(Next morning)
Micky, Fiona and I had found suitable places to sleep in the basement, and when the sun came up we were awakened by a knock on the door.
"You guys in there?" Peter called. I sat up, moaning, and saw that Fiona and Micky were doing the same. The suitable places weren't very posteurpedic, and my back hurt.
"Go away," Micky moaned, still half asleep.
"Yeah, Peter, come on in," Fiona invited, ignoring Micky's bad mood. The door opened and footsteps pounded slowly down the stairs.
"I just wanted to tell you that I made breakfast," he said. Micky, now a little more awake, smelled the breakfast coming from upstairs and sat up, making himself into a half asleep zombie.
"Mmm, breakfast," he said. With half-closed eyes, he stumbled toward the stairs.
"Micky, watch out," I warned, and ran over to him. I steered him to the steps and up to the kitchen so he wouldn't trip and kill himself.
Peter and Fiona watched them go. His eyes were filled with sadness, and were up to his puppy-dog proportions.
"It didn't work for me," he said, sadly, sounding as though he was very sad, but not near tears.
"No, Peter, it didn't. And frankly, I'm not surprised," she said. Peter's puppy dog eyes grew wider. "You're not?" he asked. The eyes held surprise now, not sadness.
"No. I didn't think it would work for you, because you're so much in control," she said. She got up from the hard bench on which she'd slept and headed to the other side of the room.
"Then why'd you even give it to me?" he asked, eyes nearing accusations now.
Fiona remained calm as she cleared up the beakers and flasks still on the table. "Because I had to give you hope. There was a slim chance it might have worked."
Peter stood across the table from her. "How slim?" he asked, his face very close to hers.
She ignored him and turned around to put some of the beakers on one of the shelves. "I don't know. About ten percent," she said.
He walked to the other side of the table and stood very close to her. "What's the point in giving it to me if the chances are that slim?" he asked.
She turned to head back to the table but he grabbed her arm and held her where she was.
"Because I had to try, Peter," she said with conviction, her green eyes staring straight up at his. She was a few inches shorter but not without determination.
Peter let go of her arm and sighed. Then he turned to head back upstairs.
"Peter," she said. He stopped and turned around. "There is a chance. I could still find something that would work for you. There may be a way."
Peter nodded. Then he turned and headed up the stairs. She sighed. Then, to no one in particular, she murmured, "It's already begun."
(a few days later) Since the cure didn't work on Peter, he became depressed and distant. After dinner and at various times of the day, he and Nicole would go for a walk, just to be alone together. And usually he asked her. But on the first day after the full moon, he didn't say anything to her about a walk. Micky, noting that she was bored, offered to show her something in the basement, and, grateful for any sort of relief from her soon impending boredom, she agreed, and Micky led her down. I watched them go, and then turned to look for Peter. He was sitting on the back steps, just staring at the ocean.
"C'mon Petah, it's not so bad," I said. He looked at me, and his eyes were cold.
"How would you know?" he asked, his words as cold as his eyes. "It worked for you."
"I know, but I did have to live with it for a few months," I said. "I know what it feels like."
Peter looked out at the ocean. "But I'm stuck with this the rest of my life. I don't want it the rest of my life," he whined.
"That's not necessarily true," I said. "Fiona could find another cure, one that works." He gave me a skeptical look.
"I appreciate this, Davy, I really do. I just need to be alone for awhile." I nodded and went back inside. Since Micky wasn't using the TV, I sat on the couch and began looking for something to watch. There wasn't anything good on, though, and I finally settled on a repeat of Gilligan's Island.
As I was watching, Micky and Nicole came back upstairs. Or rather, Micky did. Nicole remained in the basement. Micky looked at what I was watching and then headed into the kitchen to find something to eat. Unnoticed, Fiona headed down to the basement.
"Something wrong?"
Nicole looked up. "I don't know," she said. "Everything kinda, well, seems a little weird. Everyone's acting funny."
Fiona nodded. "It's a side affect," she said. "There's something in that stuff that I gave them that, well, makes them act a little, well, over stimulated."
"Over stimulated?" Nicole asked, not getting it.
"Yeah," Fiona said, searching for words. "In other words, they're going to act rather...horny." Nicole's brown eyes grew wide as donuts. "Exactly," Fiona said, chuckling. "It's going to last about two weeks. See, there's this stuff in it, a combination of eye of newt, salt, and vinegar, called nudiate, and it basically totally over stimulates men. I don't know what it would do to women."
"Wow, I'm lucky I didn't take it," Nicole remarked. "Eye of newt?" She made a face. "So what do I do about this?"
"I don't know what you can do. I just thought that you might appreciate being warned."
"Oh, yes, thank you very much. Should we tell the guys about this?" she asked.
"I've already told Micky. He knows what's in it, and he'll probably tell the others. I don't know what they can do about it, though."
(three days later)
For the past few days, Peter distanced himself more and more from Nicole, making her wonder as to what she had once thought was his undying love for her. He spent a lot of time sitting and looking at the ocean or playing rather mournful songs.
I noticed, however, that the 'nudiate' stuff was taking an immediate effect on Micky. He followed Nicole around everywhere. The only way she could escape him was by going in the bathroom or her bedroom, and even then he wasn't easily discouraged. She tried to talk to Peter about it, but her every attempt at communication seemed to shove him further away. He certainly didn't seem to be exhibiting any symptoms.
As for Mike and I, we found a way to get some, well, interesting movies on our television. One day, I was watching one and was really into it. It was about this woman and a man, and this other lady who....well, you don't want to know about it.
I was sitting and watching the movie, and Mike had gone into the kitchen to get us a snack. Our hormones may have been raging, but we still needed to eat.
It was just getting to the good part, when Mike walked in. He carried a bucket of fried chicken that was leftover from the last time we'd eaten.
He sat down on the couch next to me. "Want some chicken?" he asked. I took a piece from the bucket without taking my eyes off the TV. "What'd I miss?" Mike asked, regluing his own eyes.
"Well, the girl fell in the mud, and then he ...." I stopped. "What is he doing?" I asked.
"I don't know," Mike said. "Can you do that with a piece of chicken?"
"I don't know," I replied. We both took a look at the fried chicken in the bucket. "Hmm," I thought aloud.
Mike gave the chicken a look and returned it to the bucket. "No thanks, man. That ruins my appetite," he said.
"What're you, nuts?" I asked, diving into my piece with even more vigor. Then, we were both distracted by something else on the screen.
Peter was feeling depressed. It had begun to rain, but he remained on the porch, getting soaked. He was thinking. As he stared out at the ocean, he thought of all the things that had been happening. Then, through the din of the rain, he heard a noise. "Peter?" a voice called. He took a second to place the voice, but didn't turn around.
"Peter, it's really raining out," Nicole called. Peter sensed worry in her voice, but ignored it.
"I know," he said stoically. She hesitated a moment and then stepped out on the porch.
"Peter, you're going to catch a cold," she said. He shrugged. She sat down next to him on the porch. She was already soaked, what difference did it matter if she sat down on wet steps, she thought to herself.
She sat next to him. "What's the matter Peter?" she asked. "You've been sort of..distant lately."
"Nothing," he said without taking his eyes off the ocean that lie in front of them.
"Nothing?" she asked. "Peter, I..I love you, and I don't want to lose you."
Finally, pulled his eyes away from the ocean. Feeling his heart wrench, he looked her over in a long, searching, sad look. "I know," he said finally.
"And I love you, too. But right now...". He trailed off and looked back at the ocean. "I just don't know if it'll work," he said.
"Peter, aren't you even gonna try?" she asked. "Don't I mean anything to you?" She was near tears, but trying hard to keep them back. Her voice broke a little.
Peter looked back. His heart wrenched as he saw that she was near tears. He looked at the ocean again, barely able to restrain his own tears. "You do mean something to me, really," he said, choking on the words. "I just feel...depressed lately. Not the sort of mood you want when you're in love with someone," he cracked, trying to break the tension.
It didn't work. Nicole sat for a few minutes, thinking about this, then she got up. "Well, Peter, if you decide to try, you'll know where to find me," she said, hopefully. She waited a few seconds but he didn't say anything, so she got up and went back in the house.
Inside the doorway, she found Micky standing there. "Where were you?" he asked. "Outside," she said. "Oh," he said, looking out and seeing that Peter was outside. She turned and headed toward her bedroom. He followed her.
"Micky, I kinda need to be alone for a minute," she said, and went into her room. He stood outside the door, staring at the wood frame that suddenly appeared in front of his face. He thought a moment, and then sat down on the floor outside the door.
Micky waited an entire sixty seconds before heading into the bedroom.
I walked down the stairs and past the bedroom toward the living room. Inside, I heard voices.
"Peter, is that you?" I heard Nicole say. I put my ear up to the door to see if I could listen. "Ooh, Peter," she said.
"Davy, what are you doin'?" Mike asked.
"Er, um, nothing, Mike. Nothing at all," I said, stepping back from the door. I turned and headed back to the living room. Mike looked at me skeptically for a moment and then followed. As he headed to the couch, he glanced out to the porch to see Peter still sitting in the rain.
