The Moon Kissed

8 √

Chapter 8| Painting The Scene

*Five days later, Thursday evening*

No matter how much I tried to not to look at my wrist every five minutes, my eyes always went back down to my wrist, hoping by some miracle that it wasn't there. But every time I looked down at it, not a single thing had changed from five minutes before. 

I sighed, falling onto my back as I looked up at the bright sky over Inspiration Hill. 

I had come up here with one goal, and that was to paint something. I had brought all my old paints and brushes from the shed out in our backyard and I brought two, spotless canvases with me, but after two hours sitting up here, the canvases were still blank and untouched. 

I hadn't seen Rese in five days, but his father had become a frequent face. After learning that he was a doctor, it made walking up in my own room a little less confusing. He had explained that a hallucinating drug, DMT, had been put into my hot chocolate.

So I spent my first day in a state of constant confusion and drowsiness, my second day in a puddle of tears, my third day sitting in the backyard with the girls talking about prom, my fourth day with Salmon, Milo, dad, and Tali, and now I was spending my fifth day alone on top of a mountainside without a means of getting home. And Rese had never stopped by once.

I suppose I couldn't blame him though. I had just, out of the blue, started to talk about three girls he had loved that were murdered, and here I was telling him a theory about it. That would probably push someone away...

He also might not have stopped by because of what happened to me and what I saw in his eyes and what he saw in mine. I could still see my eyes–so different and animalistic–and I could still see Juno's horror when she had looked at Rese. Maybe he had seen it in my eyes.

I sat up in a flash as I heard something snap on my right, and as I turned I went rigid. Standing not even ten feet away from me was a wolf the size of a literal grizzly bear, maybe even taller. His amber eyes were like liquid, his coat was a mix between light brown and dark brown markings, and his fur was thick and sleek looking. But it was still a wolf, a dangerous one.

I scooted back as the wolf stepped forward, lowering his head to the ground as he sniffed the air. Staying as still as I could, I waited for it to just get scared and run away, but no, it moved closer, trotting right towards me. I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for it to bite my face off.

"Please don't eat me. Please don't eat me."  I kept whispering, but the bite never came, and I could only hear the wolf breathe, it's breath fanning out across my face. 

It was quiet–the only sound being the window and the birds–for a good, long time, and when nothing happened, I slowly poked one eye open to find the wolf laying down beside me, it's head on the ground, but its eyes were still watching me carefully. I opened my other eye, feeling that if I breathed then it would attack and kill me. 

I sat still, watching the wolf, and I withheld a whimper as the wolf groaned, lifting its head off the ground. It reached over, and as I thought it was going to take a chunk out of my leg, instead, it just licks my thigh, its eyes no longer piercing mine. 

I felt my shoulders relax a little, and I decided to be brave and I slowly moved my hands, grabbing my paintbrush. The wolf stopped licking me, his eyes snapping over to the canvas. I watched in shock as he turned towards the canvas, doing an army crawl right up next to it, and then he looked at me, his tail moving up and down against my knee. 

Being this close just made him seem all the more gigantic in comparison to myself. 

"You're a kind wolf." I murmur, looking at him carefully as he yawns, laying his head on the ground next to the canvas. "You and my dog would be great friends." I mention, and the wolf snorts, its eyes closing as it watched me stare at the blank canvas.