"Yes, yes, I fucking get it. I'm too loud. And you're super stealthy." The number of times I've been caught arguing with the voice in my head over the last few weeks is embarrassing. At least out here, in the middle of nowhere, where she dragged us, no one can watch me break down.
The last town we passed was two days ago. We're somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia, where we've been for two days. Lost. Cold. Alone.
Not lost.
Aaand there it is again, that old oak tree with a notch that looks like an owl's head where—yep, if I listen carefully, I can hear the creek, further east, where we slept last night. We are definitely lost. Going in circles, at least.
Not lost, she argues.
I grit my teeth, but refrain from snapping back at Beep and tug on my pants that are entirely too long for my frame.
After about a week together, I determined her constant judgement and complaints were nothing more than an incessantbeep beep beepingin my head, thus the nickname, Beep. I don't know if she has a name of her own, she's never said.
We've come a long way since that morning we woke, changed. After the police showed up before we could leave, but had, luckily, cleaned up the blood in my apartment, they told me my father had been murdered. Likely by the same monster who tried to kill me, and I knew I needed to get out of town immediately. I didn't want to chance him finding out I was still alive and coming back to finish the job.
Besides, it took less than a day for it to become clear why wolves avoid the city. While I was always sensitive, I could barely breathe walking down the street from my apartment after the change.
Beep assured me it would get better with time, I just had to get used to it. I would learn to block out certain smells and sounds, choosing what to hone in on.
She was right. It got easier. But it didn't matter. I could get used to the loud sounds, the potent smells, all the people, the pollution… but it no longer felt like home. The familiarity of the city was gone, because I was no longer something I recognized.
Initially, when I packed a bag, I decided I needed to find others like me. Other humans who are no longer… human.Notwerewolves. Beep gets fussy every time I call them that.
Most days we get along great. We have our moments; it's a learning curve. Nicknaming her Beep because she sounded like an incessant beeping noise in my head wasn't my finest hour. But then again, after I packed a backpack with all my earthly belongings and hitched a bus outside the city, walked into the woods, got undressed, insisted she carry my bag in her teeth, and let her take control in her wolfy form, she promptly left my bag behind, took off into the forest in the opposite direction we discussed, and got us lost, leaving me stark naked and penniless, so I don't feel that bad.
Not lost.
Like I said, it's been a learning curve.
"We are lost, Beep. I haven't seen a single human, hiking trail or outpost for two days."
Not lost. Go north.
She's been insisting we head north pretty much since the beginning, but won't say why. And although there's a tug in my gut, one I'm now becoming familiar with, also pulling me north, I refuse to follow it.
Because the last time I felt it was when I was heading home to my apartment on New Year's Eve, only to find that psychopath hiding out, ready to kill me.
I see his face in my nightmares every single night. Beautiful. Violent. Sharp teeth. Pain.
My hand reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the scar on my neck, the reminder of that night, and I release a shudder. Beep nuzzles inside me, reminding me she's here for me and that I'm okay.
To try to get away from it all, maybe find others like me, I've been insisting we head west or south, but when I give Beep the reins, she drags us north.
Fortunately, she gets tired easily and can't last more than a few hours in wolf form, so even when she resists the pull andmy demands to give me my body back, she has no choice but to relent. And then I drag us south.
Which is why it's taken us five whole weeks to make it less than two states away. We've been zigzagging aimlessly across the country for weeks. It's cold, snowy, and miserable out here in the woods. I grew up in the city. I'm not meant for this off-grid life.
"I just want a fucking burger, dude. Is that too much to ask?" I whine.
Rabbit close. Hunt.
"I'm not killing a fucking rabbit."
Then starve.
Growling, I hike up my pants—three sizes too big, since I had to swipe them from some poor soul in a camping trailer in upstate New York, once Beep lost control of her form and we shifted back, stark naked. I only stole a pair of pants and a t-shirt, then found a shopping bag in the trash that I fashioned into a long collar that Beep could wear around her neck so she'd stop losing all my shit. Nevermind that she lost my ID, all my money, all my clothes and snacks.
Human things. No need.
