Chapter 56: Olive Garden of Eden

The purr of Erica’s Porsche Carrera GT hummed a little less aggressively than usual as she eased off the gas, a courtesy for my uninitiated senses. I glanced over at her, the way her fingers drummed casually on the steering wheel, a stark contrast to the usual white-knuckle grip she had on life and sometimes on my collar.

“Hey Erica,” I started, trying to sound casual but probably failing, “are you really a witch?”

She didn’t turn to look at me, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, but her lips twisted into that half-scowl, half-smirk she did so well. “Would you believe me if I said yes?” she asked, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards.

I shrugged, leaning back into the plush leather seat and letting out a chuckle. “Well, considering I’m from an alternate world , I’d say my belief system is pretty flexible. So, yeah, 100%.”

Erica’s eyes flicked towards me, a mixture of annoyance and amusement dancing in their blue depths. She let out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders rising and falling dramatically. “Fine, you caught me. Yes, I’m a witch. Happy now?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

I narrowed my eyes, studying her profile as she navigated the winding roads leading to Olive Garden. The streetlights cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across her face, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. “Really?” I pressed, not quite ready to let it go.

Erica was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. The only sound was the low purr of the engine and the occasional whoosh of a passing car. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and confident. “Yes, I’m definitely a witch.”

This time, there was no hint of sarcasm or playfulness in her tone. She sounded dead serious, and a shiver ran down my spine.

“So,” I ventured, my curiosity getting the better of me, “what kind of spells do you know?”

Erica rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they might get stuck that way. “God, you’re incapable of letting go sometimes, aren’t you?” she grumbled, but there was a fondness in her voice that made my heart skip a beat. “Most spells require the family grim-ores,” she pronounced it like ‘grim-oars,’ making me bite back a smile, “and multiple witches to cast. It’s not like in your stupid anime where I can just wave a wand and make shit happen.”

I leaned back in my seat, letting the information sink in. My mind raced with possibilities, imagining ancient tomes filled with arcane knowledge, secret rituals performed under the light of a full moon. The world suddenly seemed so much bigger, so much more mysterious.

“So, what can you do?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement. “Can you, like, I don’t know, cast fireball or something?”

Erica let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes rolling so hard I thought they might get stuck. “No, Jason. This isn’t Dark Souls. I can’t just shoot fireballs out of my fucking hands.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. Then, a thought struck me, and I couldn’t help the mischievous grin that spread across my face. “What about a lube spell? That could come in handy, you know.”

Erica barked out a laugh, her eyes flashing with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “We don’t need it, you idiot,” she growled, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.

I chuckled, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed slightly at my suggestion. Then another thought occurred to me, and I sobered slightly. “What about love spells?” I asked, my voice softer now. “Is that a thing?”

Erica’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, her jaw clenching visibly. “I don’t need that either,” she snapped, her voice tight with anger. “Not for you.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face at her words, warmth blooming in my chest. But there was still one question nagging at me, one I’d been afraid to ask until now.

“Erica,” I said slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, “did you... did you use magic to bring me here? To this world?”

The car fell silent; the only sound was the low purr of the engine and the rush of wind outside. Erica’s expression grew distant, her eyes fixed on the road ahead but seeming to look beyond it.

“No,” she said finally. “I have no idea how you got here, Jason. None at all.”

I stared at Erica, trying to process her words. The streetlights cast shifting patterns across her face, making her expression even harder to read. Her blue eyes seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light, and for a moment, I could almost believe she was some ancient, powerful being rather than just my badass girlfriend.

“You really don’t know? But you’re a witch, right? Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, summoned me or something?”

Erica’s laugh was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. “It doesn’t work like that babe.” Her words drip with sarcasm again, adding to the general confusion of this weird car ride.

I nodded, pretending to understand. My mind was whirling with possibilities, each more fantastical than the last. Had some cosmic force brought me here? Was I part of some grand design?

‘Am I going to be a magical boy?’

“You know,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “I’m so much happier here than I ever was in my old world. And it’s all because of you, Erica.”

Erica’s lips curled into that smile I loved so much. “I know,” she purred, her eyes never leaving the road. “And don’t you forget it.”

We drove in silence for a moment, the only sound the purr of the engine and the whoosh of passing cars. Then Erica spoke again, her voice low and intense. “I’d never let you go back, you know. No matter what.”

I laughed. “Good thing I don’t want to go back then, huh?”

Trying to lighten the mood, I changed the subject. “So, uh, what’s the deal with Tessa? Is she cool?”

Erica’s expression softened slightly. “Yeah, Tessa’s chill. She used to be my old leader, back before she graduated.”

“Oh yeah?” I prompted, curious to hear more.

Erica nodded, a fond smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, Tessa just loves to smoke weed and hang out, you know? Always has the best stuff, too.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Back when Tessa was in charge, she tried to get me to stop fighting so much. Said it wasn’t good for the gang’s reputation or some shit.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that didn’t go over well?”

Erica barked out a laugh. “Hell no. I didn’t give a shit what she thought about my fighting. It was my way of blowing off steam, you know?” Her eyes took on a distant look as if she was lost in memories. “But Tessa, she was cool about it. Didn’t push too hard. Instead, she taught me how to smoke weed and drink properly. Said if I was gonna be wild, might as well do it right.”

The streetlights cast shifting patterns across Erica’s face as she spoke, giving her an almost ethereal glow. I found myself captivated by the way her eyes lit up as she talked about her past.

“Actually,” Erica continued, “I met Nikki and Tara through Tessa. She kind of brought us all together, you know? Formed our little crew.”

I nodded, fascinated by this glimpse into Erica’s history. “That’s awesome,” I said, genuinely impressed. “Sounds like Tessa had a big impact on you.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, her fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm on the steering wheel. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “Yeah, she did. Tessa... I trust her, you know? Like, really trust her. She’s always had my back, even when I was being a total bitch.”

The admission seemed to hang in the air between us, a rare moment of openness from my usually guarded girlfriend. I reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, silently letting her know I understood the significance of what she’d shared.

As we pulled into the Olive Garden parking lot, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves.

*****

The smell of garlic and marinara sauce wafts through the air as I shift uncomfortably in the faux leather booth. Erica’s thigh presses against mine, a constant reminder of her protective presence. Across from us, Tessa looms like a gothic gargoyle, her grey eyes flickering between us and the trembling boy beside her. He introduced himself earlier as Frank.

‘Poor bastard looks like he’s about to wet himself. I would feel bad for him if it wasn’t for the fact that Tessa is a classic Goth dommy mommy.’

Erica leans forward, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder as she fixes the couple with a predatory grin. “So, how long have you two lovebirds been dating?”

Tessa’s lips curl into a smirk. “This is actually our first date.”

Frank flinches as if he’s been struck. ‘Jesus, what did Tessa do to him?’

“How did you two meet?” I ask, trying to diffuse the tension. Frank’s eyes dart to me, a glimmer of hope shining in them.

“In class,” Tessa replies, her voice smooth as silk and just as suffocating. “He looked so... lost. I just had to help him find his way.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I say, the realization dawning on me. “You go to Salem State, same as my sister Brooke.”

The boy’s eyes light up like he’s just won the lottery. “Brooke Parker?” he asks, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

I nod, a bit surprised by his reaction. “Yeah, that’s her.”

The kid looks like he’s about to burst with excitement. It’s almost comical, watching him squirm in his seat, practically vibrating with newfound energy. I can’t help but wonder what my sister’s done to earn such a reaction.

“Isn’t she really good friends with you, Tessa?” Frank asks, turning to his date with an expectant grin.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice dripping with reluctance.

I feel Erica stiffen beside me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Oh, you’re friends with his psycho sister?” she scoffs, her voice dripping with disdain.

The boy’s excited grin falters, confusion clouding his features. Tessa raises an eyebrow, her grey eyes glinting with interest.

“Brooke’s desperately trying to break us up,” Erica continues, her fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the table. The fake candlelight flickers, casting eerie shadows across her face. “She’s always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Tessa shrugs, her dark hair shimmering in the dim light. “Brooke’s always really nice to me,” she says, her voice neutral. “Though she does talk a lot about how Jason seems unhinged lately. Says she thinks he’s on a bad path.”

I feel a surge of annoyance, my jaw clenching. “I wish she wouldn’t shit-talk me so openly,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

Tessa’s lips curl into a small smile. “She’s just venting,” she says, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “Everyone needs an outlet, you know?”

Erica barks out a laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “I guess,” she says, her voice tight. Her hand finds mine under the table, squeezing with almost painful intensity.

The waiter approaches, balancing a tray laden with steaming plates. The rich aroma of Italian herbs and spices wafts through the air, momentarily dispelling the tension at our table.

“Chicken alfredo for you, sir,” the waiter says, placing a creamy white dish in front of me. The tender chicken glistens atop a bed of perfectly al dente fettuccine, flecks of parsley adding a pop of color.

“Two spaghetti and meatballs,” he continues, setting identical plates before Erica and Tessa. The meatballs are enormous, nestled in a mound of pasta slathered in vibrant red sauce.

“And shrimp carbonara for you,” he finishes, presenting Frank with a plate of linguine dotted with plump shrimp and speckled with black pepper.

As the waiter retreats, I can’t help but eye Erica’s dish longingly. “Ooh, yours looks good,” I say, inhaling the tantalizing scent of garlic and tomato.

Erica turns to me. A slow, sultry smile spreads across her face. “Want a bite?” she purrs, her voice low and husky.

I nod, momentarily lost in the depths of her gaze. The rest of the restaurant seems to fade away, leaving only Erica and the promise in her eyes.

She sighs, shaking her head slightly as she notices the look I’m giving her. “God, even on a double date, you’re hopeless,” she murmurs, but there’s a fondness in her tone that makes my heart skip a beat.

Erica twirls her fork in the spaghetti, capturing a perfect bite complete with a morsel of meatball. She lifts it to my lips, her movements deliberate and sensual. As I lean in to accept the offering, my eyes never leave hers. The flavors explode on my tongue, the richness of the sauce, the savory meatball, the perfectly cooked pasta, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is Erica’s lips, imagining how they would taste if I were to lean across the table and capture them with my own.

Tessa’s amused voice breaks through our bubble. “Jesus, the sexual tension between you two is palpable,” she drawls, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Get a room already.”

I feel a flush creep up my neck as Tessa’s words break the spell between Erica and me. But Erica just smiles, a proud, possessive gleam in her eyes.

“This is what he’s always like with me,” she says, her voice a mix of affection and smugness. Her fingers trail along my jaw, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Utterly devoted.”

Tessa scoffs, her grey eyes raking over me with amusement. “He looks more like a little puppy than a boyfriend,” she drawls, twirling her fork in her spaghetti. “All wide-eyed and eager to please.”

I shrug, unable to deny the accuracy of her assessment. But Erica’s eyes flash dangerously, her posture stiffening beside me. She fixes Tessa with a cold stare that could freeze hellfire.

“He’s perfect the way he is,” Erica says, her voice low and intense. The fake candlelight flickers, casting eerie shadows across her face that make her look almost otherworldly. Her hand finds mine under the table, squeezing with possessive force.

Tessa holds up her hands in mock surrender, her smirk never faltering. “Okay, okay, it’s just a joke,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s filed this information away for later use.

Seemingly eager to change the subject, Tessa turns to the trembling boy beside her. Her lips curl into a predatory smile as she twirls a forkful of pasta, holding it out to him. “Open wide, sweetheart,” she purrs, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Frank’s eyes widen in panic, darting between the fork and Tessa’s face. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I... I don’t eat meat,” he stammers, shrinking back in his seat.

Tessa’s brow furrows in confusion, her fork hovering in mid-air. “you ordered shrimp,” she says slowly as if explaining to a child. The pasta dangles precariously, a single strand of spaghetti unraveling and falling back to the plate with a soft plop.

The boy blinks rapidly, his face a mask of confusion and fear. “Oh,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I thought I ordered chicken.”

Tessa’s grey eyes widen, her perfectly arched eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs. The flickering fake candlelight casts dancing shadows across her face, making her expression even more bewildered. “Frank,” she says slowly, each word dripping with disbelief, “chicken is meat.”

Frank gasps, his eyes growing as wide as dinner plates. The realization seems to hit him like a physical blow, and he slumps back in his seat, the vinyl squeaking in protest. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice barely audible over the clinking of cutlery and murmur of conversation around us. “That’s... that’s true.”

I lean forward, utterly captivated by the surreal scene unfolding before me. My alfredo sits forgotten, steam curling lazily from the creamy sauce.

Tessa sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. The long, ornate rings adorning her fingers glint in the low light. “Look,” she says, her voice strained with forced patience, “just try a piece of my meatball. It’s really good.”

She spears another morsel of the meatball with her fork, holding it out to Frank like an offering. The savory scent of herbs and spices mingles with the tang of tomato sauce, creating a mouthwatering aroma that makes my stomach growl despite myself.

But Frank shrinks back, pressing himself against the booth as if trying to meld with the faux leather. His face contorts into a grimace, nose wrinkling in disgust. “No,” he says, his voice stronger now, tinged with annoyance. “I told you, I don’t eat meat.”

The meatball hangs in the air between them, a culinary standoff. Tessa’s arm remains outstretched, the fork wavering slightly as the tension builds. The rest of the restaurant seems to fade away, leaving only our table in a bubble of awkward silence.

The tension at our table builds to a breaking point like a balloon stretched to its limit. I can see Erica’s shoulders shaking slightly as she tries to contain her laughter. Her lips are pressed tightly together, twitching at the corners. The flickering fake candlelight dances in her eyes, which are wide with barely suppressed mirth.

Suddenly, Tessa slams her fork down on the table with a resounding clang that makes the nearby diners jump. Marinara sauce splatters across the pristine white tablecloth like drops of blood.

“You’re a fucking moron, Frank,” she spits out, her voice dripping with venom. The words seem to hang in the air, sharp and cutting.

Frank’s face flushes an angry red, the color creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks nothing like the trembling boy from earlier.

“I do not need this from a 6. You are not special,” he snaps back, his voice surprisingly steady. The words seem to echo in the sudden silence that’s fallen over our corner of the restaurant.

‘She is literally the kind of goth that wears fishnets and your calling her a 6? Insane dude.’

With a dramatic flourish, Frank pushes himself up from the table. His chair scrapes against the floor with an ear-piercing screech that makes me wince. Without another word, he turns on his heel and storms off, weaving between the tables with surprising agility.

We all watch him go, the sound of his footsteps fading into the general din of the restaurant. The scent of garlic and herbs seems suddenly overwhelming in the wake of his departure.

Tessa sighs heavily, slumping back in her seat. The anger seems to drain out of her, leaving her looking tired and resigned. “Every guy is like that,” she mutters, more to herself than to us.

I blink, my mind still stuck on the bizarre meat debate from earlier. “Wait,” I say, leaning forward. “Do you mean most men say they don’t eat meat but do eat chicken?”

Tessa’s head snaps up, her grey eyes narrowing dangerously. For a moment. “No,” she says, her voice flat and annoyed. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

Erica throws her head back and lets out a laugh that echoes through the restaurant. It’s a full-bodied sound, rich and melodious, tinged with just a hint of cruelty.

“Oh my god,” she gasps between peals of laughter. “Did you see his face? He looked like you’d asked him to eat a live baby or something!”

Erica’s laughter is infectious, and soon, I find myself chuckling along with her. The tension that had been building all evening seemed to dissipate, carried away on the waves of our shared amusement.

Tessa, however, doesn’t seem to share in the amusement. Her full lips are pressed into a thin line, her brow furrowed in consternation. She turns to me, her grey eyes intense and probing.

“Jason,” she says, her voice low and serious. “Be honest with me. Am I really just a six?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. I feel my palms start to sweat, a nervous flutter building in my stomach. Memories of my first crush on Tessa flash through my mind, her confident stride down the school hallways, the way her bazongas would bounce back then. ‘Truly eye opening stuff.’

I glance at Erica, seeking guidance. Her blue eyes are fixed on me, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge. The possessive grip of her hand on my thigh tightens ever so slightly.

Swallowing hard, I turn back to Tessa. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “Everyone that’s not Erica is a zero to me.”

‘Fucking idiot! Thinking you ca get me to fall for such an obvious trap. Think again TESSA!’ I chortle from my mind palace.

Tessa’s shoulders slump, a long sigh escaping her lips. She leans back in the booth, the vinyl creaking beneath her. For a moment, she looks almost vulnerable, the usual sharp edges of her personality softened in the dim restaurant lighting.

Erica rolls her eyes dramatically, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs, her voice dripping with disdain. “Don’t ask my boyfriend to help you with your self-esteem issues.”

Tessa’s head snaps up, her grey eyes flashing dangerously. For a moment, I’m reminded of a cobra preparing to strike. But then her lips curl into a smirk, a hint of her usual confidence returning.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Tessa drawls, leaning forward. “Didn’t you once say you’d someday pass a boy around with all your girls?”

Erica’s reaction is immediate and fierce. In a blur of motion, she wraps both arms around me and pulls me tightly against her chest. The sudden movement nearly knocks the breath out of me, but I find myself nestling into her embrace, surrounded by her warmth.

“That was before,” Erica growls, her voice low and intense. I can feel the vibration of her words rumbling through her chest. “Before I knew what love really is.”

Her arms tightened around me protectively, as if shielding me from Tessa’s words and the very idea of being shared. The soft fabric of her shirt brushes against my cheek, and I can hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat, slightly elevated but strong and sure.

Tessa sighs, the sound long and drawn out. She leans back against her side of the booth, the vinyl creaking softly under her weight. The flickering fake candlelight casts dancing shadows across her face, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the subtle curve of her lips.

“When did you get so cringey, Erica?” Tessa asks, her voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Her grey eyes glint in the low light like storm clouds heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Erica’s laugh reverberates through her body and into mine. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, sending shivers down my spine.

“I hope you meet someone that makes you feel this way someday, Tessa,” Erica says, her voice softer now, tinged with something that might be a pity. “Someone who makes your heart race and your world spin, someone who becomes your everything. Someone you would kill for.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy with emotion. For a moment, the bustling restaurant seems to fade away, leaving just the three of us in a bubble of the scent of breadsticks.

Tessa’s lips curl into a smirk, her elbows resting on the table, fingers interlaced under her chin.

“How can you be so sure I haven’t already?”