I Am A Monster

I Am A Monster : Chapter 40

Chapter 40

It's not that I'm mad at him. Not at all. I just don't want to think about him. A single tear traces my cheek as I walk forwards. I stopped running seven minutes and twenty-four seconds ago, when I got satisfyingly far enough from Amari. Every time the image of Mark comes in my head, I break down into fresh tears. I'm crying silently, my shoulders shaking as I walk. Luckily for me the sun has just risen, and not that many werewolves are up. I just look down at my feet as I walk down the hall, occasionally looking out of the corner of my eyes for the familiar number 37 in gold lettering on the familiar wooden door. Right now, I'm at number 256. I sigh. Then I continue walking.

255, 254...there is a hall leading off going down numbers and a hall the opposite way going up numbers. I go on the way of going down numbers. Behind me, I hear hurried footsteps, slightly muffled by a carpet (the floor has a bunch of flat, colorful carpets). My leisurely gait turns to a speed-walk, and then a jog, and then a run, and then a sprint. Finally, I get to another branch. I swing to the left and see the door three doors down: 37. I quietly open the door, slink in, close the door, and look inside.

Morning light shines dimly through a window in the corner that I hadn't noticed earlier. Emma is snoring in her bunk, her feet hanging off the side of her bunk, her face smushed against her bedpost in such a way that she looks like someone is squeezing her cheeks. Her mouth forms a lumpy o, slightly ajar. She snorts in her sleep and then says in a slightly louder voice than normal: "I want the puppy!"

Several people in other bunks turn over restlessly in their sleep, and one person yawns, rubs their eyes without opening them, and then slumps back on their bed and passes out again. I find an empty bunk over Emma's and assume it's mine, since there are no other empty cots. I climb into my sheets, which are cold and unused. I'm not sleepy in the least, but I'm not ready to face Amari. I lie in my bed, my eyes open, my hands on my stomach, until I hear a quiet rustling, and the sound of a bed jostling. Someone curses in a whisper. It sounds like a boy. Hoping my tears are gone, I lean over the railing of my bunk.

A boy is climbing out of his bed. His hair is brown, wavy, and disheveled. He's wearing a loose T-shirt and sweats. He sighs, yawns, and stretches.

"Hello?" I whisper.

He jumps so suddenly that he nearly bangs his head on the railing of his cot (he has a top bunk). He looks over at the sound and sees me. I know that my hair is filled with leaves and twigs and my face is streaked with dirt. I don't care, though. He isn't my mate. Why should I care?

He's very tan. He has high cheekbones and dark, glittering hazel irises.

Like anyone's looks really matter.

"Who are you?" he whispers back.

"My name is Bree," I reply. "Yours?"

"Dylan." Dylan lifts his arm and brings it straight back, as if to pat himself on the back. Instead, he scratches something.

I nod.

"Hey, you look like you've been through hell. Where were you last night?"

"I was...camping."

"Right," he says sarcastically.

I feel my cheeks getting warm, but instead of making a retort, I take a deep breath and say, "I was!" Technically...well, no, I wasn't. But I was sleeping out in the open. So, whatever. I was camping.

"No, you weren't. I can tell when someone's lying, Bree."

There are some werewolves who have some sort of special gift. No, not like in Twilight. I mean, more natural--like seeing the future (Jacob and a lot of other people I really don't know the names of and don't care about), the gift of prophecy (me, the evil queen, etc.), the gift of telling if someone's telling lying (Dylan, apparently, along with a countless amount of others), and so on. Then there is extra strength, extra speed, and extra mind capacity as well, which are definitely the most common. The most rare is having a Wolf conscience, like Alexa. One out of every million werewolves have that ability, which means that I'm probably the only werewolf alive that has it.

"Well, too bad, because that ability doesn't seem to be working right," I snap back, careful to continue whispering.

"Well, nice meeting you," he says, rolling his eyes and sounding sarcastic again.

Eye-roller and sarcasm? What did I do to deserve being stuck with someone like this?

He swings open the door, and I feel a sudden jolt of anger. I grab the rail, twist myself around, jump off of the bed, and stop myself with my hands--which are still clasping the bedrail--right before I knock into Emma. I drop myself quietly to the floor on the balls of my feet and run quietly after Dylan. I find him in the hall, walking in the direction of the cafeteria (which is also the main room). My wrist is killing me from its sudden exertion, but I ignore the pain.

"Dylan, that was so rude!" I exclaim, unable to help myself.

He turns around, surprised that I got into the hall so quickly. "How'd you do that?" he demands.

"Do what?" I ask, glaring at him.

"That," he repeats.

"What?" I growl.

"Get here so fast."

"Trying to flatter me isn't going to help your case," I snarl.

He shrugs. "Never said it would."

He leaves me there, wondering how boys could be so clueless.