Then
Blood. There is a lot in the body. Pints and quarts. Why am I surprised at how much is on me? Shock. It has to be shock. Or adrenaline maybe. Both? I growl and scrub even harder now. I rinse the rag and try again. I don't have time to shower. I rip my shirt off and shove it inside of my backpack.
I hear my father call my name. At this point I am panicking. Scrubbing harder, faster. Urgently. Manically. Shit.
The bathroom door opens rather harshly, and I look at my father.
"It won't come off." I say freaking out. He grabs the rag and sets to work.
He grimaces as he scrubs my face then he tosses me a camisole and a sweatshirt. I tug them on. We make it three steps from my bathroom to my room and stop. Freeze in fear. It's too late.
He knows it too because he rips the hoodie off and nods to the bed.
"Pretend to be asleep. Do not move until I come and get you.”
I do as he says. Pausing briefly when I see my mother in the doorway. Her face is drained of color. I push it back and pull the covers over my head. I shove my fist in my mouth and bite down to keep my sobs at bay.
I hear loud voices. I feel the house shake. This is it, I think. This is where I meet my demise.
My door opens and my entire body freezes. The door closes. My bed dips. I scent my mother and relax a bit while she wraps her arms around me and rubs my back.
We stay like this until the sounds die down and my door yanks open again. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“We have to go. NOW. Get ready, pack what you need and nothing more.” Mom leaves and I do as I’m told. A million questions circulating my mind. My father watches me. But I cannot look at him.
“This is all my fault.”
He sighs and grabs my shoulders so that I have to look at him.
“If I had to choose, you or him. I will always choose him.” I sob again and he rubs my arm as I sling my backpack on. I follow him to the car with my head down.
We drive through the streets with an audience. They should be asleep. I should have been. But here we are.
When we reach the outside of the gate my father speaks again.
“You know what you have to do.” He and my mother go first and I watch them closely. He grits his teeth and my mother gasps then sobs.
“I, Clara-Mae, reject the Red Dawn Pack.” Pain shoots through me immediately. As the bond and the connections break. It steals my breath until I’m gasping and seeing stars. It goes as quickly as it comes.
Dad puts the car and gear and drives.
I ask the question I need to ask.
“Were we banished?” Dad and mom share a look. I cannot decipher it. But he nods once and focuses on the road.
My name is Clara-Mae Boudier. I am 15 years old. I am a werewolf. And up until a few hours ago I was well respected. I loved my life. Now all I know for certain is that I am alive when I shouldn’t be. That does little to comfort me.
I committed treason. The cost? My life. That is how I know for sure, this is not the last time I will be here. This is not over.
I glance at the sleeping twins in there seats fast asleep beside me. I snuggle in and pull my hood up over my head. I know I won’t sleep. Not for a while. But I can pretend. I can pretend that nothing has changed and we’re simply voyaging as a family. I can pretend I didn’t bring great shame and heartache to my family. For a little while I can pretend.
I close my eyes and focus on the things that I know. I’m alive. We’re alive. But even my heart betrays me because a few hours ago I lost half of it. And it WAS my fault.
Nomads. That’s what we are. With no pack and no place to go. Another term is rogues. But we have time before that happens. Not a lot. But some. And another thing I know is time is not in my side.
I clench my jaw as the tears begin again. I feel my mother grasp my hand.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper.
“Don’t apologize for surviving.” She says angrily.
I can’t tell her that I didn’t. I can’t tell her that I died too. Because that’s dumb. I’m only 15. In three years when I get my wolf I know everything will be put into perspective. In three years when the moons at its highest I’ll know the goddess is still with me.
I just have to hold on until that day. For three years.
The car lolls me to sleep eventually. I dream of the forest. Of my parents. Of my pack. I dream of the good times. I dream of him.
I wrench my eyes open. No. He’s not here. I’m not there. It was a dream. I stretch and notice we’re at a gas station of somewhere unfamiliar.
Moms asleep and so are the twins. Dads pumping gas. We make eye contact and he forces a smile. When he gets in he passes me a water and a bag of cookies. I mutter a thanks and sit back again. I watch the world pass by. Still unsure of where we are or where we’re going.
My mother wakes around noon. The latest I’ve ever seen her sleep. She doesn’t speak. She looks frail. I did that. I close my eyes and lean back again.
I only wake when my father tells us that we’re here.
