I wake up in too much sunlight. Malia's on her stomach beside me, her hand tangled in her hair and the bright blue nail polish she's wearing pokes out between blonde/brown locks. My shirt she's wearing is pulled up her back, the blankets kicked off. It did get pretty warm in here with the space heater. The tiny hairs on her lower back are translucent against her tanned skin. Her mouth is open a little, front teeth poking out like a bunny. I brush her hair out of her face so it doesn't tickle her awake when her breath blows it. I check the clock on the table beside her. It's late enough for brunch so I go down to start making banana pancakes. Two ingredients, just like my mom did it: eggs and sliced bananas on the skillet. I'm glad Malia likes them this way because it's nice to make them, to share some of my mother with her. After I eat mine, I save the rest of the batter and cover it until I hear feet padding down the stairs. "I smell bananas," she breathes in deeply. She wouldn't have to make a conscious effort to smell them, and neither would I now, but we both take the scent in as if we were human. I miss calling myself that. I didn't like being...fragile, but it was almost my role within the pack; to be adopted into it without having to be supernaturally bound to it.
I start to pour the batter for her pancakes on the skillet. I make sure they're bite sized; that's how she likes them. When she's late for school on weekdays I make them and put them in a zip-lock for her so she can just pop them in her mouth before class. More often than not, her lateness is caused by her taking midnight runs through the woods, not spending the night here. She tells me she likes sitting on the rocks up high above the town, staring at the moon in all its shapes and phases. "For you," I slide a plate in front of her and shamelessly watch her eat them. She doesn't mind. The only reason I could think why is that she had to eat in front of plenty of animals in the wild. There was no shying away. You kill it you eat it right there. At first, she didn't like me cooking for her, wouldn't even let me. She'd do it herself or she'd go hungry. Coyotes are prideful animals.
"Thank you." She smiles at me sincerely. "Do you mind if I bag a few of these up? I'm hiking with my dad today and I'll need a snack. I can't exactly take down a raccoon to chew on now." She laughs it off but I know she misses the thrill of being on four legs.
Right now, I feel like Scott must when he's around Kira, when he was around Allison. I can smell the little bits of the soap smell left on Malia's body, the smell of my bed, the ice cream from last night and the banana pancakes on her breath, all the years in the walls of my home surrounding her, combining with her scent, everything. It's almost as if everything is more four dimensional than it already was, like I can really touch things. "Are you going to run over?" She nods. I zip the bag up for her and she puts it into the pocket of her jacket. She has a few pieces of clothes laying around my room she goes up to change into them. Before she goes, she kisses me on the cheek and then on the lips. She's not much shorter than me so I wrap my arms around her, relaxing into it. I can really smell her now, really hear every little sound she makes with her lips. They give me chills. I may not know what I'm capable of, but I like these little things I know about. Little things I hope my mother enjoyed.
"I'll see you later." I watch her walk out my front door and before she shuts it, she winks in my direction.
There's not much to do on this Saturday besides catching up on homework. But, after a few minutes of World History, I open a new Google tab. Spirit Kitsune. Heightened senses, I read. The creation of illusions, weather control, manifestation. I close the laptop. I wonder if this is what Kira did, even though her mother probably told her everything she needed to know.
I putter at things around the house until its dark again. I take a shower, dress, and crawl into bed, choosing something on my phone to watch until I fall asleep. When Malia's not here, I have nothing to lull me to sleep, so I've taken to videos of the sounds of rain to bore me into submission. My real world melts into my dream world with a scream. But it's not my scream; it's Lydia's. She's standing under a black sky, drowning in the rain that pours from the clouds, lightning flashing behind her, making her visible. Her mouth opens wide, her nose scrunched up. The sound is more piercing now than it used to be. It vibrates, it breaks through everything. She sounds like a screeching bird. When she stops, it's like she notices where she is. "This is you," she says. "I didn't put you here, Stiles." She sounds scared now.
"This is my dream." Then I…my mind…made the storm?
"No. It's mine." She backs up. Just then, I realize I'm seeing things from Lydia's mind. Small moments of her in Allison's room, flashes of Jackson sleeping in an old ratty t-shirt, her mother getting in her car. Somehow, she knows I'm awake in her head. We're both lucid. "Please get out," she pulls her lips in. She's crying now. I'm feeling what she feels. Embarrassment. It's then when I see my hand on Malia's face at the lacrosse game, me holding her in the cold. She's trying not to think about it, not to show me any of these things, but that makes her produce them. "Get out!" She yells and the rain stops. My ears are popping and then a loud buzz breaks them open. I wake up.