I Am A Monster

I Am A Monster : Chapter 38

Chapter 38

We're all silent. Everyone is staring at me. I feel the blood draining from my face. I clear my throat, take a deep, wavering breath, and then speak.

"Okay. Thanks." My voice is shaking. I think I'm about to cry. I bury my head in my hands.

"I'm sorry," says Scarlett quietly, like it's all her fault. "But either you kill her, or..." Her voice trails off. She stares at her hands.

I finish her sentence. "Or she kills me."

Scarlett nods, still looking down, not meeting my eyes.

"Well...okay, then," I say.

"Bree--" says Sabrina, trying to put her hands on my shoulders.

I shrug them off, and before she can make a second attempt to keep me here, I've fled out of the room.

* * *

I don't know how long I'm running. The tears stream down my face, stinging my cheeks from the cold. My breath rises in puffs of steam. I'm wearing a hoodie and jeans and leather boots, but I'm still freezing. Finally, I give in and morph.

As a wolf, my fur is well-equipped for keeping my body warm in cold climates. I make my fur very long until it's a few feet, shaggy and unkempt and tangled and black to absorb the heat. It's a little longer than normal, but I don't care. I'm going to die. I'm never going to have a job, to have a boyfriend, to have a husband. I'm never going to have a real life. It makes me reckless. I'm not focused on myself anymore. My body slams into a tree. My chest aches and my feet hurt. My stomach is killing me from the knife. My wrist feels like it has a bunch of icy splinters in it. My back is sore from the punch that Killer had thrown. I get to my feet, my entire body riddled with different kinds of pain from the tree and from the attack from Killer. I don't care anymore. I keep running.

I don't know how long I'm running for, but soon I become aware of something behind me, padding softly against the snow.

I turn around, snarling fiercely, and find that it's Marcus's wolf. He stops short, sitting on his haunches so that he doesn't slide across the snow, and backs up several paces. I step forward, crouching, my eyes narrowed and my white, jagged teeth bared, exposing long teeth and a fleshy, writhing tongue.

He backs up several more paces, snarling in return, in self-defense, but as soon as I take another step forward he takes another step backwards. His feet hit some ice, and with a strangled yelp, he hits the snow. He quickly climbs to his feet, shaking his head furiously, trying to get the snow off. I chortle, and the sound is like a strangled snarl, going for a half second and then stopping for a fraction of a second, and then repeating itself.

He snarls in return.

Bree, he thinks, stop hiding from everyone.

You're not my mom, I reply.

Yeah, well I'm one of the closest things you'll ever have to family besides Em--

Don't mention that name! I shriek, closing my eyes. I never want to hear that name! Never again!

My voice is louder, high-pitched.

She's your sister, Bree, he says in a low, hurt voice. Your sister.

She's no sister of mine.

I turn away so that he can't see my tears and bolt off into the woods. I hear him following me, and go faster. He does, too. I go even faster, until every muscle is straining and aching, my chest feeling like it's filled with splinters.

I stop abruptly, and behind me I hear Marcus straining to stop so that he doesn't bump into me.

We're in a clearing. There is a house near us, a white, old, wooden clapboard house.

I morph and sob.

This is my home.

* * *

The photo of me is old and covered in dust, but it shows me as nine: Stringy brown hair falling unevenly around my shoulders, a wide, buck-toothed grin, my warm brown eyes sparkling, giving a thumbs-up to the camera. I set it carefully back on the mantel, trying to hide my tears from Marcus, who stands shocked a few feet away.

"All this time..." I whisper to myself. "All this time. I was running away. And then I accidentally changed directions. I must have gone in some sort of loop. And then I met up with the pack...and now...."

I never want to go back. Ever.

Marcus walks up to me and puts his hands around my neck from behind. I try to push away, but his grip is too strong. He pulls me closer, until his hot breath is in my ear. I struggle to get away, but he won't let me. He's embracing me like a brother would, except the sister would never try to pull away like this.

"You're--not--my--brother!" I cry, finally pulling myself from his grip. A single tear traces my cheek.

He squeezes his eyes shut as I blink back more tears, wiping my hand across my eyes.

"Mark--" I catch myself. He looks up at me, eyes wide.

"Bree," he says in a low voice, "Why did--"

"Don't talk about Emma," I tell him, my voice thick, trying to change the subject. "Ever. I hate her."

"You don't hate her," he whispers, opening his eyes. "You never--"

"I hate her!" I shriek, putting my hands against his chest and pushing him. He staggers backwards before regaining his balance.

"Bree!" he protests.

"NO!" My voice is still thick. I push past him, scramble out of the door, morph, and run in the direction of the base, not caring if I end up there or not, just wanting to get away from Marcus.

I called him Mark. Why did I call him Mark?

Because he reminds me of Mark.