The Mating Habits of Werewolves

Part 2

I woke the next morning feeling like I had travelled back in time. My room smelled just like it always had, except for how my own scent had faded from the clothes and the bedding, I could have seventeen and waking up with the sun to go for a run before school, or twelve and so ravenously hungry that I had woken in the middle of the night again to go for some of the leftovers my mother always left for me. If I had been, my dad would have been downstairs or in his room and not in a box somewhere in town. I washed my face but I didn't bother with clothes, too desperate to be on the move, as if I could outrun the turmoil of my own mind. As if absence could be filled with activity.

My mother, unchanged through the years, still as blonde and rosy as she had been on her wedding day, seemed to feel the same way. She was busy cooking breakfast with all the methodical multitasking having everything just made and piping hot simultaneously required, and although her smile was a poor imitation of true joy, I didn't doubt she was pleased to see me enter her kitchen looking more zombie than werewolf, just like I had most mornings of my life.

She set a plate in front of me without speaking and I sat there, eating and waiting for my father to walk in and ask for a cup of strong tea, till I realised my eggs were cold and my bacon had solidified into a lump of fat covered leather. My plate was still half full but when I checked to see if my mother would get annoyed that I had wasted food, she just shook her head at me. "It's fine, Devlin. I haven't had much of an appetite myself. Just make sure you eat more later, you need your strength."