Got Your Tail (boyxboy) ✓

Chapter Eleven

[A/N] I will apologize in advance. Sorry boo.

My sleep did not last long, and that was normal for me. After sex I was mostly restless and the most sleep I got was about two hours before I woke up. Especially because I had a well ingrained habit of sneaking out once the deeds were done.

For a while I just laid there, watching Roy pout and mutter undecipherable things in his sleep. He had this little thing where he puckered his lips a little and then bit the bottom one and frowned deeply. It was so cute. I wondered briefly if he was thinking of his mate.

I sighed.

I tucked the blanket over his sides before lifting myself out of the mattress. It was slightly moist and uncomfortable. I walked over to one of the old stacks of newspapers in the middle. There it was, the stack at the back with the Merinwale Times on the top.

I'll let you guys in on a little secret, no one else is allowed to know it so you'd better keep your fucking mouth shut about it.

Don't give me advice. Don't give me shitty bits of sympathy. And don't call me a retard for doing it.

I cut.

If I ever thought to tell anyone about it I'd say I used to cut, but it's current, it's now. And no one needs to know. No one will find out. Because when I cut, the wounds heal. When I cut all that's left is a thin white line that no one but me sees or recognizes.

I'm not depressed. I'm not. Just sometimes I get in these moods when I can't imagine my life getting any better, when all I see is a bleak future where it is me and me alone. 

I don't sleep when I cut. I don't need to sleep. Not unless I've been crying too much. That makes me sleepy. But I'm a werewolf and sleep is no requirement unless manage to exhaust all my energy and require means to reproduce some of it.

It stings as it heals and the blood sticks to everything it touches. Sleeping is just going to be a night full of discomfort. So I just sit there watching it heal.

You know, most people think werewolves don't have any scars, that our healing means we should have none. I will be the first to tell you that this is incorrect and bloody stupid. 

Scars like mine come from the new skin over the healed wound. When you heal as fast as me that makes it three times more likely for a werewolf like me to scar, even small cuts. Healing wounds does not mean recreating skin the same shade and roughness as your old skin, it's fresh soft skin.

So how did looking at a pile of newspapers spark this entire rant?

I leaned in and pulled off the top four newspapers, everything underneath was a hollowed out. The newspapers were stuck together to make a so called camouflage basket. This was were I kept some of my valuables. Money, watches and little bits of men's accessories I'd stolen from the pack house before running away.

Within it there also resided a little plastic bag full of sharpeners. We stole more stationary than that but these were useful. In the corner there was a screwdriver. I used it to unscrew the screw holding the sharpener together and remove the blade.

I looked inside. There was a box of tissues, a plastic sheet, a bottle of water. God I even had white cooking chocolate.

It depressed me to see such things every time. It reminded me how mechanical it had become. Once I had only thought of doing such things in a moment of desperation, as a call for help when I was in a depressive mood. However it became so routine. Now I looked out for such things even in my average long lot mood.