A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Shorty | July 28, 2009

Turns out, while I’ve been avoiding having this talk with her, that Aimee’s curiosity has gotten the better of her.

She went all detective on me and she started asking around, making enquiries.

It was simple really, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.

She just started off where we left off. She started with The Reflex. She just asked a few questions about that night. Staff there just told her what they tell everyone who enquires. For a certain week of the month, lunar week, the club has a strict membership only policy. That’s they’re standard line. I’ve heard it before.

What they wouldn’t have told her is the membership is designed for wolves to be able to come out and play, and keep everything under control without hurting anyone.  Of course there are a select few humans allowed around, but they have to be guests vouched for by at least two wolves. They become the wolves responsibility in the club.

All she had to hear was the word “Lunar” and she made the connection easily enough.

“So you’re a Lycan?” She asked me outright, without blinking or taking her eyes off my face.

My less than stellar response “Uh, we just call ourselves were-wolf’s.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

How do I answer that one? It’s a damn good question.

“Self preservation.” I said the words before I even realized I said it.

“You mean, you didn’t trust me enough, to tell me this important thing about you.” Aimee fired back angrily.

No.

“We’ve been friends for five years . Five years! I would have thought you’d have figured out, I could be trusted. Have I ever done anything for you to not trust me?”

No.

“To think I would ever deliberately hurt you?”

No.

“Do you find such little value in our friendship that you can’t share this with me, when I tell you everything about my life?”

No.

“Where you ever going to tell me?”

No.

Suddenly I’m realizing something I didn’t think of before, this really isn’t about Breukelen Girl werewolf, freak.  It’s about her and who I am, to her.  Does this rock the foundations of some image of me she’s built up in her head? I think it does.  We sat in awkward silence for a good three minutes. Which stretched out, felt like forever in a room of tension. Till I broke it.

“If the situation were reversed what would you have done?”

Her face went pink.  Her mouth tightened.

Yeah, I thought the same.

“I’m hurt that you kept this from me.”

“Why? It’s not like I go around telling everyone I’m friends with, hey once a month I turn into a howling fur ball because I have no say in the matter. So don’t hunt down any wild stray dogs, it might be me in disguise.

“That’s so not the point.”

“Then what is?” I yelled at her, not realizing I’d raised my voice until she kind of looked at me with surprise. I’ve never been the loose your temper type of person.  But if you’re going to be under attack for being who you are, you may as well get to the heart of the problem and roaring at someone kind of gets there faster.

“Does this change who I am?”

No!

“Strawberry ice-cream with real strawberries is still my favorite, I still enjoy listening to punk-rock music, watching bad reality TV shows, and I’m still sleeping with Conall, I still have no car, I still live at home with my parents, and I’m still only five foot eight inches tall.”

She cranked an eyebrow up at me.

Just the one.

“So it doesn’t give you any special powers to speak of?”

“Well  there are benefits. Heightened hearing, night vision, accurate sense of smell, tracking abilities, speed, accelerated healing for health problems.  Fast metabolism, Higher immunity to most health problems…it varies from wolf to wolf, depending on whether you’re a beta or an Alpha, pack lines your come from, that kind of thing… same as with human races, really…”

“But you’re still only five foot eight?”

I stared at her. Hard.

“That’s what you got out of all that?”

She was starting to smile.

I let out a heavy breath and felt some tension leave my body. Shook my head as I tried to hide a laugh.  I was holding onto reservation about feeling like things were going to be good between us.

“Say it. Say the thing.”

“What?”

She was smirking at me. Totally diffusing my try hard build up of defensive anger.

Aimee’s five foot nine and there’s this thing she always says to rile me up, when we’re comparing body issues and the like.

“Okay, being tall is everything.”

Big smug smile at me.

“Are we good here? Considering your height challenging statement’s authority on matters of everything?” I asked.

“Yeah, Shorty, we’re  good.”

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