Memories of my dad tending to my injuries with a steady supply of popsicles and Band-Aids brought a brief smile to my face, and a different kind of tear to my eye. As the whiskey took a greater hold on my faculties, I doubted the images of tonight that were, regardless, burned into my brain. Growls? Fur? Blood? It couldn’t be possible. Yet, something familiar lurked, a dull knowing of the beast.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d thought I’d seen in the shadows a similar set of eyes. However, never had the image been so undeniable under the light of the full moon. Never before had it dared to make itself known. How could I deny it this time? Especially when it felt like a kindred friend. Couldn’t be. That beast wasn’t anyone’s friend. My scared mind only wanted it so.
With another gulp of alcohol, I set my mind straight, No! It’s not possible. Wolves don’t get that big. Nor do they venture into the city to the back alley of a club.
As the steam from the warm water raining down in the shower covered the mirror, I blurred the distinct, sharp images in my mind. Although I knew better, I told myself I was drunker than I’d thought. For now, that worked for me. I would ignore the fact that I’d never leave a bar to drive if I wasn’t fully aware. Two drinks over the course of hours, along with an overconsumption of food, would have left me still more than capable to drive. However, I would go with the too-drunk-to-trust-my-eyes story and berate myself for the out-of-character possibility of driving drunk. It worked better at the moment.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said to the steamy image of myself in the mirror.
I forced myself to get undressed. Though, it left me feeling vulnerable despite the deadbolt engaged on my front door and the lock turned on my bathroom door. I laughed, a sharp and false sound, as I looked over my shoulder before getting in the shower.
“You’re losing much needed hot water here,” I scolded myself.
“Stop talking to yourself,” I answered back.
Any chance at rational thought had left me long ago.
Once I’d gingerly stepped into the shower, for several minutes I stood like a statue. Arms stiff down by my sides, hands fisted, head bowed, I let the hot water beat on my back. Blinking against stray drops, I didn’t back into the water as usual, to let it rush through my hair, because I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes. The strange sensation of man or beast jumping on me skittered across my skin. Even the wet hairs on my arms felt as if they’d raised up. I let out the breath I hadn’t been aware of holding with an audible sigh, which grew into a weeping gasp.
You are stronger than this, I reprimanded myself. Get it together. You’ve dealt with tougher alone before.
I had. I’d lost my mother to a drunk driver when I’d been just eleven years old. I’d lost my father to alcohol addiction and probably the sheer will to not have to live without the love of his life when I was twenty-two. My father had done his best. A sad drunk, he self-medicated with alcohol at night, maybe during the day, as well, to some extent. Although, he never let me go without. I had no doubt of his love for me, but the pain of living without my mom, and with me as a constant reminder of what he’d lost, had just been too much for him over the years.
Even with his care and guidance, I’d basically raised myself and suffered alone. Though more reserved than I probably should be, I hid my nervousness well, and could be tough as nails when forced into a corner or defending my beliefs. This was New York. I’d been stupid tonight to go out alone, so I’d gotten attacked. I’d basically asked for it. Yet, what bothered me the most was my savior, who had finally emerged into the bright moonlight.
I tried to keep the images of him vague, easier to explain away then. How dare such a beast emerge from the shadows, even if to save my life? A furry thing that size, that strong, it couldn’t exist. I wouldn’t let him. So, I reached my hand out of the shower to grab the whiskey bottle. I drank while still standing under the water, my toes curling in expectation of my wet grip dropping the bottle. As I swallowed, I could hear the sound of glass shattering despite the fact that my hand remained around the glass neck and the liquid poured down my throat.
Either I was too drunk or not drunk enough yet, I couldn’t decide. I sounded and felt like a crazy person. I couldn’t stand my own thoughts. So, after another hard gulp, my eyes watering from the burn, I placed the bottle back out on the sink and grabbed for the soap.