It's not like I meant to punch him. It was an... accident, all those years ago. Anyway, he stared it. I can still see dilated eyes and as he tells me of the werewolves in the night. And so I gave him a black-eye. It will heal, I told him as whimpered at the dent his body left in the locker. I was actually aiming for his nose. You know, really make him bleed. But Peter bloody moved. Why? To stare at his reflection in the mirror behind me. Arghh! Men are so narcissistic, pig-headed-
This isn't a hate speech. You may hate reading it. But it's an apology. To who, the impatient reader may ask. Why to that strange boy I met in the woods who told me to run. And who I didn't listen to. His words exactly: Run. Run. Beacon Hills is a death-trap. Just imagine that with abit more sweat, wild arm gestures and set in a mysterious forest night. There you go. You can see it now can't you?
I met Peter when I first arrived at Beacon Hills. With muscles curved like a coke glass and pearly whites from an orthodontist commercial. Add a hair flick and a low husky "Hey." And I was falling down the deep dark well of love from which there was no return but Alice-like madness. On day one he walked me to my class like a gentleman: textbook. Day two he picked my books up when I dropped them: elementary. By day three he knew my locker combination: verging stalker-ish, but adorable none the less. And day four, he told me his family were werewolves: Wait what?!
That's why Peter Hale's left eye looks like a cat that ate eye shadow vomited up on it. No, he wasn't born that way.
"I'm not a werewolf!", he whimpered.
Still riled up, my scream echoes through the lacrosse locker rooms. "And I'm not a frecking fairy, but you can't say something like that and expect me not to react in violence!"
Yeah... screaming is kinda my default setting. My third grade maths teacher wrote in my report to try aromatic candles, drum circles or a duck tape. I'm paraphrasing. In the middle of a shouting match with my four day might-as-well-be boyfriend, so now is a good time as any to tell you a bit about myself. The names Ely, and if you're anything like a highschool substitute teacher, let me clarify before you make a fool of yourself, pronounce it E-lie. And I may have a boss that is a sexual harassment law suit, with a comb over at the local IGA. But I have dreams of... well, not working there. Maybe a life of crime awaits, the possibilities are endless. Mum thinks I should see a physiatrist. You agree with her, don't you? Backstabber.
I run out of the locker room in tears. It was like one of those video games where you think you know every rule, and maybe it's boring but YOU GET TO SHOOT PEOPLE! Sorry, sorry. I'll go back to my metaphor. And then you meet someone who puts their hands on their hips and says, "You, like totally know it's not real." So you curl your fingers like a psycho shaking with madness, like, "I knew that. Why you got to spoil it?"
Ignorance may not be bliss but it's better that knowing that a family of flesh eating savage werewolves live in the forest right next to your house. I can't go to the police and I can't talk to my mum because she already believes I'm crazy, so I grab the next best thing. A shot gun from my wall and a trusty pair of Doc Martins. Then I sit on a chair stroking the barrel gingerly, because everyone knows that stroking weapons releases more endorphins than staring at baby photos. Anyone? Okay maybe that's just me.
...
Boy did I scare the pizza man! I apologised quickly and told him that my boyfriend and I had a fight to which he nodded understandingly and sped off in him care. Not before dropping the pizza on the floor. I'm not complaining. Like Frenchy Fries my imaginary friend from grade two would say: When life gives you free pizza, eat it.
The phone rings. It was Peter. Fear boils in me softening the uncooked spaghetti of love swimming inside. "What?"
"I'm sorry. Really. I just thought-"
"What? What did you just think?"
He says in a smaller voice this time. "I thought that you knew. I saw your eyes on Wednesday and they were glowing."
In a romantic daze, I sigh and loose tension on the grip of my shot gun. I pull a strand of hair behind my ear, quickly forgetting to be angry. "Aww. You think my eyes glow?"
"No. Literally glowing orange like a werewolf."
"Jerk."
"The Argents, a family hunts werewolves-"
"Why?"
"Because they're weird. This is supposed to be a heartfelt moment, so shut up for a minute. Anyway my aunt had a child which they stole from us. She was born the same time as me. And they wouldn't raise the child as their own or kill it because-"
"Yeah. Hurry up."
"For crying out loud Ely! You're my freaking cousin."
Oh.
"Ely?"
"Hm."
"Hm?"
"Yeah. Hm. I knew I was adopted and I guessed that I came from a family. I didn't really think I'd be a werewolf. Maybe a teen pregnancy or small desert community. But I don't think even think my psychic dog, Zara could have guessed that."
The is static until he says, "I'm surprised your taking this so-"
"Well? Were you serious going to say well? I am in shock. Shock my friend. My brain can't even comprehend that we share the same gene pool, and you look like that! And I got stuck with this! I'm a werewolf! An honest-"
He cuts me short. "Can cousins still marry?"
"Really Peter?!" I let out an almighty howl that shakes the foundations of my weather-board house, and got all the dogs in the block to reply with syncopated barks.
Yup. Werewolf genes and hormonal teenagers don't mix. I'm still not sorry for that black eye, although I hear now day's he's a werewolf who lives in a high rise building and frolics in the forest with teenagers and a v-neck. Oh Peter. The question isn't what wrong; it's what actually went right for you. So stranger in the darkness of the night I'm sorry I didn't listen. That I didn't run and that I stayed in Beacon Hills for that week, and then ran into the Mexican desert.
What was your name again? Oh yeah, Stalinski. Hope you had a nice life, raised some kids that gave knowledge that fell on other ignorant ears. And maybe a kid to beat the crap out of my cousin. Keep beating. You'll be there awhile.
Signed Ely.
