn't helping her already fragile mental state. He wanted to rage at all of them in his baby sister's defense, but he also knew that he couldn't because she had dug her own grave and it was up to her to climb out of it. He'd already tried sending her a ladder once and look how that had turned out for him.

He'd figured out last night, when lying in bed, eyes squinting as he stared at his phone in the dark, that Draculaura hadn't just blocked his number, but had blocked him from everything - Critter, Instascram, Scarebook, even FrightTube. He'd gone through his social media accounts like a madman, hoping that maybe she'd missed just one, but no, she'd been thorough. It had been like a bucket of cold water had been poured on his head, and the tug on his chest had gotten so strong that he'd begun gasping like a fish out of water. He'd left her alone on Sunday even though all he'd wanted to do was drive to her house and beg for her forgiveness. He'd thought that giving her that space would hopefully make her ire for him lessen just a smidgen, but, obviously, he'd been dead wrong. He wondered if Clawdeen had been mass-blocked too, but didn't want to bring it up himself in case she had and it would only make her mood that much lower.

"I asked mom last night if she could give Howleen and I a ride to school today," she said gently. Her tone of voice almost made him recoil because he hated how low and soft spoken she'd become when he was so used to her bright, fierce, no-nonsense voice. It was like he was speaking to a whole new person.

"Why?" He bent down to grab his basketball sneakers from under his desk where he'd toed them off Friday night after the game. "You and Howleen don't wanna get there so early?"

"I thought you could go and try to pick up Draculaura. She has morning detention today, doesn't she? So she has to go in just as early too."

He didn't know how Clawdeen knew that but he stiffened, rising slowly from his crouched position. "I don't think she'd appreciate that, Deena." He licked his lips nervously and let out a strained chuckle. "I'm not exactly her favorite person right now."

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" She begged almost pitifully, rising up further on her knees. "I mean, you haven't even seen her all weekend. What could've possibly happened to create this-" she moved her hands in a whirl, puffing out her cheeks as she fought to find the right word, "-this divide?"

He shook his head, pursing his lips. He'd refused to tell her about the phone conversation between him and Draculaura, or at least, the true contents of it. He knew that she would simply blame herself for their falling out when it was entirely his own fault that Draculaura no longer wanted him. He'd pushed and pushed and pushed and Draculaura had (rightfully) decided that she wasn't going to deal with it anymore . . . but, Selene, did he miss her.

He wasn't so shallow to miss her just for her kisses or anything like that - he simply missed being with her, talking to her, sitting down and relaxing into one another in the few moments of quiet they got. He missed the feel of her hand in his. Her hands were tiny compared to his own; not even big enough for her thumb and forefinger to meet when wrapped around his wrist, yet effortlessly soft and dainty, curling around his hand so tightly and showing a sharp contrast between his dark fur and the light pink tone of her skin. He missed the way she pressed into his body, chilling him from the everlasting warmth that was werewolf temp. He missed the warm, lilting notes of her voice and even the way she said his name; whether in jest, in a squeal when he tickled her sides, or in that fond tone that he'd come to yearn for - when she looked up at him with her large lavender eyes full of such affection that it made his heart skip a beat. He missed the times before Transylvania, when they would talk on the phone into the wee hours of the night. He'd never regretted it, even when having to wake up dead tired only a few hours later. She had been worth it - was still worth it.