A Hundred Whispers Make a Howl

Chapter 2

As with most things, there are both perks and drawbacks associated with my unique condition. I've been coping with lycanthropy for just over two years now, and during that time I've struggled to adjust to the best of my ability.

The initial changes following my infection had been the hardest to deal with. Physically, some of the side effects were notably beneficial. Predictably, my speed, strength and endurance had increased exponentially. My senses were also heightened, particularly my ability to smell and hear things far outside the normal human range. Hell, I even grew an additional inch!

Unfortunately, the unexpected emotional changes posed more of a pressing issue. In the immediate weeks following 'D-Day' I could hardly call myself sane. Everything had been heightened, senses and emotions. I could go from screaming bloody murder in a white-hot rage, to sobbing quietly in a dark corner with little to no provocation. I was constantly anxious, and sometimes I felt like I was quite literally about to burst out of my skin. It took me nearly three months to stop acting like I belonged in an insane asylum.

Now, however, as I thread my fingers absentmindedly through my long brown hair, those concerns are minimal. Currently, I'm more worried about the abhorrent bags under my eyes. My post-moon hangover never makes for a very pretty picture.

I'm stuck at work at 8am on a Thursday, looking like I belong in a commercial for serious drug withdrawal. The store is dead, and lazily I drum my fingers on the register while halfheartedly attempting to look over my psychology text. So far, my efforts have been largely in vain, considering I've re-read the same paragraph three times over now without absorbing any of the content. I'd gotten home this morning around 6 a.m., leaving just enough time for a quick nap and a shower. There's a serious kink in my neck, and all I want to do is sleep.

I huff, frustrated, and close my text book. With no customers to cater to, boredom has begun to exacerbate my fatigue. The quiet atmosphere and warm smells of brewing coffee lull me into contentedness, and I want so badly just to let myself nod off. But I'm on early-morning register duty in the cafe, and I doubt Elise would be happy to find me napping where customers can see.

Elise is the owner of The Book Nook, a small but quaint little coffee shop and bookstore that serves a modest, but loyal crowd of customers. It's a good place to find novels from smaller publishers, which some of the big corporate stores just don't carry.

I fell in love with the little hole-in-the-wall establishment when I first moved to New York, just over two months ago. It was a quiet, convenient study spot within walking distance of my apartment, and Elise and her employee Caroline had been incredibly welcoming.

The Book Nook quickly became my regular hangout, sad as that sounds, and I spent my time there lounging, reading, and sipping on sweet caffeinated beverages. My near-constant presence there eventually prompted Elise to offer me a part-time job once school started, and Caroline had to reduce her hours. I had immediately accepted.

Generally, working isn't an issue for me. I enjoy it as a nice change of pace from school most of the time, and the extra money is always a good thing. If anything, it helps me feel more normal; making it easier to identify as a college student with a part-time job, rather than some creature better suited to life in a Hollywood film than the real world.

I notice the sound of footsteps approaching from behind me before the intruder even announces themselves.

"Hey Texas!" It's Caroline, tottering in late from the back entrance. Her purse, consistently stuffed beyond capacity, is slung half over her shoulder bogging her down on one side. It gives her a lop-sided gait.

"'Sup Caroline." I echo her greeting, though with less enthusiasm. I'm just too tired to put forth the effort in my voice. Caroline doesn't seem to mind however, and she flashes me her typical thousand-watt smile. She's a cutie, certainly. Tall, shapely, and athletic with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, typically pulled out of her pretty blue eyes in either a bun or pony-tail. She's opted for the latter today, and it bounces behind her as she tosses her purse haphazardly behind the counter.