Chapter Ten

"I mean – I think you should go home."

There was a brief expression of pain on Tommy's face before he controlled himself, and it slipped back into that all-American football player mask.

I hurt him – Merton thought – I hurt him, I hurt him, I hurt him.

"Okay. That's probably a good idea. I mean, this doesn't change anything." Tommy picked up his jacket from the couch. "Maybe the best thing would be to forget this ever happened." Was that a hitch in his voice?

"Yeah." Yeah – what – sounds good? Yeah – that's okay? Yeah – please Tommy convince me that this isn't such a bad idea? Yeah, right. 

Tommy was out the door before Merton could speak another word. There was a brief breeze of cool night air – when did it get so hot in here. And then the door closed, the way Tommy always closed it, softly, taking care not to inadvertently rip the door knob off with his wolf strength.

"Let's just forget this ever happened." He tested the words out aloud in the air.

They rung in the air, over and over again. Ever happened, ever happened, ever happened. . . Merton wondered absently what Lori was doing. 

            Lori followed Ms Howard from the supermarket, across the town park, and into the woods. It was about then that she started to wish she had Tommy with her. Tommy knew the woods like the back of his hand, he should, he spent the nights of the full moon running here. Lori suspected he also spent nights here when he was too worked up to unwolf.

            But Lori was a big strong girl and she could take care of herself.

            Ms Howard was headed right to Clearwater Pond, which had been forgotten and neglected since a child had drowned there almost twelve years ago. Lori knew the story, all the kids did, and usually visited the pond a couple times before realizing it was a pretty average pond, and the morbid curiosity was satisfied.

            Ms Howard waded in knee deep.

            Blue lights flickered.

            He didn't want this. Merton had spent the better part of an hour pacing his room after Tommy left. Counter clockwise. He was in a counter clockwise sort of mood. He didn't want this, he didn't want this, he didn't want this, didn't want this.

            Certainly, nothing had been leading up to this.

            They were close; shared near death experiences did that to people.

            Tommy had always been friends. He touched people, affectionately and consistently, and platonically. He was. . . Tommy. And Merton had never even wondered at his motives.

            But now Merton couldn't get it out of his mind. Tommy had hugged him, held him. Fought for him. ? Kissed him?

Tommy gave himself to people, that was who he was. He touched people because he instinctively established a friendly relationship with everyone. Merton had watched him half-hug TNT, once. It was something he had never quite forgotten, here were two guys, more intimidating than an entire hockey team, and they smelled bad . . . And the captain of the football team thought nothing of touching them. 

            Once Tommy had sold some precious object or another, a sports card, to free him from stone. Merton had been so grateful. In disbelief that someone would do something like that for him. Should he have guessed way back when?

            Did it make him gay if he wanted to do it again? Just for experimentation's sake.

            All his life he had heard the whispers, and he certainly couldn't miss it when people actually came out and rubbed his face in it. Merton didn't play sports; he was too interested in his own appearance, too girly. He painted his nails! A freak, a loser, a fag. With a name like Dingle. . . 

            And nobody had ever said anything like that about Tommy Dawkins, Merton betted. Tommy was too perfect to be gay. No. That wasn't fair. Tommy dated hot head cheerleaders and sexy catholic school dropouts. Merton had rarely been seen in public with a girl, and when he found one, they tended to be monsters with an agenda.

            Like liquid fire. . .

            Was that a werewolf thing or a Tommy thing? Did it matter? Tommy and the werewolf were the one and the same. He just got kissed by a werewolf!

            So there he was again. Full circle. Back to the how/why issue that lay at the very core of this . . . thing.

            Merton knew some of it was his own fault. He was clingy, desperate for a friend, and he saw how that could have been construed. He had followed Tommy, everywhere, desperately clinging to the possibility that maybe he wasn't the only freak out there. He had hoped that simply being weird gave them some common ground. That maybe, he could have a friend.

And Tommy, is well, Tommy, who sees the inner good in everything and everyone. Merton could easily see how a little thing like gender would play no role in Tommy's feelings.

            But Merton wasn't Tommy. He wasn't full of inner goodness, that time he had become a werewolf proved that. . . He had been unable to resist the wolf's inner darker needs. And he wasn't brave. Show him a fight between good and evil for the survival of mankind and Merton would hide behind the nearest girl every time. And he wasn't strong. Becky could beat him up.

            Tommy deserved someone who could fight alongside him, not a sidekick who went running for the nearest woman's skirts.

            Merton decided to crawl into his shower and die.