[DISCONTINUED] My Mate Is A Guy?! BoyxBoy

Hot Damn

I can't tell the difference between consciousness and unconsciousness. When I open my eyes all I see is haze. When I shut them, the haze doesn't cease. In one of my conscious or unconscious states I see Dad sitting beside me, wiping my forehead with a wet cloth that immediately heats with my flaring fever. The pounding headache had spread throughout my body and basically no where isn't aching. My limbs feel like they are being dipped in acid and set on fire. If I had the energy to move or scream I would have. Believe me. But I just lay there, drifting in an out of reality. At one point I had opened my eyes and saw a woman standing in front of me. Midnight black hair, pale skin and prominant cheekbones. And grey eyes. Eyes like the surface of a full moon.

Mom. 

That was when I knew I was going crazy. 

After what seems like a decade the burning in my limbs slowly dies down and I find the strenght to clench my fists. As I wait a while longer my vision comes back and the pounding in my head ceases. I manage to sit up and rake my hand across my face, which feels sticky and grimy. I groan and stiffly make my way over to the bathroom and run the tap, cupping the water in my hands I splash the water all over my face, shocking me back into full awareness. I look up to the mirror, bracing myself for the reflection. I always look like a trainwreck when I'm sick. But what I see isn't what I expect. Clear and smooth pale skin with sharp edged cheek bones that I have never had before. My face looks more sculpted, full of planes and angles that have never existed before. The only thing that hasn't changed is my eyes. As if to check that it's not an illusion I feel my face. Sharp. Then I notice something else. My arms. I look down in shock at the perfectly formed and athletic arms. Not the chopsticks that I'm used to. Then I realise something... I don't need my glasses. I grip the side of the sink and take heaving breaths.

Obviously I'm still asleep. That's the most obvious thing.

I hold a hand to my stomach. Which is now hard. I don't dare lift up my drenched with sweat t-shirt to see any change there. If I see anymore I'll pass out. I wipe my hands on my pant legs and take deep breaths. Regaining my composure I slowly make my way downstairs. Dad is in the kitchen, looking out through the window. By the look of his posture he's stressed and uptight. He rakes his hand through his curly brown hair. I knock on the doorframe, trying not to startle him. 

"Jett..." he turns around and meets my gaze. By the look on his face I can tell he knows something. I gesture towards my new physique. He pulls a face.

“I was hoping you weren’t going to ask about that...”

“How could I not?! Yesterday I looked like a pimply rake, today I look like an underwear model,” I reply in a rush. He sighs and stands up straight, gesturing to a chair.

“Take a seat, Jett.”

“No! No seat taking! I need an explanation, Dad. And don’t sugar coat it,” I make my voice sound firmer than I feel.

“This will take a while...” he looks at me with hopeful brown eyes, hopeful that I’d drop the whole issue. No way. I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down.

He bites his lip and nods. “Very well. Jett, I left Maine because I couldn’t uphold the responsibility there...” he looks at me again. I keep my poker face on. “I... well we... were a part of this pack. Your mother too.”

“Like a cult?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. Dad shakes his head.

“No... A wolf pack.”

“Unique metaphor,” I say slowly.

“Not a metaphor... We’re wolves, Jett,” he looks at me to see if my expression gives anything away. I just want to keep him talking so I can see how much bullshit emits from his mouth.