I am the Wolf Girl

{Chapter 1}

I screamed and flailed, my fist connecting with something hard as I clawed desperately at my face. I couldn't see anything, and my heart was pounding so hard against my chest that I couldn't breathe. As I continued to thrash, I could feel my fingers tug violently at my wild brown hair, my nails scraping harshly against my scalp. Another scream filled the air when warm hands wrapped firmly around my wrists. I fought harder against the hands in an attempt to get away, but to no avail. I just wanted to get away until I heard a soft, familiar murmur calling out to me thick with worry.

“Cristina! It's me, sweetheart!”

I slowly relaxed and collapsed into my mother's open arms with broken sobs. I wasn't running through the forest, and I wasn't falling off a cliff. I was safe in my room with my mother cooing to me as if I were still a small child, and at that moment, I didn't care. I just continued crying until I physically couldn't cry anymore. My mom continued to shush me while she pushed tangled strands of hair from my sweat soaked face, giving me a clearer view of her and my surroundings. It was as if she was trying to prove that I wasn't dreaming anymore and that I had no reason to still be afraid until my body finally started to relax. My eyes struggled to adjust to the bright morning light that came in through my window, and I clung tighter to my mother. A violent shudder went through me when the smell of sea salt and wet sand filled my nose, followed by the warm ocean breeze kissing my skin. My mom, like every other morning, had drawn the curtains and opened the window to allow fresh air into the room. One of the pluses to living in a condo in Florida was that the beach was quite literally in our backyard, and it was only a short walk down a gravel path.

I continued to think of the sand between my toes and the water pushing and pulling along the brim until I finally calmed down enough to clearly take in my surroundings. Phil Dwyer, my stepfather, had shuffled lazily into my room with a soft frown. In one hand was a steaming cup of coffee, black I’m sure, given that was how he drank it, and an icepack in the other that he had pressed against his cheekbone. Guilt pooled in my stomach as I realized the solid thing my fist had collided with was his face, and he, as well as my mother, were exhausted. For weeks, I had been having the same recurring nightmare, and for weeks, my parents had been abruptly woken up and at my side until the wee hours of the morning. Terrorized wailing that could easily wake up the dead, followed by my breathy apologies night after night. Mom and Phil had routinely asked me about the nightmare, but I could never bring myself to recall the nightmare out of fear of it becoming real.

This morning was no different, but instead of answering with the usual ‘I don’t remember’ I kept quiet and reluctantly got out of bed to close the window. Mom knew that I hated my window being open these days, but she genuinely believed the fresh morning air would help ease my nerves and start me on the right foot. It never did. It always made my heart race a mile a minute, making my bad dreams feel more like bad memories that I couldn’t let go of no matter how hard I tried. I turned to the couple, and I could see the disappointment etched on my mothers face, but she stayed silent and looked over to Phil, who didn’t have the energy to give an emotion. My jaw tensed, and I managed to force an apologetic smile to my face as Mom stood from her perch on my bed and walked towards her husband. It had been the same routine for several weeks now, and I knew they were ready for a change.

“Cristina-”

I slowly looked from Phil to my mom as she squeezed his shoulder, cutting him off before he could even finish a thought. They were having one of their eye contact conversations, something my mom explained to me as ‘the way soulmates can communicate together’. It was sort of a sweet thing that, to some extent, I hoped I would have one day, but that wasn’t an anytime soon thing. Since this was a common form of communication between them I knew the look in her eyes said ‘let me talk to her’ and a worried frown pulled on Phils’ tired, sunken face in silent agreement.