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May 2012
I was nineteen when I killed my dad.
It’s made sleeping hard. It’s made waking hard. It’s made it all - hard, I guess.
At night, he sits in the center of my mind like a crystal clear pond. I skip stones through the image of him and the ripples disfigure his face. The distortion cries out in horrible Munch-like agony. For the rest of the day I feel sick, but every night I’m back with more stones. It’s my nature.
I toss and turn a lot in my sleep. Guilty conscious, I guess.
The room is heavy with humidity and my body is sticky with sweat. My eyelids drag down my face as I sit up on my bed. My head aches, my stomach growls, and my mouth is dry and tastes like death.
I squeeze my eyes open and shut a handful of times. I push my tangled hair off my forehead. I want a cigarette so badly I almost cry.
I don’t usually sleep well. I get nightmares, but to be honest, it’s usually for lack of trying. My dad used to joke - and by joke, I mean one of those non-joke sayings that’s only popular with people above the age of forty-five - that anybody who went to bed the same day they got up was a quitter. He’d say all kinds of corny shit like that, but he was a night owl, too. We have - had a lot in common.
It’s been a long week. Or, year? Decade? Whatever.
I’m on autopilot for most of my morning routine. My body knows how to take care of itself even when I don’t. It brushes its teeth well, scrubs the sticky film of sweat off its skin. It spends an embarrassing amount of time looking at its face in the mirror. Angles its jaw until the reflection of the ceiling light is gone from its eyes and holds it there. I stare into its two coal-black pits.
I’m not fully there for most of it. I try not to think about if that’s bad or not.
I end up pulling into the parking lot thirty minutes before my shift. The corner of my mouth is stained with toothpaste, and I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday. It doesn’t matter- no one cares what I look like, anyway.
A cop car is parked out by the front door of the bar. I can feel myself tense up. I try to relax by telling myself I can sneak in through the side before realizing how stupid that is. It might not be the sheriff, it could just be a deputy rounding up a drunk idiot. I find myself wanting to buy time anyway.
I step out of my car and light a cigarette. Jake and Seth give me shit for smoking, which is probably half the reason why I keep doing it. Although, let’s be honest, addiction ranks above rebellion at this point.
I lean against my car door, look out at the forest beyond the road. It’s an unusually warm morning, the blazing early summer sun peaking through the cover of wet, heavy clouds. Little rays of warm yellow light glint prettily off the underbrush. The smell of fresh, dewey pine runs its way through me. There’s a familiar itch under my skin - a tightness in the base of my spine, like a rubber band about to snap.
Seth would probably go running with me if I asked, but I know that I won’t.
I’m daydreaming, still looking out at the trees when another car, a truck, turns slowly into the parking lot. My throat gets stuck on a long drag of my cigarette when I realize I recognize the driver.
Bella Swan hops out of her truck. Guess it must be Charlie inside, then. I never get lucky.
It’s been several years, but she doesn’t seem that much different from the last time I saw her. Still too pale, still too pink. More meat on her bones, a little less clumsy looking. Her jacket is too big for her.
Out of surprise, I cough, and she whips her head in my direction.
God. Idiot.
Bella looks over at me from across the lot, eyes lighting with recognition. Bella waves, too eagerly, and winces at her own awkwardness.
Some things never change. Embarrassed for myself and her, I stamp out my cigarette early and tie back my cropped hair in a quick, practiced motion. I walk towards the bar and don't return the wave.
“Hey, Sal,” I announce, coming from the side entrance into the kitchen. I grab an apron off the coat hook, double-knotting it around my waist.
Salvador is a big guy with a bigger beard and doesn’t respond. He’s wrapped up in a conversation with Charlie Swan, in uniform, at the bar. They both seem to have their hands full with Tommy, a regular I’ve had to explain the meaning of last call to more than once.
“Come on, buddy. Let me drive you home,” Sheriff Swan says. He sounds like he’s been at this for a while, and the responding grumbles don’t sound too happy. Salvador and the sheriff bicker back and forth while they take turns shaking Tommy awake.
I move behind the bar and check the keg, trying to blend into the background. I hate working in the morning. I hate the inventory, the cleaning, the book keeping, and I especially hate any conversation before noon. I hate that I begged to come in because I need the hours. I’m working on spontaneously developing a camouflage ability when the sheriff notices me.
“Hey, Leah. How’s your mom doing?” He asks, all polite.
Oh, come on. That couldn’t have even been a minute.
I give him a tight smile. “She’s fine.”
“She and I are supposed to go fishing sometime soon. Feel like joining?” He asks cautiously.
Bella walks in the door before I have a chance to decline. Thank God for small miracles. She looks around for a second before seeing Sheriff Swan at the bar. He looks at her and goes pale.
“I missed breakfast, didn’t I?” He says, guiltily.
Bella blushes, “Oh, it’s fine. I saw your car in the lot on the way to the diner and wanted to check that everything was alright.”
“I’m sorry, kiddo. Once I drop Tommy off we can go get something, alright?” He pauses for a second. “Unless you have work?”
Bella shakes her head, “No, no, that sounds great. If you have time, I mean.”
I roll my eyes while I wash a glass. The family resemblance runs deep. Charlie and Sal try to rouse up Tommy again. I look up just in time to notice Bella staring at me. Bella quickly tries to pretend she was looking around the room, but eventually her gaze lands back on me.
She and I haven’t seen each other in a long time. At least since her - what, sophomore, junior year of high school? Years, at least. Honestly, I don’t really know how to interact with her. Obviously she was close with Jake, but I never liked her and don’t plan on starting.
I raise an eyebrow at her. Bella opens her mouth to say something when Tommy finally wakes up and starts yelling some nonsense. I take the distraction and turn to leave the bar and head to the office. I can probably find something to do back there. Hopefully, something where I get to be alone.
-
I come home past midnight. We had barely enough work to keep me there until eight, but I know how to pace myself. Salvador only lets me stay for that long because he knows I need the money. He’s thoughtful like that.
Sometimes I imagine my body aching the way it used to. That sounds strange - to daydream of aches and pains after a long day’s work - but it’s a private fantasy for myself. Back when my body was mine.
I struggle to open the door of my apartment. It never opens quite right, always stubbornly sticking to the door frame. This is a delicate dance - I try too hard and I’ll snap the door in half. I could probably get someone to fix it, but I never remember to ask. I’m used to forcing it open at this point, anyway.
Rain pitter-patters against the glass of my window. My studio is cold, an almost-damp alcove. My bed is pushed up against the back corner, farthest from the shared wall with my neighbors, and near the sliding glass door leading to my balcony. When I moved in, I liked the idea of looking at the night sky while I tried to sleep, of waking up to the morning sun, but I mostly keep the blinds closed.
I keep my guitar by my bed, absent from a nightstand, and I dutifully ignore several plastic water bottles at the base of my bed frame. I have a dresser and small bookshelf near the front door, both covered in dried-out plants. The main room’s ceiling light flickers too much when I turn it on so I have to rely on an IKEA floor lamp by my bookshelf for light. My kitchenette barely has room for the table and small, white refrigerator that’s never smelled right no matter how much I clean it.
God, I hate my fucking apartment.
It’s about a thousand times better than living with Sue and Seth. I miss him when storms rattle my walls at night. He used to be afraid of thunder. He’d crawl into my bed and dig his cold toes under my calves. I wonder if they still bother him or if he grew out of it.
It’s always awkward when we’re phasing; I hate that I can’t keep anything private, he hates that I hate emotional intimacy. It’s even worse when Jake’s there to play peanut gallery for our stilted choreography. I know all of Seth’s private thoughts. How he feels about his classes, about our mom, about me; he knows how much I hate to know that. But Seth always comes over the morning after a run to offer me company. He’s better at being thoughtful. I know how much he misses me, but I didn’t need a mind link for that.
I kick off my shoes and let myself collapse face first on my bed. I should probably eat something, and I have a pile of laundry in the corner that I’ve been meaning to get to for the better part of a week.
I can imagine exactly what Sue would say to me, exactly how she’d nag me. (“This place is disgusting. Do you like being dirty? Is this how I raised you?”) I can picture her, arms akimbo with a pinched look on her face. But I haven't seen her in a while, so maybe my impression is off. Maybe Sue has stopped caring about how high my laundry pile gets.
I groan loudly into my pillow. Jesus Christ. I need to lighten up.
I pick myself up off the bed, pad over to the fridge. Slim pickings. Old Chinese, older Mexican, and a few ambitiously purchased vegetables that have since rotted. (“So you like to waste your money, too?”) I don't feel hungry anymore, but I move the Chinese anyway to see if there’s anything behind it.
There’s a six pack of beer from the brand my dad used to drink. My mom’s voice goes silent in my head.
I swear this isn’t as pathetic as it looks.
I only buy it in private moments. I’ll put on a big jacket and pull the hood up as high as it can go, although I don’t know who I’m supposed to be hiding from. The liquor store almost feels like confession, the cashier an ambivalent priest. It reminds me of when I was a kid; I was always the type to pick at the scabs on my knees. I’d press my thumb into the bruises I’d get and wonder why they wouldn’t stick around longer.
Maybe it is as pathetic as it looks. I don’t know what I’m expecting. A way to feel close? Like connection? That’s stupid, though, because my dad was a lot more than his shitty taste in beer.
I dunno. Sometimes it helps.
I rest my forehead against the freezer. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. My teeth clench. I white-knuckle the handle of the fridge door, feel the hard plastic crinkle and bend under my iron grip. Sighing, I grab a can and pop the tab open. I already know it’s going to be a long night, so I might as well get it started.
-
I wake up in a bush on the side of the road.
I wince, slowly blinking my eyes open while I take stock of myself. My muscles feel loose and well used, my head is pounding, and several sticks are jutting into my back. I moan, my breath hot and putrid-smelling. I gradually stretch my arms over my head, yawn, and feel my spine pop and crack into place.
To be honest, this isn’t completely unknown territory for me.
I’m not exactly doing the black-out-then-wolf-out combo often, but it’s happened over the years. It usually happens when I don’t let myself shift for a while. At least the sun is shining this morning. It’s actually nice to wake up in nature, to enjoy one of Washington’s rare, beautiful sunny mornings - especially after a midnight run.
I stand up, and realize I’m actually closer to the road than I thought. I’m probably lucky no one saw me. My head still throbs from the heady mix of beer and cheap tequila from last night. Some of the others don’t get hangovers anymore - Jacob once ran to Vancouver after housing two six packs - but, of course, I’m not that lucky. Even with the rolling waves of nausea, the clear morning air feels nice on my face. And my arms. And my back.
And then I want to shoot myself, because obviously I’m naked.
I yelp, crossing my arms protectively over myself immediately, and drop down deep into the brush to be out of view. I push deep into a leafy bush and let out a long string of curse words.
Being naked after shifting has led to a lot of awkward moments in my life. Being the only girl in a boys club, I’m usually smart enough to - ugh, yes, I actually remembered to tie some clothes to my ankle. On one hand I’m grateful. On the other hand, the only thing I bothered to give my future self was a pair of pajama shorts.
I cover my mouth with my hands and yell as loudly as I can. I take a moment to curse every male wolf who can run around in jean shorts, shirt be damned. I get woozy from bitterness and tequila.
Continuing my streak of good luck, I hear a car pull up on the shoulder of the road. All the color drains from my face, and I’m weighing the consequences of phasing in front of a human, when-
“Leah, is that you?”
I recognize her smell before I place her voice. I pop my head up out of the bush tentatively. Bella Swan, bright pink and shy, is standing on the edge of the road.
“Yeah. What do you want?” I bark. I realize it’s stupid to try to have the upper hand in this situation but I can’t stop the instinct. I cross my arms tighter around my chest, digging myself deeper into the dirt.
“Are you… okay? I thought I saw-”
“I’m fine!” I interrupt.
“Okay, um, I believe you. For a totally unrelated reason I’m going to throw my sweatshirt into that bush you’re definitely not hiding in.”
I’m already wiggling on the shorts when Bella’s hoodie hits me in the head. I shove my head and arms through as quickly as I can. An uncomfortably heady rush of lavender musk nauseates me again. I stand up from my bush, glowering but refusing to make eye contact with her.
“I could’ve just shifted and ran home. I don’t need your help.” I don’t mention that I’ve shifted hungover before and it - uh, doesn’t always end well. Puking as a five foot high wolf is not as fun as it sounds, and, for some reason, draws a lot of attention.
She raises a doubtful eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a thank you. Did you know that you have half a bird's nest in your hair?”
“Yes, obviously,” I hiss, even though of course I didn’t. I really hope I didn't eat the birds. I try to figure out a way to nonchalantly check my teeth for feathers.
Bella nods, clicks her tongue to her teeth. “So… Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Bella squints at me suspiciously. “…Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but-”
“Can you just fuck off?” I yell. A flock of birds fly off from the trees overhead. Oh God, maybe I really did have a midnight snack.
Bella throws her hands up. “Okay, whatever, forget I asked. You’re clearly ‘fine’.”
“Yep. Have a nice day,” I say, stomping off into the forest. If I can get away from the view of the roadside I can run most of the way home. My apartment’s only saving grace (and the reason I signed the lease in the first place) is that it’s on the edge of the treeline, easy access to the wild.
“You can keep the jacket!” Bella calls out after me, climbing into her truck.
“No!” I shout back, my rapier wit always ready to strike.
-
“Dude, that’s so embarrassing. How are you such a loser?”
“Shut up,” I complain, throwing a fry at Seth’s face. He catches it in his mouth and chews it obnoxiously.
“Aren’t you an adult? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, smarter? Or, like, responsible?”
I flick him on the arm. “You’re welcome for buying you lunch, by the way.”
Seth gives me a big grin. “Thanks!” He takes a long sip of his coke. “I mean, at least you didn’t wake up in the middle of town.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter, taking a bite of my burger. I haven’t done that before - or, I haven’t done that yet.
Is it a matter of time until that happens? Maybe one day it won’t be from drinking, maybe I’ll just go crazy and run through the streets. Maybe this thing that took over my body will go crazy for me and start picking off people in town. I’ve already crossed that line, so maybe a wolf-inspired murder frenzy isn’t as unlikely as I think it is. Honestly, if it was going to happen to anyone, it’d be me. I see the way Sam’s pack looks at me from the corner of their eyes - waiting for me to do something.
I wish I didn’t encourage them, but I can’t help it. I’m a victim of my impulses. Or, actually - is that me, or is that the wolf?
Is the distinction important?
“Leah?” Seth asks, waving a hand in front of my face.
“What?” I snap, embarrassed.
“You were seriously zoning out there for a minute.”
“I’m fine,” I say, for the seven hundredth time today.
Seth stares at me for a while. He’s young, in body and spirit, happy-go-lucky in a way I’ve never been. But he’s sharper than people think; clever in a way that makes me nervous.
It’s silent for a minute while we both finish up our food. I grab the tray of our trash and empty it before we load ourselves into my Honda.
Seth clears his throat. “You know, I’m always happy to go running with you -“
“Oh my god, Seth, it was one time-“
“It just seems like you clearly need some wolf time and it’s not healthy to-“
“Seriously, Seth, it was one time. I get that you’re worried but you really don’t have to be.”
Seth looks at me in a way that lets me know he’s figured me out, but he smiles all the same. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Then don’t lecture me. That’s my job.”
“Either way, I want to go running. Wanna go with me and Jake later? We were gonna race to the cliffs.” Seth is practically bouncing in his seat at the idea, and honestly, I have a hard time saying no to him.
“Not at all,” I say, just to fuck with him.
“Come on, please? We barely hang out anymore,” he grouches.
“Aren’t we hanging out right now?” I ask incredulously.
“This doesn’t count.”
“Oh, yeah, obviously,” I deadpan.
“You’re just worried I’ll beat you.”
I scoff, “That’s not going to happen.”
He lights up, a mischievous look on his face. “Don’t know about that. I think you’re really going to have to work to defend your title.”
I act like I’m really put out. “Doubt it.”
-
As a kid, I ran everywhere. It drove all the adults in my life crazy. I’d get in trouble in grocery stores, friends houses, school. But I dunno, I couldn’t imagine why I’d slow down for everyone else. If there was one thing my body was built to do, it was run. It made sense to me. I’ve always loved it.
My bare feet pound against the forest floor. I whip around trees, leap over arching roots, dance between moss covered boulders. I get brave and risk a glance behind me to see them - Seth, his face beet-red and determined and Jake, smiling wide and confident. He’s fast, but he’s not me. He has me beat in a lot of other ways, but this is the one thing I have an edge on him in.
We move through the forest like a school of fish - quick and graceful. I can see the top of the hill now, the sun peaking through the heavy cover of clouds. It shines on the edge of the cliff, sparkles off the sea below. I sprint faster, my stride long and sure. Behind me, I hear a heavy growl as Jacob shifts. I glare at him as he passes me.
“Fucking cheater!” I yell. He leaps in front of me and over the cliff. A few seconds later I hear his body hit the water.
I jog to the edge and look down at the tides hitting the rocks below. After a moment, I see him - in human form - bob above the water. I can see his smug grin from here.
Seth catches up to me soon after. I turn to him and complain, “I thought we said no shifting.”
“Not explicitly,” He huffs, breathing hard. “How are you not out of breath? You’ve been sprinting for the past five miles.”
I ignore him. “It was definitely implied,” I argue. “He’s such an asshole.”
“Yeah, he is,” he says, before Seth pushes me off the cliff.
I manage to flip him off before I crash into the sea. I sink tens of feet into the inky depths, the shock of the icy water pricking at my skin. Luckily for him, I’ve dodged all of the rocks. Muscle memory, I guess. The salty brine stings my eyes before I come up, gasping.
“You’re a dickhead,” I yell, coughing up water and wiping my eyes. Seth cannonballs down the hundred foot drop. He lands a ways away from me and Jake, but the force of the splash hits both of us in our faces. When he emerges I splash water back at him.
“For the record, I get we’re all superhumans, but you still shouldn’t fucking push people off cliffs.”
Jake furrows his eyebrows. “I mean, I agree, but that’s a page out of your book. I think you’ve actually thrown him off taller jumps.”
“Whatever,” I pout. I remember that. Jake’s excluding the critical detail that I had funnier timing. I wade to him and narrow my eyes. “You’re a cheater, by the way.”
“Literally why are we racing if we don’t do it as wolves?”
“He has a point,” Seth defends.
I huff indignantly, but drop it. I float on my back, looking up at the motionless gray sky. That was the original idea, but I’d pushed back when they suggested it at the base of the treeline. To be honest, I don’t need them roaming around in my mind right now. But if I say that, they’ll assume I’m hiding something bad instead of just clinging to my privacy. I don’t want them worrying for no reason. Not their fault that I’m bad at dealing with my shit.
I close my eyes and try to enjoy the gentle feeling of the cool water buoying me over the current. “Fuck both of you.”
“I’ve missed your witty comments,” Jake hums.
“You smell like wet dog.”
“Pot, kettle,” he smirks.
“I hope you die,” I say.
Seth laughs at me. “Ooo, scary.”
I ignore him. We swim back to shore, sawing through the slate-gray waves that crash against the craggy shore. When we wash up on the beach I can feel Seth’s eyes on me. He opens his mouth to say something before I cut him off.
I gesture to the sun’s low-hanging position. “It’s at least six, bud.”
His eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, shit, I gotta get back. I was supposed to pick up dinner, Mom’s totally gonna kill me.”
I watch Seth run back into the tree line, cursing under his breath. He’s so easy. I sit on the beach, shake some of the sea water out of my hair. I wring out big washes of it. When I move to get up and leave Jake interrupts me.
“Stick around for a bit?” Jacob asks. Even when he doesn’t mean it, he has an edge to his voice that demands compliance. It annoys me on a surface level, but I don’t have it in me to really resent him right now.
I bring my knees closer to my chest. Involuntarily, my pulse races a bit faster. This is so embarrassing. Why am I so anxious about being alone with him? The fact that I know he can hear my heartbeat speed up only makes it worse. I rest an elbow on my knee cap, and prop my head up with one of my hands.
“What’s up?” I cringe internally. Way to play it cool, Clearwater.
“I was actually going to ask you that,” he admits. “Are you… doing okay?”
“Do I have a sign on my forehead? Is that why people keep asking me that?”
“I mean…”
I cut him off. “I really don’t need to be mothered right now.”
I see on his face that I hit pay dirt with that, but he moves past it easily. Doesn’t get hung up on things like I do. Jake scoffs, “Sure, okay. Seth is worried about you.”
“He doesn’t need to be,” I mutter. I feel Jake’s eyes on me while I look towards the water.
“To be honest, I can see where he’s coming from. I was out last night.”
“Okay?”
“I heard you,” he says, tapping his temple. “I wanted to give you space, but you freaked me out.”
I cross my arms over my knees, shaking my head. “Let up, okay? I’m working on it.”
He sighs, “Okay, I trust you. It’s- you know we’re here for you, right? I’m here for you.”
“Save the big brother act, okay? I’m not interested,” I snap. “What’s making me not fine is everyone asking me if I am.”
“Got it,” Jake relents. “I’ll back off.”
Jake gets up, wipes some of the sand off his shorts. There’s something hanging in the air between us. An expectation of something. I could break the tension but I don’t, even though I know he wants me to. I can’t do it. He already pities me too much. It might make me a coward but I don’t want to risk becoming even more of a charity case.
“See you around,” he says, before he runs off and leaves me, inevitably, alone.
I watch the steely waves crash on the shore. Why am I upset? I wanted him gone and he is. I got exactly what I wanted. And yet, here I am, feeling some sick, twisted thing inside me.
The wind swirls and tangles my hair, bits of sand sticking to my face. I wish I wasn’t so obvious. The most annoying thing about all of this is that I’m genuinely fine. At least, as much as I always am. I can’t help it if my life makes other people sad.
Sometimes, I try to do better. I put in effort with Seth and Jake, I keep my apartment clean, phase when I want to. And it never makes any difference. The anger bubbles back up again. Everyone still thinks I’m some sad cautionary tale, some pathetic little girl who fucks everything up. I can’t even deny it because, like clockwork, I find a way to ruin it all again, anyway.
Horrifyingly, I start to cry. My face feels hot and I try to swallow around the tears. Stop. Get over yourself, just this once. This is stupid. Breathe in, breathe out. I drag my hands over my cheeks and smush my fists in my eyes. Stop. In, out.
“Grow up,” I order myself.
I sniffle. Apparently, I am not as grown up as I think I am.
Wait-
Oh, come on.
The universe has some hilarious comedic timing, apparently. A smell I know in my bones hits me in the chest. Spicy and pine-y and chillingly familiar.
My head whips to the cliffs where Sam and his pack have run up to. We run in the same circles, literally and figuratively, so of course we still see each other. It’s still a shock to my system every time. And, every time, he has this sickeningly sympathetic look on his face. He can’t help but feel sorry for me, and I can’t help but hate him for it.
Usually, I try to focus on other scents to drown him out, but with him being so close it’s impossible to ignore. I watch his head turn in my direction before I stand up and start running to the road. I’ll come back for my car later. The sea air has soured and it’s making me sick.
-
I keep a solid pace and am in La Push proper (if you can call it that) before too long. I run in the middle of the street. It’s not like I can hide the fact that I’m here.
The rocky shoreline juts up against the docks, where people work on their boats. Some of them seem to have had a successful day fishing and some of them seem to have nothing better to do than give me wary looks. I ignore them the best I can and keep my focus on the distant treeline. The pines are a deep, glittering emerald and give me a sense of calm before I come up to the Quileute Tribal building.
The flags slap against the wind, and light, misty rain hangs over the place. It’s large with beige siding and big, rectangular windows. Pretty flowers hang from the coral roof, pink and blue and yellow. There’s a few cars in front, and I see Sue’s parked proudly in her reserved spot. This was meant to be a cop out. I can’t bring myself to go to the house. That she’s actually here is almost enough to make me turn around and go home - but, if I leave now, that will give the people who’ve seen me more gossip.
Time to swallow my pride, I guess.
I exhale hard and push my way through the door. There’s not many people here - most are out by five. The inside is warm and has a thick, green carpet. Wooden desks at the windows are piled high with stacks of paper and cups filled with pens and pencils.
“Leah! Ayàso-chid?”
I turn around, see Heather at the reception desk. She’s short with a pleasantly round face and a bronzy glow to her high cheeks. She has great, long laugh lines and delicate crows feet by her eyes. Her glossy black hair has a few streaks of silver and is pushed over her shoulders.
“Háćhli, ho,” I give her a tight smile. Again? I really might have that sign on my forehead. “Listen-”
“Haćháł x̣ax̣íḳtiya, good time to be fishing. Your hair is wet, were you swimming?”
“Yeah. I was looking for-”
“Your mom! Let me grab Sue. I just saw her, she went into the back office. She’s had a long day, she was supposed to leave an hour ago. It’s just been crazy here lately, but I’m sure she’d love to see you. One second,” Heather says, almost jumping out of her chair.
“Wait!” I yelp. Heather looks at me, furrows her brow. For once, she doesn’t say anything. I clear my throat, “Uh, never mind. I know she’s working.”
“Oh- but, you came all this way,” she frowns. I try to think of a way to get out of this without admitting I lost my nerve.
“I was in the neighborhood. I thought she- I don’t need to see her right now.”
“Okay… Should I tell her you’ll meet her at the house?”
“No!” I yell. “No, um. I have plans, actually.”
“Well, then, if you have to leave I should really grab her. She’d hate to miss you-”
“I’ll just catch her next time. It was nice seeing you, Heather.” By the time I finish, I’m already back to the door.
“Kʷoʔokíł-chid? You just got here!”
“Bye!” I call out after me. I throw a hand up to acknowledge Heather and turn back around the way I came.
“Weirdo,” I hear her mutter. Life was better when I didn’t have to know what people said about me after I left the room.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I know she’s busy. I didn’t even want to see her, why did I bother coming here in the first place? She’s not going to stop what she’s doing to, what? Say hi? I don’t even know what I wanted.
What a stupid idea this was.
-
Salvador must be able to tell that I’ve had a bad couple of days, because he offers to let me play Friday night. It gives me something to look forward to - a goal post I can reach.
I used to be nervous on stage. It doesn’t bother me anymore- although it probably helps that there are at most fifteen people in the entire bar. Most of them are regulars and don’t give me a second thought, except maybe to ask me to make them a drink when I’m done.
“Dawn cracks the dark and it breaks the silence of my waking hours…”
I think I’ve gotten better at singing. My voice has always been okay, but in the quiet space of my studio I’ve had more time to practice. My guitar playing could use some work. My fingers will sometimes tense up and I’ll have to jump to the next chord instead of glide. A year or so ago a local band was in a bind when their guitarist got the flu. I stepped in and I guess Sal saw how much I liked it because ever since, he lets me play when we’re slow. Or, apparently, when I look like shit.
This is probably the only time I truly relax. One of the worst things about being a werewolf (a race to the bottom if you ask me) is the heightened senses. It could be because of my personality - quick to anger, quick to anxiety, quick to despair - but hearing everyone’s heartbeats is extremely unnerving. And, at this point, I almost pray for anosmia. Some people should not be smelled, let alone from a room away.
Long story short, it’s hard to get out of my own head. So… it’s nice once in a while. Just feel the music, sing some song I didn’t write, and disconnect. I could use the distance.
The door of the bar swings open, and a waft of lavender hits me like a wave. God dammit. What was I just saying about anosmia? My eyes shoot up from my guitar and see Bella walking in, confused then alighting with recognition. Why is she back? Fuck. I stumble a bit in my playing.
I vocalize the end, but my throat has dried up from the surprise, and I don’t finish strongly. For some reason botching the end of it in front of Bella is so embarrassing I want to scream.
I hop off the stool as quickly as I can, resigning myself to not finishing my set, running off stage before the sparse applause ends. I sling the guitar on my back and make a beeline for the door. I promise myself I’ll make it up to Sal later, maybe work some extra shifts. I just gotta get out of here.
I can tell Bella is trying to get my attention. God, how to avoid her... Unfortunately, a new group of people try to make their way to the bar, and I’m forced to walk near her while I dodge them. One of them bumps into me accidentally, and when I turn to look at them I make eye contact with Bella instead. Great.
“Hi.”
“Uh, hey.” I give her a tight-lipped smile and move to make my escape, but am stopped when Bella interrupts me.
“You were onstage just now.”
“And?” I snap.
“Well, you-” She’s smirking, I know that teasing expression, I can feel it under my skin.
“Nope. I can take the potshots about my love life and the whole, uh, wolf thing-,” I lower my voice, we’re in public, and just because this place is practically hell mouth levels of supernatural doesn’t mean I can shout it from the rooftops,“- but I absolutely draw the line at this.”
“What are you talking about?” Bella raises a puzzled eyebrow. “I was going to say that you’re really good.”
“Fuck you,” I blush. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I really wasn’t,” Bella laughs awkwardly.
“Why are you even here? Are you following me?”
“I mean, I know you work here so I was going to say hi, but honestly, it’s a small town. There are only so many not-creepy bars. Relax.”
“I don’t buy it. You’re up to something. Maybe you’re spying for some vamps,” I wonder aloud. “Checking to see what territory you can hawk.”
“How’d you guess?” Bella deadpans. “I’ve been stalking you to finally get in good with Nosferatu. If I promise not to submit this holy dive bar for my dark master’s bidding, can I get a drink in peace?”
“Fine,” I bark. After a moment, “Don’t bring any leeches here. Seriously.”
“No promises,” Bella winks. I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away. “Still got my hoodie?”
“Nope. Burned it.”
For some reason she laughs. Whatever. She’s a fucking head case.
The cool evening wind blows through my flannel and sends a shiver up my spine. I make my way out of town to the forest. I pointedly do not shift, now that I know I have spies. I don’t really mind it too much, it’s nice to take my time.
I meander through trees and arching roots, balancing over the slippery moss. Crickets harmonize with the toads and mosquitos. A waxing moon hangs heavy in the sky.
Eventually, I sit on a smooth boulder resting at the bank of the Calawah river. I look out at the dark current gently lapping against the stoney edge. My guitar digs in my side from where it’s slung over my shoulder.
I take a deep breath and scream as loudly as I can.
Better.