Call Me Mary

My Younger Brother

Scott was the boy who I dormed with. He plays lacrosse and works at a bar down the street, and now I go with him to work every single day. The adrenaline rush from a week ago has died down, though I still look as I did in that moment. I think I may be falling for him, but in a time as dire as this, I don't know if it's just puppy love or not.

I always sit on the counter of the bar next to the big windows, against the rustic, red bricks and atop the smooth stone brick table top. His hair was dark brown and I've heard his voice enough that I can read anything in his voice, even if he's never said it. It's funny, isn't it? How I like to believe I love him despite it being an illusion of the mind that generally makes humans sad. But, I'll choose not to think of it that way.

Girls generally walk in the bar and try to flirt with him, his big puppy dog eyes always gleaming when he sees a new face, being glad to meet a stranger who doesn't try to flirt with him. His tan skin seemed to radiate his attitude of a constant joy. People have been saying that he never used to be like this until I got here, and it kinda hurts when they say it. I wish for him to be him, rather than him with me. Because that means I've tainted him, I've changed him. I want to adore him. Not my him. Does that even make sense? I may be going insane.

I must've reread that letter my brother wrote at least five hundred times. By now I don't even think I need to reread it, I've memorised it. Kozmo is.. something else. His black hair gleams bright in the light and the green eyes, emerald eyes, he inherited from our father contract almost perfectly. He had pale skin like that of our ancestors that could out do the moon itself, it puts sunlight to shame with how blinding it is but you can't help but stare when he walks into a room, all attention gets drawn to his voice and to him. It's always him.

One day, I was sitting in the bar with Scott, it was jam packed as for usual and a boy walked in. I almost didn't recognise him, his eyes were blue. Ryder.

Emotions overwhelmed me enough they shut down, I slid my phone into my pocket and noted a weird glance from Scott. He was still serving people, though we exchanged a look, our look. He nodded to me and I did back, nearly in unison. I went up to the small boy and grabbed his shoulder, teleporting us both outside the building into the stiff, frigid air.

He recognised me even as a completely different person, he was a werewolf. Probably remembering my scent, he tracked me down. "Ryder? What are you doing here?" I asked, monotone as to not draw attention to us with the people passing.

His blue eyes seared into me, darker than the depths of the sea. His reckless, curly brown hair bobbed slightly in the cold breeze. He's only six years old.. and he came here.

"Kozmo." Is the only thing he says, and then I understand.

He didn't come here himself.

He was sent.

To protect something..

Me.