Severed Connections

Chapter Two: The Breaking Point

I awoke with a jolt. I had expected to wake up in the forest just outside of town. I had expected the earth beneath my paws and the scent of pines. Just a moment ago, that had been me, growls erupting from my muzzle, my sights enhanced, the colors in the world popping out at me.

That had been me.

These dreams were becoming more frequent and I didn’t understand why. What made this year any different than the last? If some big change was going to happen, wouldn’t it have happened the night I turned eighteen?

Then again, life is nothing like the books I’ve read or the movies I’ve watched. Every time I think I have myself almost figured out, something new comes up.

Do you know what it’s like to look up “werewolves” and spend hours laughing because all of it was complete bullshit? Because the things people told others about being a werewolf were all lies?

The internet is full of shit – maybe about one source out of twenty is even close to the truth.

I guess I looked hoping to find people like me. People that felt what I feel when I dream those dreams.

But they don’t exist. If they did, I would be free now. And I wouldn’t have the things on my mind that I do. I would have no desire to harm myself – to die.

I quietly stepped downstairs, strands of black hair falling into my eyes. There was barely a commotion in the kitchen when I stepped foot onto the tiles, eyebrows raising. My mom was scrambling around the kitchen as usual, grabbing a scoop of scrambled eggs and piling them on a plate for me. My dad was not home, as usual, his work shift having started around four A.M.

The time was seven A.M. when I glanced at the numbers on the microwave. Softly my mom kissed my forehead as I sat down tiredly at the table, immediately digging in, grabbing a piece of steaming hot bacon and throwing it into my mouth.

I heard a sigh and stopped mid-bite. Mom was standing, arms crossed over her chest, frown lines around her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Another sleepless night?” she inquired, giving me a look before turning back to the eggs on the stove.

You didn’t have to be my mom to see the bags under my eyes and the sluggish nature of my movements.

“If not, I had a crazy, sex filled party last night,” I replied, sarcasm rampant in my voice while I shoveled another mouthful of scrambled eggs and bacon into my mouth.

There was the sound of a plate dropping and a squeal. A nervous laugh sounded.

“Mom—“

“I know, I know, you’re kidding. I just don’t know where you get that sarcasm from,” she said, her brown eyes clouding with an emotion I didn’t understand. She always had that flicker in her eyes when I did or said things she couldn’t explain. It was as though she had an internal battle waging to say something that she couldn’t say. Like she had things on her mind she had no way of voicing.

“Probably the same place I got anxiety and bad dreams and depression.”

“May…”

I took my plate and began to rinse it in the sink, shaking my head. I didn’t want to have this talk again. We’d been through it a million times. She and the rest of the world wanted to shove my mouth full of pills and sit me in a nice leather chair to talk about how everything makes me feel. That’s something I didn’t want, among everything that I did want but couldn't have. It would just give me another reason to feel detached.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I love you, mom. I have to get ready for school now.”

Offering a small smile, I left the kitchen quickly, flying up the stairs and slamming my bedroom door behind me.

With my back to the closed door, I sunk to the floor, face in my hands. The tears were warm on my skin and they seemed to soak up all the emotions that blurred through my mind like mosquitoes to a bright light.

It took everything for me to get up after a few minutes of sitting there. It took even more effort to get dressed, to brush my hair and put it into a perfect braid. I branded my lips with a light shade of lipstick, and adorned my eyelashes with waterproof mascara. Blue eyes gazed back at me in the mirror when I took a deep breath, ready to leave.

So this was another day. But every day before this, I had been on the verge of making a decision I should have made a long time ago.

Today, I would be free. If I could not free the roaring inside, if I couldn’t escape my skin, I would escape another way.

As I walked to my locker, I did the greetings expected of me. The brief hugs, the friendly grins, the small exchanges and mini conversations. And as usual, none of it connected with me. None of it made any difference to the battle inside. I grabbed my books and shoved them into my backpack, grabbing and staring for a moment at the photos that were held to the locker door with magnets. Pictures of homecoming, pictures of my “friends”, pictures of myself cheerleading with that smile plastered on my face –

God how I had grown to hate that smile. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it any more real. I couldn’t sum up one ounce of happiness. It was like trying to squeeze more drops out of a raincloud.

I was done trying. Carefully but forcefully, I shoved the pictures into a folder and into my bag, trying to keep a mutual expression for anyone watching. And for me – someone was always watching one of the popular girls, someone who had been in athletics, someone who had been a cheerleader, that girl that was always talking and surrounded by others.

It was difficult to force back that lump in my throat and ignore the pounding of my heart. I gave a brief wave to Ashley, who gave me a puzzled look as I left the school just as soon as I had come. Even though I had planned to spend my last day trying to keep that image of normalcy alive, being here just made it too difficult. Although I wasn’t attached to anyone at the school or in town, it was still hard to lie to them, to show them this last glimpse of me. Ashley had always been so kind, always at my birthday parties, always one of the first to offer to go to the movies with me. She was sweet, but no matter how kind she or anyone else was, the world just didn’t click for me. I didn’t fit in in the way that I wanted to. There was no getting around it or escaping it – until now.

By the time I pulled my car into the parkinglot of the grocery store nearest to the forest, I was panicking. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white. I kept sucking in deep breaths that didn’t seem to bring any air into my lungs.

For a few minutes, I sat there, eyes staring at my delicate fingers, at the pale skin that showed my veins as clearly as day.

I didn’t notice the darkening clouds in the sky. I didn’t hear the rumbling thunder or see the small lights in the sky as lightning lit it up. The only thing I noticed was the pill bottle in my hands, the way my hands shook as I fumbled to get it open, and the way they slid down my throat slowly.

One after one, I downed a pill, taking as many as I could bare to before getting out of the car and running.

The world was a blur as my bare feet hit the pavement, then the grass, then the twigs and branches of the forest floor. I saw green. I saw brown. I smelled pines, just like in my dreams – only this time, they were there, and I was away from my bed and away from the house I was supposed to call a home.

But as far as the roaring inside was concerned, this was my home. Not a bed. Not hallways and football games and movie theatres. This.

The nausea set in just as the first drop of rain hit my face. I barely felt it.

I was laying down on the forest floor before I could grasp what was happening. Every urge to throw up I repressed, not wanting the pills out of my system faster than they could work. This was it. This was what I wanted. The more they took their effect, the more numb I felt, and the harder the rain fell. I was soaked by the time everything started fading to black.

About the time the howling started.