My Girlfriend Bites (Young Adult Paranormal Werewolf Romance)

Chapter 36

Aiden

Something doesn't feel right, and it bugs me. I need to go to school today. I need to talk to Bree. Yesterday I called her phone a few times, and she didn't answer. I sent a few texts with no replies.

This morning I call Bree, and she answers. I offer to pick her up and buy her breakfast for once, like a man who wants to take care of his woman. I should have done this a long time ago. But since I have Issy's car now, I can make good on all those free rides Bree gave me.

I also want to tell her that I love her. That I believe in her. That I know she's trying hard to be human, and if there's anything I can do to support her, I'll do it. I want her to know that I don't blame her for what happened to Issy. She only did it because she wanted to protect me from Dad. Her motives were good. It was only the way she responded that went a little too violent.

Bree says she wants to drive herself to school. Alone.

That's not the answer I want.

I park the Jetta in the student parking lot and wait for Bree's car. But Pamela's Honda parks next to me instead.

She slides out of her coupe. "I swung by the hospital to see Issy, and he told me Bree came to see him. She has got a lot of nerve."

"She came to apologize because she feels awful about what happened," I say.

"I still can't believe all this. A werewolf at our school. It's like some dumb horror-movie cliché." She leans her body against the Jetta.

"You can't tell anyone. You know that, right? If people knew about Bree, it would be dangerous for her."

"We should tell someone. Bree almost killed your best friend and your dad."

"Issy will be fine. Everyone will be fine. It will all go back to normal."

"Normal? I saw what she did to Kirk and those other boys. What if by accident some girl pisses Bree off? What if a teacher makes her mad? Don't you see? Everyone at school is in danger."

"I don't believe that. Bree would never—"

"Hurt your best friend?"

That shuts me up.

"We should tell the police."

"No, we can't do that. The police will tell the FBI, and the FBI probably has some super-secret-paranormal-werewolf division that hunts down people like Bree."

Pamela narrows her eyes. "Super-secret-paranormal-werewolf division?"

"I don't know what it's called, but the government probably has something like it."

"If they do, they have it because werewolves are dangerous."

"Swear to me that you will not tell anyone at school."

Pamela crosses her arms.

"Please? At least let me talk to Bree. Maybe she can convince you."

"Keep that girl away from both of us. If she doesn't stay away, I will tell the cops that she attacked him."

The familiar rumble of the Oldsmobile increases as it rolls into the parking lot.

Pamela tenses up and heads for the school building.

Bree observes her movement through the windshield before getting out of her car. "What did she want?"

"She was updating me about Issy's condition. He's doing better."

Bree hesitates, shifting her weight on one foot and then the other. Is she still upset? I try to hold her hand, but she brushes it away. She walks toward the school, and I follow. Bree lingers near the main doors as her hand rests on the door handle. Like she doesn't want to pull it open and walk inside. I pull the other door and hold it open for her. She steps through it.

Bree acts more cheerful at lunch. She suggests we go to the mall, and I offer to drive. I open the passenger door for Bree, and she hesitates again as her nostrils flare. She then realizes I'm watching and glues on a quick smile before climbing in.

Driving to the mall, Bree gets quiet again. That early cheerfulness disappears. Why is that?

Her nostrils flare again. That's it. We're riding in Issy's car. Damn, I didn't think about that. His strong scent must remind her of what she did. I lightly squeeze her leg to let Bree know I'm here if she wants to talk. Again, she flashes another quick smile that's only for my benefit.

Bree orders the lamb-stuffed gyro, the same thing she ordered the first time we went to lunch together. I decide to get the exact same order at the Tex-Mex place next door. Bree doesn't pick up on the irony. We eat and talk about random school stuff. All of it trivial and nothing I want to talk about. When I try to bring up the attack on Issy, Bree shifts to another subject.

In fifth hour, Mr. Strickland writes a new equation on the white board as we plunge into the exciting world of algebra. I can't concentrate. I have to know what Bree is thinking about. My fingers wander up her back, slip under her hair, and gently massage her neck. I've done this a few times in class. When Bree wears her long hair down, it conceals my hand. Bree purrs like a kitten when I knead those neck muscles. But this time she leans forward from my hand, takes out a fresh piece of paper, and writes. Bree normally doesn't bother taking notes in Algebra. She always waits for me to explain what Strickland is really talking about.

Bree finishes and hesitates again. What's with that hesitation stuff? If she needs to say something to me, why doesn't she...

Bree suddenly turns around, gives me a folded piece of paper, then turns back around.

I unfold it and read.

Dearest Aiden,

You mean the world to me. Without you, I don't think I would have survived at this school. You've shown me that humans could accept us. Even to the point of falling in love. And boy, have I fallen for you. I love your scent when it stays on my clothes. I love hearing your voice from a distance because it means I'll be close to you again. I love your gentle touch on my skin and when it strokes my fur as I howl through the forest. You love me the way I am, and because of this, I owe you the world. Which makes it so hard to write this. I've made up my mind. What happened Monday proves that I'm too dangerous to be around humans. I shouldn't be at this school. And I shouldn't be around you. Hurting you on accident would devastate me. So I asked my parents if we could move. They agreed. So I'll be leaving in a few days. I'm so very sorry, but I can't see you any more.

Please don't hate me.

Love always,

Bree

The classroom becomes black and white as all the color in the world bleeds out of it. The sentences sting. At first they contain phrases I've always wanted to hear, but then comes the sucker punches that knock my guts around, making them cry for mercy. But there is no mercy. No relief from the pain. Mr. Strickland draws shapes and numbers on the white board. Students listen or yawn. The clock counts down the minutes and seconds. The classroom lights give out their usual buzz. Everything seems normal, routine, like another day at school. But in this normal world, I'm trapped in a hole of crap and choking on it, sinking down more and more.

How could she do this to me?

A drop of water stains the paper. The tiny circle of wetness expands. Then I realize it's a tear, and it's coming from me. I wipe my eyes and hold on to the pain. I refuse to cry in class. I shouldn't even be crying over a girl like some wuss. But I want to. Bad.

No. Hold it in. It's like holding on to a hot bar of metal as it burns your hands. You want to scream. You want to yell. You want to cry and say how much it hurts, but I stuff those feelings in a place deep inside. The only thing I can't fix is the numbness I feel, like my nerve endings are shot and I can't feel any sensation.

Class ends.

Bree turns around. Her eyes weaken when they see my face. She knows what I'm feeling. The girl's lips tremble. "I'm sorry," she whispers, almost choking on her words. Bree then gathers her stuff and rushes out of the classroom.