an: This story is set about 8 years after "Cold". Casey Ostlund = Casey Novak. I think that's it for now. Edited as of 10/23/12
Disclaimer: Emmett and Devan Ostlund are mine. If you can recognize them from the boob tube, they're probably not mine.
Wolves, he thinks, are like people. They're quite misleading. They look at you with devil eyes and show their teeth, fur stands straight up, claws dig into the dirt. Strangers stress the danger of them, exaggerate their behavior, and yet everyone wants a piece of them. They want their fur and their fangs to wear, their heads hung on the walls.
No matter how many times Emmett hears his teacher say wolves are dangerous, he won't believe it. He watches the video with the rest of his class about the wild life they've never seen before. Squirrels in Central Park are the closest to a wild animal he's ever been. The wolves flicker across the screen again, and he envies them. They look warm and pretty. And nice, with their ears pinned back, greeting each other.
He wants to be one. He wants to look strong and ferocious and he wants to be feared. He wants to be with wolves just like him, accepted and loved and together. He listens closely as the narrator tells of the mother wolf and how she will protect her pups at all costs. It sticks to him like glue. So does the bit about the alpha male and how he's constantly picking on those lesser than him.
Emmett wants his own mother wolf to step up to the plate.
His own pack is misleading.
The alpha male looks at him with devil eyes and smiles, his claws sometime dig into his mother's skin, and she pretends it doesn't happen. He likes to put her in her place, because he can and she doesn't challenge him. It's against the pack's rules. She is nothing if not loyal.
They look happy to everyone else.
"Emmett," Mrs. Tutherow raises her voice at the boy, frustrated with his lack of an attention span. "Are you even watching this?"
He nods.
"I hope so. This is on your test tomorrow."
When did the third grade get so hard? He sighs and puts his chin on his fist, and tries to pay attention.
The eight year old is a little small for his size, but his mom says she was that way too before she grew up. His brown hair is kind of long too, but it shapes his face and gives him something to hide behind when he doesn't have his sheets.
Mrs. Tutherow has met his mother once, at a conference earlier this year. He has the same brilliant green eyes as her. She's a bit paler than he is, but she figures Emmett got that trait from his father. He speaks like her too, with a strong rasp and slight cracks. She thinks it might be time for a meeting with his mother as there seems to be something wrong with her child.
The sound of school buses and loud children are like nails on a chalkboard to Casey Ostlund. She had never gone through the 'baby fever' like most woman, and though she won't go as far as to say she doesn't find kids cute and all, she'll admit she isn't a fan. She had thought about the idea of a mini her in the past, but that's all it was, just a thought. No need for one, no desire.
She uses her forearm to brush the bottled blonde hair out of her face and continues to wash the raw chicken. She hates to cook, but Devan likes his dinner on the table when he gets home. It had never been such a task in the beginning. The whole experience of being a wife and mother had been so new and exciting to her.
Had she known being a wife meant being the object of a man's aversion, she would have never exchanged vows. She often imagines where she'd be if she had denied the proposal and kept her pregnancy a secret. And then she feels guilty for the thoughts. She's stuck in this mess of unrequited love and obligations, and there's nothing she can do about it. It's in her nature to fight it, but she doesn't.
She doesn't tell him to stop anymore when he puts his hands on her.
In five years, she's seen dozens of domestic abuse cases while working with Manhattan's Special Victims Unit, and she had shamefully judged the victims when alone. She was never able to wrap her mind around the fact that they didn't leave when it started. She couldn't figure why someone would stay with a significant other if they were hurting them, love or not. She would wonder what happened to their self respect.
And as she loses hers, she finally understands it.
Fighting back only makes it worse.
The front door slams shut and she flinches. It's a reflex, and she shakes the feeling when she remembers how early in the day it is, that it's her son home from school. Emmett drags his feet to the kitchen and throws his Batman backpack on the table, the glow-in-the-dark symbol face down.
"Hey kiddo," She looks behind her to see him plop down on a chair with a pouty lip. "Careful or you might trip on that lip."
"I don't care."
"What's the matter?"
Emmett stands up and hops on the counter, his mom's eyes leveled with his torso. She reads the note pinned to his blue shirt and her eye rolling is accompanied with a sigh.
"Another one? Your teacher's nosy." Casey says and she gets a little chuckle out of him – a pick-me-up she's needed. When she got the first two notes, she had honestly believed Emmett was acting up in class, and so she agreed to a meeting only to discover he's not social enough. In short, he's too well behaved.
After that, she began to throw them away.
"She's always sayin' I don't pay attention."
"Well do you?"
"No, but that's not the point." He says. "Besides, I did today and she still said something. I can't ever win."
Casey laughs. "You and me both, bub."
"You mean with dad?"
She hates that her kid inherited her stubbornness. He doesn't tiptoe around things like a scared child normally would, he's blunt about it. He asks his questions even though they're never answered, and he'll continue to do so until he finds what he's looking for.
"Go put your stuff away before he comes home." She says in a soft voice, the same one she uses when she tries to calm her husband down. It doesn't work on him, but Emmett listens to her then, to make her happy, if that's at all possible.
Focusing on the task at hand wouldn't be so hard if Emmett could manage to go a day without bringing it up, if she could manage to go a day without feeling the hidden bruises that decorate her skin.