Taken In by the Pack: Second Chances (12 page)

No, not drinking myself into a stupor. Just
thinking
myself into a stupor.
I rolled my eyes at my own mental sarcasm. I lay there for a few minutes, working up the willpower to fight past the headache enough to get up and go take something for it.

I thumped my way into the kitchen, grimacing at the trail of dropped items leading into the bedroom. My inner neat-freak, lazy as she was, was fuming about it. That would just have to wait, however; right now, I had much more pressing concerns.

I got a glass, filled it from my water filter pitcher, poured a handful of ibuprofen into my palm, then thought better of that and reduced it to a mere three. I didn’t usually drink coffee, but this seemed like a good time for it, so I put on a half pot to brew, as well. A bowl of cereal finished off my preparations, and I sat on my lone stool, eating rather mechanically, just trying not to make any sudden movements that might anger my pounding head. It felt like it was at
least
three times the size it should be.

Once the coffee was finished dripping, I sat sipping it slowly and considered what to do with my day. I had had some vague notions of going to the gym today, but as mentally and physically exhausted — not to mention headachy — as I felt, that was probably not the best idea. Studying would probably not be a bad idea after the last couple of weeks. It was tempting to just wallow in misery and mull over what happened the night before, but that seemed less than productive. By the time I finished my now cool coffee and rinsed out both the pot and my cup, I still hadn’t come to any real decisions.

Lacking any other ideas, I went into the living room and grabbed one of my school books. I lay back on my rather threadbare couch, reading, though after a while I realized I wasn’t retaining much. Not as bad as the weekend before, at least, but I’d still need to reread everything I’d just read. I kept at it for half an hour or so, but then gave up.

I sighed and closed the book, letting it thump down onto the coffee table. I hadn’t felt this over-all sluggish in a long time, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling. I looked over at the clothes and other items strewn on the floor, but I couldn’t work up the wherewithal to get up and deal with it.

Finally I rolled on my side, and flipped on the TV. I watched a nice mindless rom-com on Netflix, half drowsing through most of it. By the time it was done, the caffeine and ibuprofen had done its work enough that I managed to get up and clean my trail of shame, then went and got a shower.

The hot water felt good on my sore muscles.
Apparently fainting and falling on the dirt combined with an evening full of non-stop adrenaline isn’t great for you. Go figure.

I felt slightly more myself after I was clean and in a comfy little jersey-knit house dress, and returned to the living room couch.

❖ ❖ ❖

As I settled on the couch again, clean and somewhat calmer, I grabbed my phone, intending to play a game or something. Shortly after I unlocked it, though, I stopped, looking at the contacts and texts icons.

Abruptly, with a crushing weight that shocked me, I wanted to call Angie, or my mom, or even Cara — my best friend back in high school who I’d had far too little contact with since we both went off to college —
someone,
and talk about all of this. I wanted to talk it all out with a sympathetic ear, someone who could help me figure out what I should do, and what I wanted to do. I wanted it so badly that it felt like someone was physically crushing my chest, until I could barely breath it hurt so badly, and a couple of tears slid their way down my cheeks.

But who could I call, really? What would I say to anyone I did call? ‘Hi, mom, I think I may be in love with a werewolf and I’m considering becoming one myself by having his babies!’?
Yeah, that would work soo well.
‘Angie, remember the guy you told me to stay away from cause he was dangerous? Well, it turns out he changes into a wolf a couple of times a month!’ I could just imagine how well that would go over.

I
could
probably talk to Angie about the non-weird stuff, I supposed, but how would you even go about trying to separate the two at this point? How could you explain that yes, he broke my heart and abandoned me, but he thought he had good reasons for it — without going on to explain what those reasons
were?
That sure he might have been stalking me, but only because he wants me to join his furry family?

Dammit, relationship crap like this was hard enough without all this blasted weirdness attached! And how was any girl supposed to sort through it without the help and advice of her friends and mentors and family?

Relationship crap? Is that what we have, a relationship? Again?

There it was: the echo of the question I had stumbled on last night. Had he ever actually said he wanted us to be together again? To be a couple? Did
I
want that?

He’d seemed to care, to feel tenderly towards me, but for all I knew he was like that to all the females in his little pack. My nose wrinkled as other possible implications of that thought rippled through my mind. Did wolves even have ‘couples’ as I thought of them? He and I had been a couple in high school, but by his own admission he hadn’t expected it to last, and also he hadn’t changed yet.

Were they like… all a harem for him?

I shuddered, nearly gagging at the thought.
That,
I knew, was
not
something I could accept, if it was the case. I was way, way too possessive. I wanted what was mine to be mine, the end. Sharing was not among my skills, not in that context anyway.

This was definitely a question I needed answered.
Add it to the list,
I thought.
The very, very long list
. . .

I realized, about then, that I had not ruled out going this evening. I hadn’t decided for sure I was going to go, but I hadn’t ruled it out, either. I definitely needed answers, and I didn’t know how else to go about trying to get them, other than waiting around and hoping Bryson decided to show up. I didn’t even have his new cell number. Another item for my growing mental list.

I also absolutely, positively wanted to see him again. I didn’t even have to question that fact. Which in retrospect should have probably answered a lot of my questions about my own feelings and intentions; but at the time, it was just one factor among many that I considered.

❖ ❖ ❖

As the afternoon dragged on, in a seemingly endless loop of time — I actually checked at one point to make sure I hadn’t somehow missed a night and it was suddenly Sunday — I continued to try and distract myself, growing almost desperate.

I played games on my phone. Although I found one cute app, it didn’t hold my attention for long, and I uninstalled it again in less than half an hour. I got my laptop and surfed the web for a little while, caught up on some forums I frequented, and generally wasted time. Eventually I ended up back with Netflix and put on a series I’d been meaning to watch.

I watched about an episode, maybe one and a half, before I dozed off on the couch. You would think having slept in so late, I’d have had plenty of rest!

Fortunately I woke before it got too late. I yawned, and stretched, and finally pulled my lazy self off of the couch. I needed to make myself something to eat before I had to decide if I was going or not.

I did a quick inventory of my kitchen. I didn’t have a whole lot of options. I grabbed one of the little single-serving pouches of chicken breast from my freezer, chopped it up and put it in a nice stir-fry marinade. I got out various veggies from the fridge and began to chop them as well. It was pleasant, mindless work, but it kept me from obsessing. Then I went and tidied up the living room while I waited to give the chicken a little longer to marinate before I cooked.

Among the various clutter, I came across the little medallion that my father used to wear. It had gotten left behind when he took off, dropped behind a dresser. I’d found it a few days later while mom and I had been cleaning up, and had kept it ever since. Suddenly, the painful irony of it felled me; I collapsed onto the couch, and all the tumultuous emotions of the last few days came pouring out in sounds that fluctuated from laughter to sobs, sometimes within the same breath.

The medallion bore a tiny, intricate image of a lone wolf on a cliff, howling at the moon.

“And you were proud of it! You
bastard!
” I shouted at the room, at the little pendant, at the man — now a hazy memory at best — who had left me behind, with no knowledge of the heritage he had given me and all that it had implied; had left me to be hurt again by another man for the mere crime of that ignorance.

Bryson was certainly not guiltless, far from it, but his errors had been made in ignorance at least. My father, on the other hand, had actively chosen what he’d done, and surely must have known what it could mean for me.

In a pique, I threw the necklace, and it hit the wall, leaving a tiny divot, and slid down behind the dresser my TV was perched on. The irony of that was not lost on me, either. Had it ended up behind that other dresser when I was little from a similar fit of anger?

I gave myself a few minutes on the couch to cry and grieve, as much for that little girl as my current situation. My dinner was waiting, though, and it wasn’t going to cook itself.

I pulled myself up and returned to the kitchen. I may have included a bit extra saltwater in my stirfry, but that never hurt anyone.

❖ ❖ ❖

As I sat at the counter eating, I continued to weigh the pros and cons, trying to decide whether to go that night or not. I knew I would see him again, needed to see him and talk to him and try to understand more. I was even fairly sure I was leaning towards accepting the offer, of becoming part of the pack. If.

If. What a world of meaning in two little letters.

If
he actually wanted to be with me.
Does that mean I want to be with him?

If
that didn’t mean sharing him with a bunch of other girls. Wolves. Whatever.

That didn’t mean I had to go tonight, though. I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with that. All those people, staring at me, watching me, studying every word and movement. Was that how things normally were with them? Surely not. Meaning I was the spectacle, I was a source of amusement and entertainment.

Or, maybe, they were actually trying to be supportive. Awfully strange way to show your support, though, making the person in question feel studied, if not ridiculed outright.

I leaned my face into my palms with a little groan. I’d had the day to think this all over, and I felt like I wasn’t any closer to understanding, or to a decision, than I had been when I’d left the meadow last night. Everything had seemed to clear, so obvious then; why now was I sitting here fluttering in useless indecision?

Okay, so, look at it from a different perspective
. If I went, what is the worst that could happen? Well, I suppose the
worst
that could happen would be that they killed me and ate me, but I figured I ought to just examine what was the worst that was reasonably
likely
to happen. As far as I could figure it, that was being laughed at again. Which was uncomfortable, but hardly the end of the world.

If I stayed home, what was the worst that could happen? My mind supplied that answer readily enough.
I could lose this chance, with Bryson, and with the pack.
The little trembling coil of cold in the pit of my stomach at that thought finally propelled me up off the stool. If I was afraid of losing this chance, then I should probably not risk it over a simple matter of pride.

As I dashed to my room to find something appropriate to wear, I reflected briefly that despite being hurt and angry at the gawking and the laughter, to my surprise potentially losing the pack
did
also play a part in the decision, not only Bryson. Interesting.

It was already later than it had been when I’d left yesterday, and I wasn’t even dressed. I would have to hurry if I wanted to make it in any kind of a reasonable time frame.

I grabbed basically the first things my hands fell on, which turned out to be a pair of loose cotton knit capris and a tank top. It was still a bit on the cool side for just a tank top at night, so I grabbed a light sweater as well. No time for anything fancy with my face or hair; I just pulled a brush through the long strands and put on a little lip gloss.

Phone, keys, purse, and I was out the door.