My Wolf’s Bane(9)

My stomach twisted at the thought of starting all over somewhere else. Worse, with school almost over, why bother enrolling me wherever we ended up? I’d be back to home schooling.

“Something wrong?” Mom asked, exhaling as she flicked ashes into the ashtray.

Yes, something was definitely wrong, but my urge to rehash it with them died as soon as I’d seen the loaded bags. What was the point when they already knew how I felt? “I’m fine,” I lied, giving them a tight smile. “I have a lot of homework though. See you for dinner.”

I slogged down the hall to my room. After kicking off my shoes, I wiggled my toes in the silky fuzz of the white faux fur rug at the foot of my bed and drew in a lungful of air. Mom or Dad must have been smoking in my room recently. Gross. I glanced at my dresser to see a stack of folded clothes that had been dropped off. With another breath came the scent of laundry detergent. From across the room.

I didn’t know how I was able to smell it from that far away, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Fatigue nagged me. Maybe after a nap, I could forget my rotten day.

Sprawling over my purple comforter, I closed my eyes. Noises surrounded me — the patter of my mom’s feet as she went downstairs, a dish clattering against the counter, the refrigerator door opening and closing, water rushing through the pipes. How could I possibly hear all that?

From my prone position, I brought my knee to my chest and rolled up my jeans. My knee appeared perfectly normal. No swelling, no scratch. But as much as it had hurt bashing into the step, there should’ve been something to show for the pain.

My new super-hearing, crazy sense of smell and fast healing couldn’t be my imagination.

But it had to be.

I was just a normal girl who’d been reading too many vampire romances and werewolf tales.

† † †

Wolves howled in the distance.

I crouched perfectly still, huddled against a moss-covered tree trunk, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and pine.

The snarls grew louder and leaves rustled. The wolves were getting closer. Sweat trickled down my temple and my breath froze in my lungs as I braced myself for the inevitable.

I sucked in air and bolted upright, my heart thudding against my ribcage. I rubbed my eyes, then scanned the walls around me. My room. No wolves. I released my breath and flopped back onto my pillow.

It had been years since I’d dreamed of them. Why now?

The sun had lowered, casting shadows on the walls. It had to be almost dinner time. My stomach growled in confirmation. Shrugging off my nightmare, I headed downstairs.

When I settled at the table to eat with my parents, I was too disturbed over the day’s events to concentrate on food. Wayward boyfriends, bitchy friends, my inevitable return to home schooling… And then there were my heightened senses and accelerated healing — which were my imagination, of course.

“How are your classes going?” My mom eyed me over her plate of rice, sautéed vegetables and stuffed tomatoes.

She didn’t fool me. Their love for me was the one constant in my life, but they took it to extremes. One more thing to add to the list of oddities about my parents: they asked a lot of questions about my teachers, my friends and anyone else I mentioned. But if someone else asked questions about us, they got twitchy.

Like in Reno, Nevada, when I was fourteen-years-old, the waiter at a restaurant was curious why we were vegetarians and asked what school I went to. We’d moved a week later. Or a couple years ago when our neighbors in St. George, Utah had asked, in what seemed like polite conversation, where we were from — I’d told them. That time, I’d only had a few days before being whisked away.

Way to make me earn my adulthood by loving me to death. I adored them, but their backseat-driving and paranoia drove me crazy. And drove me away.

They weren’t exactly over-sharers either, so my info deprivation only fueled my imagination. I used to wonder if I’d been kidnapped, but blew it off since I looked too much like my mom. Had something bad happened to make them so overcautious? I’d asked, but never got any straight answers. Ironically, I’d hated their aversion to sharing information, yet I’d developed the same affliction with them.

Until I knew the reason for their paranoia, omitting details and giving my parents a more pleasant version of reality would keep them from worrying as much — and from ruining my life.

“Aced my history test.” Which was odd since I hadn’t studied at all. Like I’d suddenly gotten way smarter. “But I’m not sure why any of that matters since I won’t be graduating with everyone else.” I set my glass on the table with a bang.