Time Mends

In the end, Talley did. Sorta. She was overly timid as Charlie and I showed her how to escape different holds while Jase provided a running commentary of not-so-helpful tips from across the room. Eventually, though, she gained some confidence and began making progress.

Talley’s self-defense training and our own workouts became the entire focus of the summer. It only took Dad a single day to find Jase a job as a lifeguard, so we scheduled a session every morning before he headed off to the public pool at The Strip and another in the evening. By day two, Jase managed to get Talley a job at the snack bar where he could keep an eye on her, leaving me alone in the house with Angel and Charlie.

I spent the majority of my time in deep research mode. Since I read every book available on werewolves when I found out about Alex, I knew there was nothing helpful there. Instead, I investigated the whole blood transfusion angle. I buried myself in medical journals and text books. Mom’s copy of the Merck Manual was my constant companion. I poured through library databases and on online health sites. Through it all I found nothing more than a growing fear of bloodborne pathogens.

As for my companions, Angel was surprisingly tolerable. Sure, she criticized my wardrobe daily and tended to watch the most annoying television shows ever made, but at least she was fully interactive.

Charlie was like a ghost made of granite. When we trained, he executed his moves with stoic precision. At dinner - which my parents insisted should always include everyone sitting around the table eating together - he answered Mom’s seemingly endless questions on his family, first year of college, and any other topic she could think of politely and succinctly. Even Angel, with her inability to understand boundaries, couldn’t wrangle anything more than a sentence or two.

You would think his lack of interaction would’ve made it easy for me to ignore his existence and go on about my normally scheduled life. You would be wrong. It was as if his presence was made even more oppressive by his silence.

It was like he was always there, no matter where I went. If I walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, he would be sitting at the table eating. If I went out for a walk in the woods, the only place outside the house I was allowed to go, I would turn a corner to find him sitting on a tree stump or fishing in one of the little ponds that dotted our property. I could barely walk out of my bedroom without almost barreling into his chest.

I thought eventually I would get used to seeing him, that it would become easier, but it didn’t happen that way. If anything, it got more and more difficult. I wanted to hate him. At times, I did. There were moments I hated him so much I fantasized about clawing his face off.

Those were the easy times.

The times when I wanted to fold myself into his arms, when I ached for the sound of his laughter, those were the difficult ones. Those were the times I hated myself for still loving him.

As my friend Joi would say, I was one big hot mess and getting messier by the minute, which is how I found myself trying to concuss Charlie with one of the wooden swords he and Jase had developed an obsession over.

“I just think you can do better than Randy’s,” I said, swinging the bokken with all my might. “You know, maybe there is a crack house in need of a janitor or something.”

Charlie, having fended off my attack with the exact amount of effort Goliath used on a ninety pound asthmatic, cracked his sword against mine, sending it flying out of my hands.

I really, really hated fighting with bokkens.

“What’s wrong with Randy’s?” Jase asked from the other side of the room. He was showing Talley an easy karate routine while maintaining a distance of at least five feet. If I hadn’t needed all my oxygen to dodge Charlie’s non-stop attacks I might have pointed out that she’d been cured of cooties way back in second grade with a carefully placed vaccination of circle, circle, dot, dot.

“The words ‘den of iniquity’ come to mind,” the cootie-free girl in question answered for me.

“Dude, I love that place.”

I managed to get enough distance between Charlie and me to shoot Jase an incredulous look. “My feet stick to the floor, and it smells like urine.” The last word came out as a grunt as I kicked out and finally relieved Charlie of his weapon.

I smiled. Things were about to get interesting.

“What are you going to do, Charlie?” I rolled my shoulders, loosening the muscles. ”Something incredibly dignified, like mopping up puke in the bathrooms or checking to make sure the working girls’ vaccinations are up to date?”

Honestly, I don’t know why I was being so antagonistic. Randy’s wasn’t that bad. Sure, it was a little trashy, even for a place that advertised itself as a “one stop shop for manly entertainment,” but it wasn’t Trainspotting worthy. Part of me just wanted to keep pushing until Charlie exploded, just to see something resembling life flash through his eyes.

Charlie circled casually to my left. “I’m working at the shooting range.” I was so shocked I didn’t notice his tell, a shift of his right hip, and found myself on the business end of a right jab. His fist connected with my jaw, but as per usual, he was holding back. It stung like crazy, but I would hardly have a bruise the next day.

And that’s what made me snap. Not that he’d hit me, but that he’d pulled the punch.

I couldn’t even blame it on the whole wolf girl spilt personality. It was the same loss of temper that had me punching Ashley Johnson last winter. I held nothing back and threw every rule of fair play in existence out the window. He held me off for all of two minutes, and that was only because he was strong as a freaking ox. But I was faster. I knew he would be wearing the evidence of our bout for days to come when I put him on the mat.

“Yield,” I said, bending his arm back at an angle that would snap the bone if I pressed down just an inch more. He attempted to roll beneath me, and I sent his arm a quarter of an inch closer to the mat. Before, I would have let it go right there, making some comment about boys and their ego. Charlie would have teased me relentlessly about being the one who gave up and picked at me until I declared a rematch.

Those days were over. That Scout and that Charlie died on the shore of the lake under the light of the full moon, and the next full moon made certain they would never be resurrected.

He twisted again, and this time I planted an elbow into the hard muscles of his abdomen. “Yield,” I repeated, leaning in so my face was directly in front of his. With no other options available, he was forced to look at me, and when he did…