What happens when a newly minted werewolf doesn't know what they are? What happens when they are afraid of what they don't understand and reject their beastial side? Who protects the innocents from the out of control monster?
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The room was dark. The blinds were down, curtains closed. Those windows that lacked curtains he had hung up blankets and towels to block out the light. To block out the reporters who had camped out in the street for the past three days. They were gone at last. Moved on to vulture around another tragedy. To haunt the lives of others all in the name of ratings. Nothing garnered views more than a tragedy. Tragedy porn. Ruined lives nothing more than a spectacle for the masses.
He picked at the paper band around his wrist. His name and vital information printed in tidy letters and sealed behind a layer of clear tape. The hospital had not wanted to release him. He left anyways. He needed to cut he damn thing off. He'd told himself that at least a dozen times since he got home. Maybe he really would do it this time. There were scissors in the kitchen. He just had to get up and do the thing. Instead he paced back and forth in the living room. He flopped on his sofa to stare at the muted TV before nervous energy forced him to his feet again to pace.
What time was it? When was the last time he ate? He lost track. His phone turned off to avoid the calls he'd received. The vultures he could ignore. The ones from people who had called themselves his friends were what hurt. They wanted to know. They wanted information. They wanted to offer their sympathies and condolences. He hated it. Their sympathy didn't make it any better. It made it worse. The wounds went deep, and words would never heal them.
He snatched the remote up off the floor and hit the guide button. Almost midnight. When was the last time he slept? His nails picked at the scabs on his arms until they bled fresh. The ER doc had given him some pills. Maybe he could take them. Chase them down with that bottle of vodka left over from his birthday party. Never wake up again. The nightmare over. His hands rubbed together as he reminded himself they were not covered in blood.
The heavy boom of a fist on his front door and he dropped the remote. Were the reporters back? He'd told them to fuck off. "Go Away!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"Fuck off!"
Three more loud knocks. Knocks strong enough to rattle the door in its frame.
He surged to his feet and moved to stand behind the door. "I'm Not Answering Any Questions! Go Away!"
Again, the knocks shook the door.
"I'm gonna call the fucking cops. Go Away!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"I've got a gun!" He didn't, but the idiot at the door didn't know that. "I will shoot you mother fucker!"
A picture on the wall of him, his parents, and younger siblings fell to the floor with a crash of shattered glass when the door shook with another three knocks. His Mom had hung that picture for him when he moved in. He stared at their faces as they stared up at him from the floor. He saw blood run across their faces, or was it the reflected light from the TV?
