It wasn't supposed to be like this. She
hadn't lost control in years, and the night she
does, everything goes to ruins. The dead body
had begun to stink, blood coagulating on the
floor of her garage. Maybe she deserved it,
after all. Any happiness that came her way
was always s h a d o w e d by familiar
blood, death, and destruction.
Friday; work. Saturday; the most incredible
date ever. Sunday; full moon. It was almost
laughable. Gingerly she hoisted the dead
man's legs into the plastic wrap, swallowing
the bile that rose, before she could do no
more. God, why her? At least she hadn't
eaten this one.
"Redeemer and saviour, forgive my sins,
count not my transgressions, but rather,
tears of repentance--" A cough, a cry, a
sniffle as she smeared life blood from
her own cheek.
By the time the door opened she'd no where to
run to. Did someone call the police on her, did
they hear the wolf and know what was wrong?
Anyone should could have expected, anyone
but him.
"Graham--!" She was frozen still without
explanation or wherewithal. Was it selfish of her
to not have thought of him once, not since she
spilled blood again? Not of his gentle smile,
clever wit, electric charge? Her hands clutched
behind her back, but there was no hiding the
body, the mess, the stench. Her heart was in her
throat, and she knew she couldn't do this to him,
not to anyone ever again, no matter what.
"Graham, please, I can-- I can explain this."
I'm a fucking lunatic. "I'm a werewolf." Pathetic.
"It was an accident, and I'd never, I--" I've done it
before. Countless times. "Please, I wouldn't lie to
you, not about this." Truth lay in her words hence,
and her prayers repeated, over and over. "I need
your help."