Escaping from the wolf
9

My legs trembled; it was a strange sensation. I bit my lower lip inconsistently but stopped almost immediately. I didn't want him to think I wanted to kiss him because I didn't. Obviously not, it's not like I want to know what his lips taste like or anything.

I looked at him, his eyes asking for permission. I could see it. I have to do something! The rain got heavier, so, surprising even myself, I pushed him aside and quickly got into the car.

"Sorry, Thomas, but I think you're going alone," I said with a playful look.

He looked at me, hiding a smile or... regretting something.

"Come on, little Anne..." he approached my window.

I was determined to leave him, to forget that he almost kissed me, and never see him again.

"Thomas, I have to get home." I shrugged. "And we never saw each other today." I winked at him, but then regretted it. Why on earth did I wink at him? I just hope he doesn't misinterpret it. He looked at me with boredom, but his eyes still had that strange shine.

"See you tomorrow in class?" he asked, giving up.

"I'm not going tomorrow, or the whole week," I lied. "My dad and I are going to visit my brother in the city."

He narrowed his eyes.

He was getting very wet, and for a moment, I felt the need to tell him to get in, but he was a werewolf, so he'd be fine.

"I understand..." he muttered, not very convinced.

I nodded.

"Goodbye, Thomas."

I pressed the accelerator, speeding away. I could see him lose his balance as I forced him away from the window.

I looked in the rearview mirror; he was standing in the middle of the road, smiling with his hands over his heart.

I smiled.

Definitely, I have to stay away from him again.

Dad's car was parked in front of the house. I got out of the car, my hands trembling, and went inside. I had to be strong, ready to hear everything he had to say, putting up my shield to deflect his hurtful words. I opened the door.

"Dad? I'm home." I closed the door behind me.

Silence.

A noise in the kitchen made me jump in fright.

I walked quickly; there he was, with a beer in his mouth and a broken one on the floor. The noise I had heard was the sound of a beer bottle breaking, and now there were shards of glass and liquid scattered on the floor. When he saw me, he set the bottle aside.

"Where were you?" he asked in a gruff voice.

His voice makes my blood freeze... with fear.

"I-I was with Carolina," I replied, my voice always fearful.

I hate it.

He laughed, shaking his head, then ran his hands over his face. He was sitting at the dining table, with a case of beers next to him. I don't know how long he's been drinking, but something tells me it's been a while. "As always, right?" He looked at me. "You'll never learn to speak properly! Stop stuttering! I hate it!" He pounded the table with his fist.

I jumped.

My eyes were getting teary, but I told myself I wouldn't cry in front of him. My breath was short and I struggled to inhale, as if I suddenly forgot how to breathe and had to do it manually. I hate when Dad is home.

"You weren't with a boy, were you?" He took a swig of his beer. "Because whoever he is, I give him my deepest condolences."

I felt a pain in my heart. Having your own father say these things hurts. I can tolerate it from Kara or her other friends, but from him, never.

"N-no, I'm not with... anyone," I murmured, lowering my head. I didn't want him to see my red eyes; he would attack me, saying I had to be stronger and not cry.

"Whatever, just know, Anne, that you shouldn't waste time with boys; they'll only use you and then dump you. They know you're not worth it."

I clenched my fists, hurting myself with my nails.

"It will always be that way..." he looked me up and down. "You're so plain."

I swallowed hard.

"I'm going to my room," I said finally, turning away.

"Stop." He spoke. I turned back. "Clean that up." He pointed at the glass shards.

I nodded, crouching down and starting to pick up the glass carefully. I placed the pieces in my hand, trying not to cut myself.

"You remind me of your mother: always useless."

I gritted my teeth and tightened my hands, forgetting I had glass in them. I felt a small pain and then the blood dripping.

I thought I would faint because I started seeing black dots clouding my vision. I've never liked blood.

"See, I told you, you're useless!" he scolded me.

I quickly went to wash off the blood. It was nothing, just a small cut, but I still had to put on a bandage.

I ignored my dad's comments. It was just another normal day for me.

I was standing with my arms crossed, along with Carolina, watching the cheerleaders practice. It was our PE class, and we always had to take this class with the other group. Apolo, who had been giving me quick glances for the twenty minutes we've been here, and Thomas, who was with another guy watching the cheerleaders. I don't know what they see in them. I mean, I know they're pretty, with long legs, they dance really well, and they're bold.

And to think I told Thomas I wouldn't attend classes this week.

We were sitting on the bleachers, just observing. Carolina was criticizing them, and sometimes I laughed at her sarcasm. But I didn't feel... present; my mind was wandering elsewhere.

Until the teacher blew her whistle.

"Alright, all the girls come here," she ordered.

We stood up and headed toward them.

The uniform for this class consisted of short shorts-pants for those who didn't like showing their legs, like me and a white T-shirt with a P in the middle, which stands for Portland. "We're going to play volleyball," she said. "Divide into two groups."

Play? And precisely that sport, knowing I have my hand bandaged.

I approached the teacher.

"Teacher, I can't play. I cut my hand last night." I showed her my bandaged hand.

"You're right." She pondered for a moment. "I'll give you another task: help Apolo pass the notes. You'll be fine." She smiled at me and walked away.

I opened my mouth to protest but then closed it. What's wrong with me? It's Apolo, my boyfriend. My boyfriend? Wow, it doesn't seem like it.

I looked at Apolo. He was standing, leaning against the wall, writing in a notebook. I clenched my hands. The girls started to get ready to play while the other boys just watched, sitting on the bleachers. We weren't on the football field but in the room used for basketball and cheerleading practice.

I walked slowly toward him. My hands started to sweat, and my feet didn't want to respond.

He looked up at me, and I could see him tense up immediately.

"Th-the teacher sent me to help you," I said right away.

He frowned, looking behind me where the girls were starting to play.

"Why aren't you playing?" he inquired.

Well, I was expecting a "How are you, Anne?" as he leaned in to kiss me. On the mouth. But I guess that's now just a memory.

I raised my bandaged hand. "I cut myself," I responded.

It's not that I wanted him to worry about me. He asked, and I answered. Okay, I admit it! Deep down, I wish he would.

He opened his eyes, completely surprised, and I saw him clench his hands.

"That's why she s-sent me."

"How did you cut yourself?" he asked seriously.

A spark of hope ignited within me.

I opened my mouth to respond but then closed it, not finding an excuse right away.

"I was washing a... glass, and apparently, I squeezed it too hard because it broke. In my hands," I explained.

He examined me.

I did everything to keep my face from showing that I was lying.

"You need to be more careful," he murmured, turning his attention back to the notebook.

I nodded.

I stood there, waiting for him to say something else. I noticed how he seemed lost in thought, like he wanted to tell me something but wasn't sure.

Until he looked at me, determined to speak.

"Anne, I want to talk to you," he said seriously, with no expression.

"Tell me," I smiled at him.

"I... I know I've been acting strange lately," he began. I nodded slowly. "But it was because I didn't want to tell you the truth. But now..." he paused, "It's better this way."

I blinked several times, not understanding. Was he going to tell me the truth?

"Just tell me," I urged.

He clenched his fists, looking nervous.

"Maybe you and I should take a break," he said.

My heart stopped for a split second at what he had just said.

"What?" my voice trembled.

He looked straight into my eyes. And with what he said next, my poor heart shattered completely:

"I want to break up with you, Anne."