Can't Love A Werewolf Without Getting Fleas

Can't Love A Werewolf Without Getting Fleas [12]

I blink my eyes open slowly, shading them from white walls. My vision is blurry, and I can hear beeping noises come from next to me.

I sit up. I am younger, much younger. I have little tubes running through my frail arms. I look up to see my mom and dad huddled over me.

It felt like I had been out for the longest time…

“Oh my god. Oh my god! GREG!!! Shaylee’s awake!!” My mom’s voice was hysterical. Her eyes rimmed red and her face sunken with guilt and sorrow.

My dad’s tired eyes, creasing at the ends, popped open and a smile crept upon his face. It cracked as if it was not use to the movement.

It shook something deep inside me. I’d never seen them look so sad.

I blinked around, still unaware of what had happened or where I was.

White Walls…Beeping Noises…

Am I at the hospital? If so, then how am I not in pain…?

But once I blinked again, this time the movement felt more real and more painful, I noticed the familiar hot pink walls of my room soon after.

“Ouch.” I stated, grabbing my tender head. I grabbed it, and sat up, trying to wake up from what felt like a bad dream.

Then it hit me, the wolves in the woods and the fight. I gulped.

My wolf came to my rescue! I cracked a smile at that.

How had he known I was in danger? Did he come, or did I imagine that?

His soft brown fur fluffed up in attack mode ran through my mind. Not to mention his long legs clenching and unclenching. It would have been a once in a lifetime view if I hadn’t been struggling for consciousness.

Dang flabbit!

Which reminds me,

How did I get in my room?

I glanced up to my open window. How did I get through the window?

Had I woken up earlier and not remembered? It was possible, my head was throbbing like it had it’s own heartbeat, and I had a history of not remembering important things—like my childhood.

My leg felt weak, and I figured it was from loss of blood. I jumped when I looked down at my leg.

It was wrapped up. Bandaged and everything. I glanced to my left into my dresser mirror against the wall, and I gasped.

Dirt and blood was smeared across my face, with little red scratched emerging and inflaming up from my skin.

I looked rough to say the least.

I couldn’t get over it though. Wouldn’t I remember wrapping up my leg, and walking all the way back and pulling myself through the window?

If I didn’t do it… then who did?

One of my parents possibly? A stranger who was hiking in the woods? I shuddered. That would be extremely creepy, considering they would have had to have known where my house was.

Who knows? I looked at the clock just in time to realize that it was 2:20. Holy crap I must have been asleep for at least an hour and a half!

Leslie and Vi were coming over soon. As fast as I could go at the current moment, I undressed and hoped in the shower, quieting my whimpers when the hot water hit my sore cuts.

I got out and slipped into some dark blue skinny jeans and a red t-shirt. My damp hair just hanging on my shoulders, the water soaking my back.

The doorbell rang just as I was finishing up my mascara on my eyes. I threw the tiny bottle of black goo… and stuff, and ran down the stairs. Fearing what would happen if my mom or dad were to socially outcast me for life by answering the door.