Memoirs of a Girl Wolf (18 page)

              I wasn’t craving raw meat—that’d be weird, but it had been a weird weekend and a weird day. I was tired and it was still the afternoon. The sun hadn’t even set yet though it would be setting soon. Despite my date with Reign being cut short, I was content to be home. I’d be even more content once Mom and Eric returned, though I wished Josh didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital.

              I returned to the stove and with the meat done cooking, I finished the sauce. A tired smile crept on my face as I reminded myself that tomorrow was Monday which meant I’d see more of Reign and I sighed again that the weird day was almost over. Little did I know, however, that the night had yet to begin.

20

              Despite the emotional chaotic day, Eric was very chatty at dinner. He insisted on repeating the story for us about how Josh fell off the railing, but he could barely finish because he would double over in laughter then Mom would snap at him to be quiet and have more respect for his brother, but it did no good. Eric thought it was hilarious.

              “Your brother was in a lot of pain,” Mom said, frowning.

              Eric sat up straighter and ran his finger under his eyes to catch loose tears that were born out of laughter. He ignored Mom and started telling us the funny things Josh said on the pain medication. It was pretty funny even Mom smiled a little.

              “He kept saying, ‘I’m a brave boy,’” Eric laughed.

              “He is a brave boy. I’ve never broken a bone before and I wouldn’t want to,” I said.

              “You did great on dinner.” Mom jumped in changing the subject.

I glanced down at the round plate before me covered in overcooked thin spaghetti noodles and red meat sauce. Shrugging I mumbled a thank you, but I didn’t take much pride in the dinner.

              “Hey, you did,” Mom said, noticing my frown. “Your brothers don’t even know how to boil water. I really appreciate the help. Let me make you some tea,” Mom said as she stood from the table and carried her plate to the sink.

              While filling the tea pot with running water from the faucet, she spoke to us from the kitchen about Josh’s doctor and diagnosis, but I didn’t pay attention because at that moment I had shrugged off my fleece jacket for the first time that afternoon and saw my arm which had been badly cut the day before perfectly healed. I ran my fingers up and down my bare forearm, amazed.
Regeneration
. Phoenix had said I have the ability to regenerate and something else. I closed my eyes and thought hard to the day before and the conversation that took place in the woods. I thought back on Phoenix with clarity instead of disdain. Surely it was a trick, a fake knife? Fake blood? But I felt it. I felt the knife pierce my skin and I saw the deep cut and the red blood spill from the wound. It hurt for hours afterward. I saw it all. I felt it, but now it’s as if nothing happened just like with my leg and he knew about my leg. He knew. Regeneration and . . . what was the other one? I couldn’t remember I had been so scared with him in the woods. I wasn’t paying attention to him that well.

              “Did your arm hurt too Eric? When Josh fell?” Mom asked from the kitchen.

              Eric’s lips were covered in marinara sauce as he sucked on a long noodle. “No, why would it?”

              “Oh, there’s an old belief that twins are so connected they can feel each other’s pain.”

              Gasping, I opened my eyes. “Which arm was it that he hurt?” I asked. My blood ran cold as I waited for someone to respond and when no one did, I raised my voice and with some urgency and asked again.

              “Left,” Mom said. She was standing directly behind me with her hand on the back of my chair as she set the stemming mug of tea on the table in front of me.

             
Empathy
. I rubbed my left arm where the day before was marked with a bloody cut and hours earlier was the source of the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. Regeneration and empathy was that why my arm hurt then? I was feeling Josh’s pain? But how?

              No. I shook my head and laughed silently. Picking up the mug with both hands, I pursed my lips and blew on the hot drink. Its sweet aroma clouded my senses and made me yawn dramatically. What a long day. I wasn’t thinking straight.

              “Drink up,” Mom said, sitting back down at the table, but she wasn’t looking at me or Eric she was instead staring with an anxious expression knitted in her eyebrows out the back door and at the sky which was approaching dusk. The faint moon rose as the last rays of the sun were eaten by darkness.

             
Don’t drink the tea
. Phoenix’s voice echoed in my mind.

              I entertained the thought. The thought that maybe what he had told me was true and what would I do about it, but first I needed to know why I shouldn’t drink the tea. The tea I had been given, I know realized, every night at dinner since my sixteenth birthday. I was so used to the tea that now I almost craved it.              

              I set the mug back down on the table and watched the tea leaves float in almost a trance until Mom’s voice pulled me out of. She wanted to know why I wasn’t drinking the tea. She had a forced smile on her face.

              “I’m gonna take it upstairs and drink it while I finish my homework,” I said, standing slowly from the table. I took the mug with me.

              Mom folded her hands under her chin and sighed. “I’ll clean up since you cooked. Eric, go take a shower.”

              I walked quickly away from the table and up the stairs where I shut myself in my room. My heart was beating wildly. I didn’t know what to do with the mug. First, I set it on the bedside table and really did try to do my reading for English, but the tea kept distracting me. What was it? Why did he tell me not to drink it and how did he even know about it?

              I shuddered at the thought of how much Phoenix knew about me and I knew nothing of him. Did my father really send him? I was so confused.

              I picked the mug up and carried it into the bathroom where I dumped the drink down the drain in the sink. A heavy sigh escaped me, as I watched the last of it swirl down the drain. Only the tea leaves remained in the sink which I collected with a tissue and threw away in the trash beside the toilet. Then coming to a stop inform of the smudged mirror, I studied my reflection. My hair looked redder, longer, and fuller, but maybe the color just stood out to me more because I was so fair, but my eyes appeared different to me. They were a dark green and had a mesmerizing glow about them that I had never noticed before.

              Standing under the light, I felt hot. I started perspiring along my forehead and under my arms. My breathing became raspy. This was all too much for me. It was so crazy. I freaked out over tea for nothing, I told myself. Gathering my hair I put it up in a messy bun on top of my head and changed into a navy blue night shirt before jumping back into bed and picking up
Hamlet
, my reading for English.

              After a few minutes, the knob on my bedroom door began to turn and the door slowly opened. Why wouldn’t they knock or just barge in? To be so secretive about it was odd, unless Eric was trying to scare me, but if it was Mom she would be expecting that I drank the tea. I quickly tried to remember what I usually do after I drink the tea, but I couldn’t. I always woke up the next morning. In fact, my memory of the last couple months seemed to have ben nonexistent. I couldn’t think of one night I had stayed up past dinner, so I turned on my side and closed my eyes. Slowing my breathing, I pretended, as best I could, to be asleep, but I hoped my heart which had picked up pace again because of how upset I was about my faulty memory, wouldn’t give me away. And soon, Mom’s arms were around me, she cradled me and started carrying me from the room.

I didn’t even know that was possible. I had always been taller than her, but that would explain her arms which I noticed the other morning had doubled in size due to impressive muscle. I practically held my breath, so that my hearing would not be distracted. I tried my best to make out where she was carrying me to. Down the hall past my brother’s bathroom, I could hear the shower running, then we came to a quick stop at the end of the hall when Mom started climbing up stairs. There was also a slight temperature change. It grew hotter which meant we were entering the attic which was always a little stuffy.

Mom’s breathing became a little more laborious as she carried me up the stairs. I was so mad by this point that I did my best to be as limp and dead weight as possible. She adjusted me in her arms a little once at the top of the stairs and then I was gently set on my side on the couch.

I could hear Mom moving furniture across the room and judging that because of this she wasn’t paying attention to me, I opened my eyes just a little to get a look. What I could see was Mom sure enough across from me pushing a tall bookshelf away from the wall. She struggled a little with the weight, but after it moved out enough, I noticed a door with dead locks. Mom fumbled with each lock and then pulled the door open by grabbing onto a steel door handle. The door must have been heavy because Mom really had to pull on it to get it open.

Deciding that the door was open enough, Mom turned back toward me and I had by this point shut my eyes again. Soon her hands were once again picking me up and cradling me against her chest. I was carried across the room and then I guessed through the door. The light changed. It was darker and cooler where ever I was. I was laid down on a hard floor. I guessed tile. It was cold and I flinched a little as my cheek made contact with the smooth surface.

The room smelled like spoiled meat, but I didn’t have long to process this because Mom started placing chains around my ankles. I was terrified by this point, but I continued pretending to be asleep. Why was she doing this to me? The chains made a horrible noise as Mom locked them around my ankles and then pulled on them to make sure they were secure. At least this explained the box of chains I found in the attic months earlier. How long had mom been doing this to me? But more importantly why?

After I was chained up, I heard her walk across the small, dark room and leave. The door shut after her. I opened my eyes, it was completely dark. I listened to each one of the locks lock back into place before sitting up and touching the chains around my feet, but feeling a slight burning sensation once my fingers touched them, I jerked my hand away in concern.

A light above me flickered on and for the first time I could analyze the room I was in. it was small. Probably the size of my bathroom. The floor was, like I had guessed, tile. The door was steel. Along the walls were more chains.

Was my mother afraid of me?

In the right corner of the room away from the door was a round bowl of water and next to that another bowl that looked like may be used for food of some kind.

I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my head on my knees. Crying a little, I began to accept what Phoenix had told me. Was I really what he had called me? A wolf? Is that why Mom was going to such an extreme to protect me or wait no to protect her and my brothers
from
me. I was dangerous and I threatened the safety of my loved ones.

The burden of responsibility settled on my hunched shoulders. She had been lying to me. Keeping this huge thing from me. I was mad. Is this why she re-did the attic last summer? I had so many questions. I needed to talk to Mom, but for now it looked like I was going to have to spend the night in the room

I knew I should’ve felt right at home, if this was indeed where I had been spending my nights, but I was uncomfortable and scared and concerned. The chains hurt and the floor was cold. The room still smelled rank and then the light flickered off and I was in utter darkness again. I turned on my side, curled my legs, and cried myself to sleep.

I managed to sleep that night though it was a restless, uncomfortable sleep. Sometime in the early morning, Mom returned. The door slowly opened and light from the attic flooded in to the small room where I was kept, curled in a ball on my side with my back to the door. I pretended, like I had the night before, to still be asleep. I found myself once again cradled in mom’s strong arms and I was carried down the attic stairs and to my room where Mom softly placed me in my bed and then pulled my covers over me. She hesitated, stroking my hair, and then after gingerly patting my cheek she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I couldn’t believe she had been doing that every night and morning since August. She must be exhausted, but I was still mad. I kicked the covers off of me with extra force and sat up in my bed.

The sun was just peaking in the sky and painting it in golden, pink tones. For a few minutes I just sat staring at the rising sun. It felt so good to be out of that horrible room and in the comfort of my familiar bedroom. After a few deep breaths, I quietly got out of bed and walked to the door which I opened slowly and peered down the dark hallway. The house was quiet. Mom probably went back to sleep and Eric was, most likely, not even trying to wake up yet.

I didn’t want to see Mom. I did want to talk to her eventually and before that night because I was not going to spend another night in that dark, smelly closet of a room, but I didn’t want to confront her yet, so I thought I should do everything possible to avoid her.