The Werewolf [COMPLETE]

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"I want us to spend this day differently, Em."

My ears followed the sound of his voice, pulling my head and dragging my body around. My absent gaze settled on his lips, trying to figure out the meaning of the different noises escaping his mouth, the harsh and the soft, the plosive and the silky. It was hard; hard to discern the vowels and the consonants, harder to translate them into words and sentences. I couldn't concentrate properly, my thoughts were leaves on the frail tree of my consciousness, flying away with the slightest gusts of the autumn wind.

"I want us—" Aaron stopped. He looked down, biting his lip and shaking his head. When his gaze found my gaze back, a fire was burning in his eyes. "I need us to live the day, not outlive the day. For once. Just for once."

I remained silent as I tried to process what he was saying. Everything was so slow in my head. He'd said that he wanted— No. He'd said that he needed— A day. A different day. A day that for once, just for once would be— Lived. Not outlived. That was what he'd said. A day not endured, a day not survived.

A day lived. I didn't know what he'd meant by it. But whatever it was, he meant it, he really meant it.

"Will you do this for me?" His eyes were expectant, his voice almost had a desperate edge to it. Almost. Almost? "Can you help me? Can you live a normal day with me?"

I finally found enough of my senses back to answer him.

"Nothing can be normal, Aaron. Not in this game."

"I know, I know! But we could just forget it. We could forget everything, and there would be no more game, no more Villagers and no more Werewolves! No deaths. No grief. No pain. For one day." I didn't have to suspect despair in his tone anymore, I knew it there. And in his eyes. And in the pace of his breath. And in the agitation of his gestures. He did need this.

I could not forget. And even if I could have. Even if I'd had the skills to do so, I didn't know whether I would or would not have the will to do it. But I could pretend to forget. For Aaron I could, and for Aaron I would.

— — —

The sun casted its last rays for the day, painting the canvas of the sky with warm orange, yellow and white brushes of light. Birds were black blurs gliding and soaring in the air, circling overhead, dancing and chanting with one another, and with the final act of the ballet, flocks of ballerinas in dresses of feathers were running off stage, flapping with their wings the applauses and echoing with their squeaks the cheers of a silent audience. The last beak, the last tweet, the last bow and the sky was empty.

Above in the clouds, another bird flew hundreds back home, schoolboys and schoolgirls bouncing in their seats, businessmen sighing impatiently, stewardesses smiling apologetically. From the distance, the noise of the cabin and the roar of the engines were only a faint murmur to my ears, and the plane had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing but a trail of fading clouds in the picture before my eyes. My gaze roved a last time the evening sky before falling and pulling me back to the Village.

The cold wind was softly blowing through my locks, stroking my cheeks and kissing my lips. I was rocking back and forth, lulled by the calm swaying of the swing, lost in my contemplation of the fall of night. Aaron stirred by my side, drawing me closer to his chest, burying his nose in my hair and inhaling my smell, while I was snuggling my head under his neck. We remained in this position, without moving, without stirring, without even breathing it seemed. We were still, we were a pair of creatures of stone, we were covered by blankets on our laps, we didn't need them, for we didn't feel the cold, not then, not for the instant of a moment, not for the time of a few hours.