Wolf (UNDER SOME SERIOUS REVISION)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Patricia

Unedited

P E R C Y U S

As the weeks went on following the attack on Calla, I noticed some pretty weird things. Despite Calla's obvious distaste for Lorenzo, she spent most of her time around him. As her mate it infuriated me seeing her around him, but I knew I had to control myself. When she was with him, sometimes she was happy, but most of the time her face was set and she was angry. By goddess she was hot when she was angry. Her jaw would set and her eyes sparkled, her body rigid and hotter than hell. I tried not to let that effect me, but most of the time I failed and had to take a cool down lap around the track.

     I had only talked to Lorenzo a couple times recently, and he was even weirder than Calla. He seemed almost robotically controlled. Lorenzo was a very annoying person before he attacked Calla, but that was his character and the most lovable part about him. Now he was scarily calm and angry. He was almost like my father. He even carried himself like my father, chest puffed and eyebrows furrowed at all times. I didn't like it one bit. I don't know what has gotten into him. Sometimes he will come up to me and say hi and act all weird and giggly like normal, but most of the time he was emotionless and scary. I honestly didn't understand, and missed him so much. Since Calla came into my life I haven't spent very much time around him and for that I felt like shit. I basically abandoned my best friend.

     I needed to get him back, but I didn't know how I was supposed to do that when most of the time he hated me. So I buried myself in my work to drown out my vigorously working mind. For two weeks now all I had been doing was getting up, running, punching a beat up bag, working, eating, working, eating, then going to bed. It was a boring cycle, but it kept my mind focused on things other than my arousal for Calla and the weird bipolar tendencies of my ex-best friend. I hated that term used on him. He was supposed to be my best friend forever.

My cycle was disrupted on no particular Tuesday, at 6:47 at night. Lorenzo, looking frazzled and disheveled, came briskly into my room, swinging the door shut swiftly behind him. He made a beeline for the chair in front of my desk, and plopped down with a heavy sigh. I felt my mouth open in confusion and never close. He eyed the distance between his chair and my desk before scooting forward until his knees touched my desk. His hands folded, unfolded, slapped down on to his knees, folded once again, then finally slammed down onto my desk. That snapped me to attention.

Before I could speak, he drew in a sharp breath, looking up at a corner of my room like he was debating what to say. When he did he seemed unsure of himself. "Okay, so- um... I think something is wrong with me."

I closed my mouth, only to roll my tongue over my lips and open it back up, but found myself at a loss for words. The only one that arose was: "What?" This was not the first sentence I wished to say to him. It was hardly a sentence at all.

He held his breath for a second, letting it out in a big puff. His knee bounced. It was like he did three lines of coke before he came here. He flexed his fingers on my desk, "I think I'm a schizo." He rocked back before coming back, leaning almost onto my desk right up in my face.

"A what?"

"A schizophrenic. A maniac. I'm hearing voices, losing track of time, I'm falling asleep and waking up ten hours later on the porch drinking coffee. I hate coffee!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "What's wrong with me? What am I wearing? I would never wear this shirt! It's ugly. I never wear it!" He pulled at his peach colored button up with little pineapples on it.