Melodramatic Metathesiophobe

Heavy

Upon waking up, his body screamed in protest. It had gotten to the point where he just waited for the new pain or ache and was ready to never leave his bed ever again. But this pain was explainable, something he took genuine comfort in. He knew how sad it was, how upsetting it would have been to someone if all they could look forward to was a pain they could give a reason, but it really was the only good thing he could find. His coping mechanism had failed him repeatedly and he was giving up on it all.

But the only thing that was hurting was his back, and it could easily be written off as sleeping wrong-considering the amount of blankets and pillows he was sleeping with. He'd started to surround himself in them because it was all he could do to comfort himself. It was enough to give himself a sense of human presence and touch while staying completely alone.

Getting up was a struggle. His body was sore, his back especially, and he nearly punched a hole straight through his abdomen because, holy hell, his stomach was already growling.

He stomped to his kitchen, definitely not in the mood, tossing bread into the toaster and getting orange juice, completely done with it all. He was contemplating straight up sleeping. All day. Every day. Just sleeping. Maybe then it would stop hurting.

The toast popped and was soon plated and he didn't even bother with butter, just ate. He itched at his back and then his jaw, really getting mildly annoyed at his scruff. Just for that, he left his toast, ignoring his stomach's cry in protest, going to the bathroom and shaving, nicking himself once, then finishing his food. He wouldn't have bothered if it wasn't just a moderate annoyance.

Cleaning his plate went fine and he put it back on the shelf of his cupboard, then curled over. A strangled noise left his mouth as his hand flew to his back and clutched. The pain shot up, emanating from the base of his spine. It was incredible, like someone tased him, his body hunching. He felt something, his waistband tightening slightly, and his stomach absolutely rolled. He was just so done, feeling the lump at the base of his back. What could it possibly be? How? Why?

He just tried to ignore it, desperately attempted to just say it was nothing and put back the rest of his clean dishes, and for way longer than it should have, it worked. He managed to ignore it long enough to put his dishes away and start on organizing his junk drawer.

Pain returned with a vengeance when he was in the middle of staring at a pen he didn't remember the origin of.

It slammed up through his back, flaring wildly and spreading up, his eyes popping open and teeth clenching with a sound of agony. It was nothing but pain, his vision dark and spotty as he clutched the counter, his other hand feeling the end of his spine, but unfortunately for his sanity the end of his spine was not where it should have been. He was aware through the burning pain that his vertebrae were multiplying, or at least that was the only thing he could relate the aching, rough stretch to. But that wasn't possible, it literally wasn't, it shouldn't have been. But it was. And he could feel it. And he was very aware when his skin started to prickle with the same heat from weeks ago he thought was gone. Grunts and rough breathing vibrated in his throat and his eyes were screwed shut and he was biting his cheek and it felt like it would never end, like the pain would be there forever.

It did stop, though, after ages--the pain ebbed away slowly to a dull throb and he just stood there, leaning on the counter, trying to twist around to maybe see what happened, and his brain short circuited. There was no explanation. There was no easy way to say it.

The end of his spine had unfurled into a scraggly tail, dark brown fur curling over it all, and he collapsed. He just sank to the cold floor and held his body. The thought had been eating at him for a time, had been biting the edges of his skull with urgency, and now it just seemed like the last conclusion he could come to.

The thing he saw in the woods, the ragged black creature--must have been a werewolf. And the moment he let the thought center in his head was the moment he thought he'd officially lost his mind. It all made sense in that explanation, though; the bite and scratch had stayed warm and inflamed way longer than they should have, his hair had grown at least two inches in the time it would generally grow half of one, his scruff got untamed way too easily, the teeth, the hearing, the hunger, and now a tail-- how was he supposed to even hide it?!

All he could think of then was his bed. It was the only thing that offered comfort anymore, the only thing that offered rest, so he dragged himself from the floor, eyes watering, back feeling heavy as he treaded his way to his room, slumping into his mound of sheets. He pulled a pillow to his chest, clutched it, closed his eyes, and tried to escape. 

//Author's Notes\\

Oh yeah, it's all coming together ;)

I'm starting to get things set to post on AO3 as well. Let's hope it works!

~XO, Vacant.~