Hearthway Hollow

Delaynie: Part Two

Male Werewolf x Female Reader (mental illness)

A few months ago, I received a message saying my grandmother had fallen and broken her hip. It was then decided I would move in with her so I could help keep an eye on her. I also felt it would be good to have her keeping an eye on me. When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with Schizophrenia. For the most part, with a good doctor and medications, I was able to live with it. But still, my grandmother was my favorite person in the world and being near her made me feel better. So, we both agreed we would look out for one another.

The town she lives in was always one of my favorite places to visit as a kid. Hearthway Hollow was a beautiful place. Red brick buildings lined the streets, the vast park, and there were so many exciting places to shop. I used to spend my summers with my grandmother in Hearthway Hollow until my parents moved farther away. This was my first time being back in almost fifteen years.

The town had grown so much. It was almost a shock to my system. The little town I had loved so much had grown up. But I supposed that could be said for any small town, really. My grandmother's house hadn't changed much at all, aside from new paint, hardwood floors, and a redone kitchen, it was the same.

"It'll be so nice having you around again," Grandmother says. "I have plenty of friends, but sometimes at night it's nice to have someone else in the house."

"What about a boyfriend?" I suggest with a smile.

She rolls her eyes at me. "I am long passed that stage in my life," she huffs. "Why not give yourself that same advice."

I chuckle. "Eh, it's not that important for me either," I tell her. "When it happens, it'll happen."

"Well, I suppose you're right. What about a doctor?" She asks me.

I double over and laugh. "Grandma!"

"No! I mean a doctor for you to see," she says. "Have you found anyone yet?"

I shake my head. "I still have some meds, so it's no big hurry."

"No big hurry," she scoffs at me. "Your health is important. You need to hurry." She pours me tea and lays a tray of cookies before me. "By the way," she says as she turns the stove off. "I saw something interesting in the paper this morning. I think you'd rather like it."

"What is it?" I ask, picking through the cookies to find the frosted animal crackers I liked so much.

She hands me the paper, showing me a line of job listings. "The local dance studio is looking for a musician!" She says excitedly. "You should go try out. You're so talented."

"Oh," I screw up my face. "I don't know about that."

Grandma sits down across from me and pours her own tea. "You've used music to cope all these years. Put all that pain and hard work out into the world. You deserve it."

"Maybe," I murmur. "It would nice to have some sort of work to do while I'm here. I can't spend all day waiting for you to fall again."

"Very true," Grandma laughs.

I make a call and schedule an interview with the owner of the dance studio, a man named Delaynie Cross. His voice is deep and dark, kind of sexy, actually. I gather up my music and put it together, organized and neat, into a three-ring binder.

I then take out my guitar and tune it. When I was young, and the world felt like it was piling up on me, I used music as a way to cope. I focused so hard on studying how to play instruments, how to read sheet music, and everything there was to know so that the anxiety and the dread that followed me couldn't sink in. I ignored it by playing the guitar, I denied it entry by writing songs. But even still, mental illness waits for no one. By the time I was thirteen, I was withdrawing from my family. I was cutting myself hoping that the pain I was feeling would stop. My mom and dad luckily were paying attention to me. They got me help as soon as they could. By the time I was eighteen, I was feeling like myself again. But that constant gnawing of dread was still there. At the back of my mind, even now, I can feel it like a hamster on a wheel, just waiting for the wheel to break off and careen wildly through me.