The Werewolf Under My Bed

:The Werewolf Under My Bed:1: Brown Eyes

The Werewolf Under My Bed

One: Brown Eyes

Andie-

The lulling heartbeat under my ear wakes me up as effectively as it had put me to sleep in the first place. After all, being as close to him as I am in my big bed its hard not to notice when his heartbeat accelerates, or how he moves so easily from the bed in the mornings before my parents wake me up. At first, I never could figure out when exactly Aiden slipped from the bed at night, but as the years went on we got used to sleeping in the same bed, we grew accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night tangled in one another's limbs. At least, I've grown used to it. Aiden acts like he's being burnt when I accidentally bump into him during the day, I doubt he's used to me sleeping on top of him if he can't get used to my clumsiness.

An unconscious little moan of disappointment passes my lips when his warmth is suddenly gone and I'm forced to pull his pillow tighter to me for comfort. The pillow was no match, though, for his natural warmth and the smell of him just seemed off when I inhaled it from the pillowcase. No, there was no competition between the two, but telling Aiden that would only make him clam up as his face turned bright red. He'd stutter around for a few seconds before falling silent altogether and then, it would take me forever to get him to stop ignoring my every attempt at apologizing.

The boy absolutely detested any type of affection I tried to show him. He acted like I was lying when I told him I cared. He treated me like I had some sort of contagious disease whenever I tried to comfort him when he had those nightmares. The ones that had him bolting upright in the bed every night breathing hard, sweat pouring off his forehead as he muttered something about running before they caught him. The fear that burned in his eyes on those nights scared me more than anything. The fact that it wasn't just his imagination pissed me off to no end. But Aiden refused to be comforted. He would leave the bed, sneak out of the house for a run and wouldn't come back until I'd fallen asleep in the chair while waiting for him.

It always terrified me that he wouldn't come back. That one day he would just give up and try to run from the nightmares, the past, that haunted him. He always came back, though. Every night, he would come into the room, put me in the bed and spend the rest of the night watching the door or the window. I knew, because despite how good he is at sneaking around my parents, I've caught him on several occasions dozing off to sleep in the window seat.

A light kiss was pressed to my forehead, drawing me even further from my dreamland. My eyes opened just in time to watch him shift, to hear the rending of fabric as the boxers he'd worn to bed were shredded. He refused to undress completely when he was getting ready to change shape, said it was disrespectful to me for him to do so. But it wasn't like I'd never seen a guy naked before; I've had boyfriends, we get HBO. I think it just made him feel too vulnerable and he couldn't stand it.

The air blurred, fur grew in a matter of seconds as his bones shifted. His face grew, teeth elongated, everything about him changed except his eyes. It was amazing to me that the color of his eyes would change when he was upset; they'd grow completely black. But when he shifted the color stayed the same. No matter what shape or form, he was still that brown eyed boy I found in my dad's tool shed seven years ago.

I'd screamed the moment I laid eyes on him them, but then who wouldn't have? I really hadn't expected to find anyone in the tool shed, but he'd been there cowering in the corner of the closet my dad had had put in. The first time I'd ever seen him shift had been but a few minutes later and I still can't get over the beauty of it. Call me crazy, but I've always been entirely jealous of his ability to do that. Even though he doesn't know how he does it.