Mates of a Human

Part Three. Chapter Four. Alex

I ended up staying with them the night, even though I was planning on refusing and returning to my apartment after dinner.  But I fell asleep on the sofa in between them while we were watching some blockbuster movie that Michael had purchased on route home from the hospital.  It was one of those 'all action, no plot' type of movies that somehow managed to rake in the cash at the cinema.  The acting was okay, the comedic lines were few and far between and the only thing going for it was the CGI.  However, even before my vision was the way it is now, my appreciation for special effects wanes rapidly without anything else to keep my attention.  I ended up falling asleep by the mid point.

And woke up cuddled into Eric's body, while the heat from Michael's body warmed my back, in their bed.

Leaving them was harder than I imagined, I had grown more attached to teasing tiger and the serious, patient wolf than I realised.  It was as if their reassurances that they would not reject nor leave me had torn down my walls.  It should frighten me how quickly they were becoming entrenched into my life, but being in their company was too calming, preventing my worries from surfacing.

It helped that Michael was heading to work at the hospital for a twelve hour Saturday shift, he gave me a lift to the train station on route.  We left a pouting cat behind, but only after he was satisfied that we had his scent marked upon us.  His kisses almost drained my will to leave.  He thoroughly kissed Michael as well, but the wolf did not submit to him, so he stole another kiss from me, leaving me half dazed.  Michael's goodbye was chaste, but that was probably a good thing, he had to get to work and I had a train to catch.  My heart hurt, though, now that I was separated from them both and the world was definitely greyer without them beside me.

I took a deep breath as I entered them station.  I had survived without them in my life before, I could cope again. This became my mantra throughout the train journey, which took just 40 minutes and before I knew it, I was stepping out onto a familiar platform with a sigh.  I claimed one of the waiting taxi's; the bus route would have taken me into the pack's territory and I wasn't ready to face the buried past.  Without my walls, without the two men who had stripped them from me, I was feeling especially vulnerable and then, almost as if he knew it, Michael sent me a text.  It only stated that he hoped my journey was safe and to come home soon.  It was enough.  I pressed the phone to my forehead and felt as if some of my strength had returned.

As the taxi pulled up outside the three storey detached house that in all honesty was way to large for a family of three, tears began to blur my vision. I grabbed some notes from my wallet and gave them to the driver, they must have covered the fare as he said nothing as I leapt from the car and ran to the front door. Less than a second from when I rang the doorbell, my father opened the door and I was in his arms, holding myself back from breaking down in his embrace.

"Welcome home, son," he said warmly and guided me into my old home. He already had coffee freshly brewed and offered me a cup, put together how I used to drink it, one sugar and a splash of milk. It gently teased my tastebuds, muted, but not flavourless which was a satisfying realisation in itself. So far only Eric's cooking had produced flavour on my tongue, it was good to know that my body was slowly reawakening once more.

We sat down in the second living room, mother liked to use the other for formal occasions, but this one was more my father's style with an oversized leather sofa that was slightly worn about the edges and the wood stove that would warm us in the winter. Shelves lined the side wall and were covered in well read books, a lot of which were medical history books, but there were also a wave of crime fiction novels, my father's favourite genre. If ever I wanted to be in my father's presence when I was small, I would come in here and curl up against his body while he read. Mother would join us sometimes too, but there was no computer nor television in here, so she would flick through fashion or house design magazines. Grandmama would be in the kitchen or in the sewing room that my parents had made on the second floor, until she was too weak to climb them. The memories swirled about me like a stream of wind, but it was warm and comforting.