The girl who saves werewolves

12. The Girl Who Saves Werewolves - Part 1

 A low and irritated groan brings me back to the present. 

"What?" I snap at this annoying creature.

He massages his temples as if trying to fight the headache. I roll my eyes. I'm the one with a nearly crushed brain. He sits there in a comfortable chair. The gunshot wound he suffered days ago has long healed because of his freakish healing capability.

"I didn't ask you to give me your f*cking life story," he says.

"I didn't ask you to be here," I fire back. With a sweet smile of course.

"I don't care," he says.

"I know you don't."

He shakes his head. We've had that conversation again and again. And I bet we'll keep having it again and again.

"Just answer my question. Like a normal person," he groans. His accent becomes more prominent when he's irritated.

That makes me laugh. Like a normal person. There's no way a normal person could give him any sort of an answer.

"Maybe you should ask me normal people questions then," I smile. I've learned he's not much of a joker. I doubt he has any sense of humor. I've tried my best but not once has he even smiled at anything I've said.

"Are you in danger?" He repeats his question. The one that made me tell him how I became me. Well the beginning, because he's not a good listener.

"I've been trying to answer you, but you keep groaning and moaning, dude."

"How has a racist teenage boy or your world-traveling anything to do with my question?"

"Everything has to do with everything," I say. This time I'm serious. "I can't answer your question without telling how I got here."

"I know how you got here. My brother smashed your head."

"Yeah, that was nice of him. But I don't mean here, here," I say and look around my hospital room, which has started to look more like a garden because of all the flower bouquets. "I mean how I became..."

"The girl who saves werewolves," he finishes.

He lets out a sigh and stretches his arms. Arms full of tattooed symbols which meanings I have no idea. But there is a lot of ink since it's hard to see any of his own dark skin. He's a scary-looking dude, I must give him credit. Nurses don't like coming to my room.

I turn my eyes away from the symbols.

"Are you in danger?" he asks. Again.

I shrug.

He gets up from his armchair. I try not to be affected by his huge size and how the room seems to shrink.

Poor bed, I think as he sits next to me.

"Dude-" I start as he leans closer to me. His dark severe eyes silence me.

"Are you in danger?" his voice comes from somewhere deep.

"I don't know," I whisper.

"Take a guess then, eniyan."

Take a guess... Well, I've been in danger, more or less, since I saw the one shoed woman on the subway.  But the truth is, it is none of his business though how much he believes in his ancient traditions. They are his - not mine. I remember my dear friend's words.

"Guessing is not knowing," I say and shrug again.

He's angry, but I don't care. I know he can never hurt me because of the symbols on his skin and the traditions that define him even more than the blood in his veins.

"So... since everything has to do with everything... Are you going to let me finish my story or not?" My smile and his groans are back.

Where was I? Oh, yes! New york, pancake, and pale woman. It's time to talk about the birds.