Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (5 page)

I sit up in bed, gasping for breath. Tears stream down my face and my heart hammers inside of my chest. It's the dream again, I tell myself. It's only a dream. The numbers on my alarm clock read two
A.M.
My hand shakes as I reach across the nightstand and switch on the bedroom lamp. Soft light floods my room, chasing away the monsters. All but the one in my bed. Me.

Someone knocks on my door. I know who it is. Cindy. This may sound weird—weirder than normal weird—but Cindy and I now have baby monitors set up in our apartments. The monitors were Cindy's idea, in case she heard me in here getting all wolfy or something.

I told Cindy six months ago that a whimper or two, a howl on occasion, even a full-out bark will be tolerated, but if she ever catches me peeing on my furniture, she is to find a gun and shoot me. I climb out of bed and pad through the apartment.

After unlocking my door, I swing it wide. The hallways stay lit at all times. Cindy's face is etched with concern. It's good to see her, but then I notice what she's wearing. A leather halter top and leather short shorts with fishnet hose.

“Gee, where are your knee-high boots and your whip?” I ask.

Rolling her eyes, Cindy shoves her way inside and closes the door. “Are you all right, Lou? I heard you moaning, and then it sounded like you were choking.”

I'm glad the monitors only work one way. I'd hate to think what I might have heard coming from her side. Cindy obviously has company … or I hope she does. “Tell me that is not your regular sleeping attire?”

She ignores the question and moves through the apartment switching on lights. “You were having the nightmare again, weren't you?”

I rub my arms. January nights are cold in New York, but I know that's not the reason I'm chilled. “Yes.”

“Same scenario?”

“Same,” I answer. “Different location.”

“I'll fix you some herbal tea. The kind that helps you relax.”

“I'm okay,” I call to her back. “You can return to … whatever it was you were doing.”

“No trouble,” she insists. “Sit down and relax while I fix the tea.”

Walking to my couch, I plop down. I'm wearing, in contrast to Cindy, flannel pajamas and socks. I tuck my legs beneath me, lean my head back against the soft couch cushions, and close my eyes. I open them again quickly, afraid of what visions might haunt me.

Sounds of Cindy puttering around my kitchen soothe me. I hate to admit this, but I'm glad Cindy's dad freaked out when she told him she was gay. I'm glad he kicked her out. I'm glad she's here with me, especially now. I'm even glad I told her about prom night, and what I did—what I became.

Prom night is scarier to think about than the dream. Tom Dawson had brutally attacked me. He'd turned into a rage-filled monster because I had dared to reject his advances and he'd beaten me within an inch of my life. Then he had planned to rape me on top of everything else. I remember lying there, bruised, stunned, and bleeding while he told me what he would do to me next, and how much I would enjoy it. The rage had begun to build inside of me. I'd felt it coursing through my veins, giving me strength.

Tom had positioned himself over me. He was a football player and all muscle. He'd forced my legs apart, reached beneath my ruined prom dress, and ripped my panties off. The rage kept building and I had let it come. Suddenly, I reached out and raked his face. My arm had been covered in fur, claws jutting from my fingertips. Tom, the football player, a bully, and a would-be rapist, had screamed like a girl. He kept screaming. I don't want to remember anything else.

“Here's your tea.”

Cindy sets the cup and saucer in front of me on the sofa table and settles beside me. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” I lie. Reaching for my tea, I take the steaming cup between my shaking hands. “Cindy, do you think I should feel more guilt about killing Tom? I keep thinking because I don't, maybe is the reason I keep having these nightmares. Maybe it's why I've had these recent outbreaks. Something has triggered it.”

She makes a snorting noise. “That asshole had it coming for what he did to you and what he planned to do. He could have easily killed you, Lou. You said you were so bruised, you didn't even realize you had transformed into someone beautiful until the bruises healed. He's not worth feeling guilty over, and he's not worth losing sleep over, either. You need to put it behind you. Only then will the nightmares go away. I bet the outbreaks stop, too.”

Cindy moonlights as my therapist. I thought I had put the ordeal behind me. The nightmares keep bringing it back. Is the man in my dreams really me? A reminder that I can't ignore what happened seven years ago, or what I became, what I still might become? I reach over and pat Cindy's hand.

“Thanks for being here for me. I'm okay now. You can go back to your guest.” I glance toward the wall separating her apartment from mine. “You did turn off the monitor, right?”

Cindy nods, her forehead wrinkled as if she's in deep concentration. “Yeah, I switched it off before I came over,” she says. I have a cream for those forehead wrinkles. But her brows are so thick, if they were dark she'd have a unibrow. “But something has just occurred to me. Do you think these dreams you have might simply be an unconscious need to be punished for what you've done?”

I eye her outfit. “Don't get any ideas, girlfriend.”

Cindy laughs then swats me playfully. “You know I don't think about you in a sexual way. Kissing you would be like kissing my sister, if I had one.”

She's like the sister I never had, too. “I think I've been punished enough for what I did in Haven,” I say. “Really, Cindy, go home. One of us should have normal relationships.”

Shrugging, Cindy says, “I imagine my friend has either left or has fallen asleep.” Glancing down at herself, she adds, “And is this really normal? I'm not sure it would have worked out anyway. I'm not into the whole leather-and-whips thing.”

For some reason, I had once thought having a relationship with another woman would be easier than having one with a man. Cindy has proven me wrong. Time and time again. I sigh. “Want to sleep on my couch?”

She smiles gratefully. “If you're sure you don't mind.”

I'm thankful for the company tonight. I rise to get Cindy sheets and a blanket. “What'd you tell your guest about the monitor?”

“I told her that you're epileptic and I have to keep tabs on you,” Cindy answers.

“Good one.”

After I bring in the linens, Cindy helps me make up the couch. “You didn't throw out those tea bags, did you?” I ask. “I have a shoot in five hours and I need them to reduce the puffiness I'm sure to have around my eyes.”

“I never throw anything of yours out,” she assures me. “You and your strange concoctions. That orange peel and yogurt dish you whipped up for me last week was really tasty, though.”

She's jerking me around. Cindy knows it was a facial, and not to eat. “Very funny,” I remark.

“Who are you working with tomorrow? Your boyfriend?”

Stefan is on my shit list at the moment. I know he screws around with models. Hearing about it always puts me in a bad mood. Like he's cheated on me, which I know is ridiculous. “Yeah. I hope I don't bite his head off.” And I do mean that literally as well as figuratively. “But I'm glad for the work; it will take my mind off things.”

Fluffing her pillow, Cindy says, “Lou, if it pisses you off so much about Stefan, do something about it. You know you want to. You know he wants to, too. Everyone knows that. It's not a big secret.”

I grab my teacup off the sofa table and finish it off, carrying the cup to the kitchen. “We've covered this ground before,” I call to her. “It was bad enough when I was just a murderer, but now I'm having these outbreaks. That's not the kind of thing a girl wants to tell a man she hopes to have a serious relationship with. Besides, I'm not too sure most of my appeal for Stefan isn't the fact he hasn't slept with me.”

“You've never given yourself enough credit, Lou,” Cindy calls. “You're one of the most beautiful women in the world, and you still have crap for confidence.”

In the kitchen, I grab the tea bags to put on my eyes when I go back to bed. Cindy's right. Old habits die hard. When I was a kid, awkward looking, too skinny, and all teeth and legs, I'd pore over fashion magazines and dream I would someday be beautiful like the women in the ads. The dream was hard to keep when the kids at school reminded me on a daily basis that I was not beautiful, that I would never be beautiful. I guess the problem is, I still know what's on the inside. And what's on the inside is totally screwed up at the moment.

Cindy has climbed beneath the covers when I return to the living room. “You know I've tried to have a few relationships with men in the past. They never seem to work out.”

“That's because you choose men who don't care about you, Lou,” Cindy says. “They only care about being seen with you. You're the one who never returns their phone calls. There's not an emotional connection there for you. That makes all the difference in the world. You just need to figure that out and give a guy you actually care about a chance. A guy like Stefan who so clearly adores you.”

I've told Cindy a hundred times that I can't do that. I have trust issues. Now I have werewolf issues. I have all kinds of issues. “Maybe I can when I figure out exactly what happened to me, and why it's happening again.”

“I hope so,” she responds sleepily. “And I hope you're not just digging yourself in deeper by involving a private investigator and searching for answers that might not be out there.”

Walking over, I stand above her. She looks so small and helpless beneath the covers. “Why aren't you afraid of me?” I ask her. “I'm afraid for you. I'm not even sure you should be here with me anymore.”

Her eyes had drifted closed. Now she opens them. “You'd never hurt me, Lou. I know that and you should know it, too. What you did before, that was self-defense. It's not in your nature to go around killing people for the hell of it. Now, lighten up and go to bed. You need to look stunning for your boyfriend in the morning.”

Cindy has been giving me advice since kindergarten. I love her. Deep down, I know I could never hurt her, but I guess the trust issues I have aren't just with other people. They include myself. I want to believe Cindy. I want to believe it desperately. As far as looking stunning for my boyfriend … I have a bone to pick with Stefan. He might not find me quite so chummy tomorrow.

*   *   *

I've nearly forgotten about the dream by the time I finish the shoot the next day. It was a good day because I got to work with Karen again and I really like her. It was a bad day because I had to work with Stefan's new lover. I actually growled at Natasha when I stepped into the studio and saw her. I also growled when I saw the shoot setup. Stefan had the studio decorated like a hayloft. We had to wear designer jeans and cowboy boots.

I didn't want to think about Morgan Kane today. Or Terry Shay, or Sally Preston. I sure as hell didn't want to think about Stefan having sex with Natasha Somethingorother. Whenever Stefan asked me to give it to him today, I gave him the cold shoulder instead.

Besides cheating on me, he's had on a stocking cap all morning. I know his bald head gets cold sometimes and he wears a cap, but I might be able to envision him with hair if the cap weren't bright orange. Even Bozo doesn't look good in orange hair. Everyone is ready to call it a day and I head toward the dressing room with the other models.

“Do you need a ride home, Lou?” Stefan calls.

When Cindy and I don't share a cab, Stefan always offers me a ride home. He'd offer both of us one when Cindy does work with me, but he has a two-seater. I usually accept but today I'm thinking it's not a good idea to be around him. I might break the bonds of our supposed friendship and ask him point-blank about Natasha.

“No, thanks,” I call back. “I'll get a cab.”

He frowns. He's not stupid. Stefan knows something is up with me today. “Fine,” he says. “I'm going for coffee. I'll be back in a few if you change your mind.”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

The girls eye me oddly when I reach the dressing room. Stefan isn't the only who has noticed my chilly attitude toward him today.

“You should have taken the ride,” Natasha comments in her thick Russian accent. “He's a good driver, if you know what I mean.”

About now is when all the girls would normally giggle over her obvious insinuation. No one does. Natasha hasn't been in the business long, at least not in New York. I heard she did some modeling in California before moving to New York. She isn't chummy enough with everyone to be talking about her sex life.

Karen pulls off her pointed cowboy boots and gives Natasha a dirty look. “He might drive around with you, girl, but we all know he's crazy in love with Lou.”

Karen's statement sends a little shock through me. I figured everyone thought we had slept together; it never occurred to me anyone thought Stefan was in love with me. The statement obviously shocks Natasha, as well. She plants her hands on her hips and glares at me.

“He said the two of you are only friends.”

Karen walks over in thong underwear and a silk halter. She pats Natasha on the shoulder. “Here's a lesson about American men. They'll say anything to get a woman into bed.”

“Amen,” Leslie Fields echoes.

Natasha puffs up like a toad. “Stefan is from Ireland,” she announces, as if that is somehow relevant.

Karen laughs. “Men are men no matter where they come from. They're all pigs. You'd do better to get you a sweet girl like Cindy Emerson. I could see you two together.”

When Karen glances at me and winks, I almost burst out laughing.