Werewolf on Death Row

Three: Just like Punching Mouldy Cheese

Tristan sidles up beside me. "Hey there York."

It's a Wednesday, and I'm getting pretty sick of people forgetting my whole three words thing.

"Yes?" I murmur back, hoping he'll get to the point and leave me alone.

"I bet you," the guy continues casually, "five bucks that Mr. Trembles up there will accidentally call us a 'pack' again and nearly get fired for it."

I look up at the man standing on the wooden podium as Tristan continues. Mr Trevor -aka Mr Trembles- was the counsellor and the one in charge of keeping our wolves in check. He was a thin, unsure man, with premature balding and one slightly lazy eye. I couldn't stand his wobbly, squeaky voice.

"-heard him talking to good old Trembles about 'not giving us any ideas'," Tristan snorts, a low sound. I looked at him blankly, with seems to confuse him until a lazy grin stretches over his features."You didn't hear a word I said, did ya?"

One of the corners of my lips lifts slightly. "No sir."

Trembles calls weakly, trying to get the attention of all the weres spread out over the grass with little success. Even the guards around the perimeter seem to be either half asleep or off daydreaming. I turn my body to face him once more before Tristan's hand on my shoulder and his next words capture my attention.

"Why are you always calling me sir, Steph? I ain't no prison guard," he laughs. My lips stretch in a thin line.

"Ingrained habit," I mutter darkly, unwilling to think about how exactly it became so ingrained.

About who I used to be.

Weak.

"Next week is the full moon, as you all know," Mr Trevor mumbles. "So please check the uh, rosters to see whether you are permitted to shift. If not, you will be locked into your room at seven pm sharp. Please refrain from s-shifting in your cells- uh, rooms. If you are permitted to shift, please meet me and some of the o-officers out here in the yard for a run around the perimeter. Remember, it is not a pack run, so no howling, hunting, or frolicking is permitted. If you do so you shall be reprimanded... Well, that's about it. Have a - oh wait, not s'posed to say that- um, dinners at six, I think. see you all then."

After that, everyone turns back to their previous conversations. It's a warm afternoon, so we get to spend it outside if we wish, as long as we don't shift. Inmates are not allowed to shift except on the fortnightly runs that they are required to go on to keep their wolves in a decent state of health, which basically means alive enough to be able to sense a mate.

"Not a pack my arse," scoffs Tristan. "No wonder they only let half the group run at a time. Wouldn't want us to overpower them and get out."

I nod my head. Most people are desperate to get out of here. Quite a few people have tried, and the results have never been pretty. But of course, everyone always tried to get out by themselves. If enough people banded together...

"Guess I better go check that roster," the boy besides me declares. "Gonna come York?"

"Nope," I reply. I don't know why I'm breaking my three words only rule for the second time around the same guy, but it's kinda nice. And it will be right until it inevitably screws me over, which I should really keep in mind from now on.

"Finally more than three words huh? Steph York, you are such a mystery. You know, I never see your name on there, and you're never on any of the runs. What's up with that?" His tone is innocent, purely curious, but it still makes me stiffen. Without a word I spin on my heel and storm back inside, heading for the one place that I actually like in this whole stupid prison.

He finds me there an hour later, punching the shit out of a punching bag as if my life depended on it. The gym was small and rarely used - I think that had something to do with the fact that I was always in it. Or it could be that no one else liked the Queen albums I blasted from the old, rickety CD player I found hidden under a bunch of junk in the equipment shed. Either way, it was my space and so I was pretty surprised when he suddenly appeared in front of me.

I also did not expect him to move the bag out of the way, and before I could realise I was sending a fist flying into his chest.

"Holy smokes woman that hurt!" Tristan cries out. I smile when I see how his face is all screwed up as he groans and clutches his torso, before quickly stifling that and the giggling threatening to burst out at any second. Instead, I offer him a hand, which he glares at doubtfully until slowly placing his large hand in mine and pulling himself up. Not without an oh-so-dramatic wince of course.

"I think you made my heart stop for a second there," he grumbles, but the grin on his features is plain to see.

If that's your attempt at a pick up line, you might wanna stop before you get another punch to the stomach, I almost say before stopping at the last moment so not a sound left my lips.

"Hey I noticed that," Tristan's voice is still teasing, but with a hint of something else that confuses me. "C'mon Steph, you already talked to me once, technically twice today without it being all 'no sir, yes sir'. I thought I was starting to grow on ya."

Like mould on hard cheese. Cut off infected areas and it'll be just fine.

"No sir," I reply, knowing it would get on his nerves. I just wasn't too sure about why.

"Jeez, York. Stop calling me sir, it makes me sound old."

I just shook my head and went back to punching the bag, trying not to hit Tristan this time.

"Well, here I was, thinking I'd finally got you with all my Irish charm and raw sex appeal but no, I can't even get you to smile unless you're knocking me to the damn floor!" he exclaims. I turn to see a grin stretched wide over his face, green eyes twinkling with what I can only assume is either laughter at his own jokes or some vein of narcotics. Raw sex appeal? Hell no. I could beat this guy easy. Irish charm? Well...

What the fūck am I thinking? At this rate, I'll opening up before I can say the words "no sir" and Tristan will no doubt exploit that to his advantage. I can't let that happen. I can't reveal my weaknesses.

Ignoring him, I walk over to the CD player and turn it up as loud as it can go. The Show Must Go On is playing and I time my punches to the beat, ignoring Tristan entirely. He says something every now and again to try and get my attention. I don't listen.

Still, he doesn't leave.

And it's in the middle of a quiet, sad song that I find myself debating whether to just straight up tell him to get lost, until I become aware of a voice calling his name.

It's a female, probably one of his friends, coming from the direction of the hallway that connects the gym to the rest of the main building. Tristan hears it shortly after I do, and lazily gets up from where he was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. With a quick stretch and a "seeya round, Steph" he heads towards the door just as it goes flying open. I catch a glimpse of a head of brunette hair before it's shut again, this time taking Tristan with it.

"I've been looking all over for you, Tris," I hear her say, although the the sound is muffled. It sounds like one of the girls from the teen group. "What the hell were you doing with her?"

"Just hanging out and stuff I guess. She must be lonely y'know, always on her own like that."

"That's the thing Tris, she's always alone. No one knows a thing about her. I'm sure she did something utterly terrible on the outside, like, worse than anyone else here, and that's why you should stay away from her."

Their voices fade away completely after that, and I realise I'm standing right outside the door. Something pangs in my chest. I so badly want to chase them down and make her take back every word she said, but I can't.

I can't deny that they are the truth.