"Ash," he breathed, "We're getting dangerous here."
"No head?"
Something red flashed through his eyes, as the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. "You're going to give me head, whether you like it or not. I meant that we can't turn back after...
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There was this thing with wolves.
They scared the living shit out of me.
I had nothing against dogs, nothing against foxes. But wolves- they were something else for me entirely. And this was no ungrounded fear, some irrational phobia like so many have with spiders and dark spaces or plane flights, no.
My father was killed by a pack when I was only nine years old, and I witnessed the whole thing go down. To this day, I keep having nightmares about that very moment, that very moment when the huge beasts tore off my father's head.
I've indulged myself into the knowledge of the cruel beasts. They shouldn't have been so aggressive, the internet told me, they shouldn't have been able to overpower a grown man within seconds. They shouldn't have been so big, so terrifyingly lusty for blood, so-
"Your obsession is freaking me out, Ash," a warm, dark voice sounded from behind me. My back arched as a weird tingling sensation shot through my body at the sudden sound.
"You're freaking me out, Kye," I shot back.
I didn't need to turn around to know who'd invaded my personal space and hung his head over my shoulder to watch me close my tabs. It's not like I was ashamed for having the weird tendency to look into wolves at the most random of times, it was his presence that was making me feel uneasy about it.
I'd been looking into bigger species of wolves that could've resided in America for a little while, around the time of my father's death. But even if the largest of the largest wolves from Russia had been magically teleported from the dark woods into my own backyard in Texas, they still wouldn't match my memory.
But who clings unto a traumatic 'memory' from when they were nine, like an unwavering truth?
"You smell nice today," Kye remarked, making me turn around on my chair to face him. I always thought I was ready to. To stare at his face and think, 'wow, there's really nothing special about him, is there?' but that wish was evaporated every single time I met his eyes.
They drained me. They made me feel like I was the last human on earth, for the rest had been slaughtered right before my eyes, and that I was about to go down with them. Yes, they made me long for death, if only to escape his gaze.
"Same deodorant," I retorted. "Same perfume, same shampoo, same-"
"Yes, yes. Like always." He grinned, and it made me lower my eyes. "But a slightly longer walk with your dog through the woods this morning, perhaps?"
He was spot on. It killed me, every time. But not a twitch on my face, I tell you!
"You like the scent of dogs, hm? Too bad, they hate you."
"Hate is a strong word," he simply stated, not even caring to overthrow my argument. After having sneaked up on me, he finally took a seat on the chair behind mine, still very much focusing on me.
