Chapter 12
That was the last time I would ever smoke marijuana. I woke on the ground before the sun had come up and stood up, naked, and barely made it into the trailer. My head hurt and I felt lethargic and sick. I just hoped I didn’t throw up. I couldn’t imagine what puking raw deer and rabbit would look like on the way back up.
Shudder.
Since I’d shredded my clothes last night, I went into the closet Aden had packed with clothes from a local thrift store and found a long men’s T-shirt and a pair of small boxers and threw them on before plopping onto one of the beds where Ryder was asleep. He was naked. Not that I minded.
I curled up next to his warm body and he wrapped his arm around me. Cracking open one eye, he whispered, “You found clothes.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. “Yes. Not in the mood to be naked. My head hurts.”
“I sure don’t mind,” he whispered back and kissed the top of my head.
“I feel like crap,” I said.
“THC hangover. That must have been one long drag you took.” He chuckled lightly. “Get some rest, you’ll feel better after more sleep.”
I nodded and fell back to sleep on Ryder’s warm body.
By the end of the third day, I was more than ready to go home and take a long, hot shower and get ready for my school week. I still had homework to do, and knew I’d be cramming all day and probably into the night to finish it.
I wearily walked in through the door and was surprised to see Sanja there. Lately she’d been spending all her time with her new boyfriend Brennan and would come home late Sunday nights.
Her eyes went big at my bedraggled appearance and I said, “Hey.”
“Damn, girl. You look like hell.”
“I feel like it, too,” I said honestly as I set my bag down on the ground and headed to the kitchen.
She wrinkled her nose and said, “You smell like it, too.”
“Raw venison and deer blood probably doesn’t smell too good,” I said dryly, cracking open a water bottle and guzzling down the whole thing in one gulp.
“I… don’t want to know,” she replied.
“So no Brennan this weekend?” I asked.
Sanja looked sad as she said, “No, he’s been instructed by his parents to spend more time on witchcraft and less time with me. So this weekend, the shop mothers took him out in the woods to do some spells and such. Sucks.”
I threw my empty water bottle into the trash and pulled out a box of crackers. “Why couldn’t you just go with him? Learn some spells and stuff?”
She laughed and looked back down at the textbook set on top of her crossed legs on the sofa. “Well, first, I already know all the stuff they’re going to be teaching him, as my parents had already taught me the stuff since I could barely talk. Two, you don’t think I suggested that? The mothers said I would be too much of a distraction.”
“Bummer,” was all I could think to say as I shoveled two crackers into my mouth to get rid of the lingering taste of Bambi and the roiling in my stomach from the damn THC hangover.
Never again. Gah.
“I’ll see him later this week,” she consoled.
I nodded. “Okay, shower time, and then I have a shitload of homework to do.”
She waved at me, her nose still in the book.
I started the shower, and as usual, recoiled at my reflection in the mirror. Would I ever get used to looking so gross? I doubt it. Blood and dirt caked my face, neck, chest, and arms. Dirt and something else was under my nails, and my blonde hair was a rat’s nest of a mess. I felt ugly, and guilty, and wished for the thousandth time I could just be a normal human instead of this disgusting wolf that I had been cursed to be. I was a disaster and I didn’t think I would ever think of myself of anything other.
The shower was damn near orgasmic and I felt one hundred and ten percent better afterward. Once dressed and hair and teeth brushed, I pulled out my books and studied for hours until my eyes crossed.
* * *
I breathed through the pain as I sat with my arm draped over the armrest in front of me. It reminded me of one those little black pads you lay your arm on when they take blood at the doctor’s office. The tattoo artist was using his needle to rub dark fuchsia-pink color into my arm. The continuous buzz and pressing of the needle was beginning to irritate me, and I gritted my teeth. The other arm was already done, so I was in the homestretch now. Both of my outer forearms would soon be matching, and I hoped I loved them.
A couple weeks ago, I had a heart-to-heart with Sanja one night. It was a regular Tuesday night after class, and neither of us had homework, so we were bingeing on TV and junk food. The conversation turned serious about the problems both of us faced having supernatural curses. Hers, being so tightly controlled by the ‘mothers’ at the shop, her family, and the witch community in general, and me, of course with my werewolf mess.
“I’m a disaster,” I had said, leaning my head back against the sofa, the popcorn bowl on my lap.
Sanja looked at me and said, “No, you’re beautiful. You can’t change what you were born with any more than I can.”
“I’m a beautiful disaster then,” I concluded.
She laughed and popped an M&M into her mouth. “That, you are. But then so am I.”
The idea for the tattoo hit me immediately. I decided on “Beautiful” for one forearm, and “Disaster” for the other.
Once Joe was done with my tats, he cleaned me off and then took me over to the full-length mirror that lined the back wall of the colorfully decorated shop.
I put both arms up like I was a genie about to blink and grant a wish, and looked at the artwork on my arms in the mirror. I almost welled with tears.
“Oh, my God, Joe. I love it so much.”
The fancy script writing of each word, shadowed in blues and pinks, looked beautiful.
He smiled at me, the ring through his bottom lip stretching almost painful-looking. “I’m so glad you like it, Ayla. Looks great.”
Joe led me back to the chair and began to rub a clear salve on the fresh tattoos, then wrapped me up in bandages and sent me home.
I excitedly answered the door when I heard the doorbell. I ushered Ryder in, stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss, and put my arms up to show him my new ink.
“Do you love them?” I asked Ryder, hopeful.
I hadn’t told him I was going to do it. In fact, I hadn’t told anyone but Sanja I was going to. She had gone with me, too. She wanted to get one herself, but the witches forbade tattoos, unless previously approved by whatever bullshit council or coven ‘governed’ over her.
“I…” Ryder started, staring down at my arms, which I had stacked again so he could see them together. “They certainly are colorful.”
I frowned and dropped my arms. “You hate them.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t hate them. I’m just surprised. I didn’t know you were doing it.”
Sighing, I said, “Nobody knew. I did this for me.”
“Why beautiful disaster?”
“Because that’s what I feel like ninety percent of the time,” I came back quickly.
“What do you feel like the other ten percent?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Just a disaster,” I deadpanned.
His smile fell. “Why?”
“I don’t like the wolf. I don’t like being her, I don’t like being reminded of her, and I wish she would just go away.”
Why was I being so emo? PMS maybe?
Ryder wrapped me in a hug. “It’s not going to go away, but it’ll get easier.”
“So, what, when we’re old and can’t hear, and wearing diapers, and have dementia and using a walker, we are still going to turn into wolves once a month? How does that work? Won’t I break a hip when I shift?”
He pulled back and looked down at me, cringing. “We don’t usually grow that old.”
I gasped. “What do you mean?”
Ryder sighed, and led me to the sofa where he made me sit. “Have you ever once heard me talk about my grandparents?”
I thought about it for a second, and said, “No, now that you mention it, I haven’t.”
“That’s because I never met them. I mean, I guess I did when I was a baby or young kid, but I don’t remember them. All four of them died in their forties and fifties.”
“How?” I gasped.
“In case you haven’t noticed, werewolves live very violent lives.”
I slumped down, even more depressed by the news. “Then why all this?” I pointed to my open schoolbooks, binders, and pencils lying on the coffee table. “Why even bother?”
“I said we lived violent lives, Ayla, I didn’t say they were necessarily short.”
I rubbed my forehead with one hand. “Now I’m confused.”
“While wolves aren’t immortal, we age much, much slower than humans.”
“But your parents look kinda old.”
A grin twitched up on his lips. “How old?”
I shrugged and pictured their faces in my mind. “I don’t know, like late thirties, early forties old.”
“They’re in their mid-sixties.”
My mouth dropped open. “What!”
He nodded. “Wild, huh?”
“So what am I going to tell my parents when they notice I’m not getting older?”
“You will get older, just much slower. They probably won’t really notice it until they are old themselves and you look much younger than you should.”
I sighed again, trying to take it all in. I looked at the college books and papers scattered on my table again, and wondered out loud again, “What’s it all for?”
Ryder followed my line of sight, and then looked back at me. “Because we have to live, Ayla. We can’t go through life like we’re dying. We just have to try to live.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said wistfully.
* * *
The following weekend, Ryder was starting in the football game that would take CU to the championship. I was excited for him. My parents and brothers came up for the game, and the energy and spirit was high.
I watched as the cheerleaders took their place on the sidelines and screamed their cheers every time we scored a touchdown. I was mildly jealous, if not a bit nostalgic, missing cheer just a little, but knowing it was best I had quit. What would I say on shift weekends? “Sorry, ladies, gotta go play with the wolves, I’ll see you next weekend!”?
Sighing, I laughed at myself. I was such a hot mess.
The game seemed to go by fast, and before I knew it, we had twenty seconds left in the fourth quarter and we were down by two points.
You could hear a pin drop in the stands as we hiked the ball and Ryder ran into the field toward the end zone. The guy who’d hiked the ball weaved in and out of the opposing team’s attempted grabs. When he had a small opening, he threw the ball in a perfect spiral and we all held our breath as Ryder looked up, the other players doing their best to block the offense from tackling my boyfriend.
When Ryder caught the ball perfectly and began to run with it, we all screamed and jumped up in the stands. Six yards to go… “Go, baby!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Four yards to go, oh, my God, he almost got tackled… two yards to go… one yard to go… and then I watched in amazement as the minute his feet hit the end zone and he slammed the football onto the ground in victory, the buzzer signaled the end of the game. He lifted his arms in triumph and did the funniest dance I had ever seen.
We won!
My brothers and I went rushing down to the field, hoping to give Ryder a hug. We had to fight our way through the crowd, but we got there just in time to see his teammates dump an entire water cooler over his head. He was soaking wet, but didn’t seem to care. He was flying high, and I was so happy for him.