Ada was still asleep, snoring lightly when Sam returned from showering and brushing her teeth. It was just after eight, giving her just under an hour to get ready to leave. Well, she didn't like the sound of that, nor the strange churning in her belly.
Sam couldn't tell if she was hungry or nauseated. Hoping for the former, she started to make breakfast—bacon, eggs, and toast—only to dry heave into the garbage pail when the aromas began to waft. So, she called in sick, then continued making breakfast for Ada. She appeared not long after, radiant and lovely in the kitchen doorway, eyes still heavy with sleep. Sam hadn't heard her approach on the plush carpet in her bare feet. She had a towel around her hair and lovely dewy, pinkened cheeks.
"Good morning." Sam was just scooping food out onto a plate. "Sorry for passing out last night. Here."
"For me? Where's yours?"
"I'm not hungry yet."
"Well, thank you." Ada joined Sam at the table and began to doctor her coffee. "I hope you don't mind that I slept over. Buses are pretty unreliable that late."
"Of course not." Sam grinned into her coffee and took a sip—she wasn't abut to tell her just yet how pleased she was. "Do you need to leave soon?"
Ada set her mug down and checked her watched, then said, "Not until eleven, unless you want me to go sooner."
Sam shook her head. "Just wondering. Work?"
"Yeah. Don't you have work today?"
"I called in sick."
She frowned, food forgotten momentarily. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'll be all right, I'm just a little off this morning. Nothing serious."
Indeed, the nausea was ebbing and hunger growing, but she didn't want to risk eating just yet. Coffee would have to suffice. She sipped at it as they kept up a light conversation, the whole of which she found herself drifting out of focus, her attention called away by something or someone she couldn't see or hear.
A puff of apples and vanilla slapped Sam into reality. Ada had let her hair down and was fluffing it upside down, flax and chalk rainbows swirling together. Sam took a slow, deep breath, savouring the way the fragrances mingled with Ada's own natural scent. She longed to reach out and touch it, to see if it was as soft as it appeared. Instead, she rose and brought Ada's plate to the sink and went to scavenge something palatable for herself.
By ten they were sprawled on the couch, feet mingling on the centre cushion as they chatted, when someone knocked at the door. Sam peeled herself off the couch with reluctance. Who could be bothering them unannounced? She was ready to jump down the throat of whomever dared, but found herself grinning when she opened the door.
Charlotte was swimming in a faux monster fur jacket about three sizes too big for her frame. Her ripped leggings were completely out of place for the weather, but at least she had a scarf and gloves on. Her mass of curls was secured in her signature lime-green scrunchy.
"What do you think?" she asked, arms wide in a t-pose. "I saw it while thrift shopping yesterday and couldn't leave it behind."
"Very you." Sam gave her an appreciative smile and stepped back to let her in. "Ada's here. This is Charlotte, my best friend."
Ada perked up from her phone as they rounded the doorway and she offered them a small smile and a wave. Charlotte was shrugging out of her jacket, but paused for a split second before turning her goofy smile on maximum. Ever the charmer, she strolled right over and took Sam's abandoned seat as she gushed charisma. Sam was left with the armchair, adjacent to Ada.
"Sam never shuts up about you, you're exactly who I pictured!"
And just like that, Charlotte had the reins and was steering the conversation. Sam drew her knees up to her chest as she tried to draw facts from the reserved responses from ever-private Ada. Sam amused herself wondering who would win control of the direction; where Ada excels in nudging people to talk about themselves, Charlotte succeeds at asking probing, driving questions. Each put up excellent airs, but Ada won out. Sam was sure as soon as Charlotte began talking about her birds. Ada sat back with a little grin and closed off herself once more. Sam knew she wouldn't be learning anything else about her new friend today. There was an air of victory about her as she nudged the conversation forward. Charlotte was gone, talking about Muffin and Scone, her conures.
Though she tried to stay focused on the conversation she was barely a part of, she found herself studying Ada's profile from time to time, mind wandering lightly. Once or twice Charlotte shot her a glance. Not accusatory, or jealous, but the kind that says "I see you." Sam pulled a face and tried to focus on something else.
The moment couldn't go on forever, as much as Sam wanted it to. At eleven she followed Ada to the narrow entrance and hovered as she laced up her boots and tugged a hat on. What should she say? She started to panic when Ada straightened from her laces.
"Thanks for coming over," Sam murmured, so as not to be overheard. She was rewarded with a warm smile.
"Thanks for having me. You should come over to my place next time; you like cats, right?"
"Of course! I'd love to."
Sam was so stoked by the suggestion that she didn't notice right away Ada approaching until she held her arms out a little, nimble fingers clutching the cuffs of her coat. There was a tentative smile on her lips. Of course, Sam was sure the offer meant more to herself than to Ada, so she tried not to let herself feel too attached as she stepped into Ada's embrace, arms loose around her shoulders, fingertips tingling against the material of her ski jacket. Ada's fists loosened over her spine until finally she relaxed her hands. The warmth of her palms seeped through her cotton tee.
Far too soon they stepped apart and said a quick goodbye. As she trotted down the steps, Sam shut the door and leaned against it, letting her consciousness delve into the fresh memory of Ada's embrace.
"Did you kiss?" called Charlotte from the living room, and Sam scowled around the door frame.
"No," she snapped, irritated both by her audacity and by how badly she wanted to have done. She returned to her newly emptied seat. "Do you like her?"
"Yeah, she seems cool. Do you?"
Sam stammered for a few seconds before Charlotte burst out laughing.
"I'll take that as a yes. Does she like you?"
This she was able to answer. "I don't know."
"Is she gay?"
"I haven't asked!" Sam snapped. "It's not like we go around introducing ourselves that way. 'Hi, I'm Sam, a lesbian, what about yourself?'"
Charlotte rolled her eyes behind her outrageous lashes. "Maybe you should, it would save you a lot of time and pining."
Sam flushed, but Charlotte had a point. Still, she couldn't see herself just outright asking like that. What if Ada took it poorly? Ruining a friendship over a crush was something she wouldn't be doing again. She valued Ada's friendship too much to risk it. It looked like pining was in her future.
"Don't you have work today?"
"Nice subject change. Yes, but not for another couple hours. I took the morning off for an appointment."
"And would that appointment have been for your nails?"
Charlotte's goofy grin returned and she waved her hand out to show them off. "Maybe. Like them?"
As always, her nails were absurdly long and terminated in a fine point. This set was a violent fuchsia with crystals around her nail beds. How Charlotte got anything done with those was beyond her.
"Love them."
The afternoon passed in an inconsistent blur. Some hours flew by like mere minutes had passed, while others seemed to last an eternity. Nausea mingled with intense hunger for most of the afternoon. Nothing she ate sat right, though. Not even saltines could calm the queasiness. Sam spent most of it on the couch, head on a pillow on the battered arm, binging a new series on Netflix. It was a thoroughly unproductive day, but she was glad to have stayed home. She would have been useless at work.
Around eight Sam took another anti-nausea pill and listlessly scanned the cupboards. Nothing appealed to her. The fridge held much of the same. She slammed the door shut and massaged her sore stomach with her better hand. A handful of takeout flyers were stuck to the door with colourful magnets. She scanned those, too, in hopes something would sound appealing. One did, Chinese food. She took the weathered flyer off the fridge and fished her phone out of her sweats.
Twenty minutes later, Sam was trudging through a fresh swath of snow, breath fogging before her eyes. It was a dry cold, the kind she preferred. Even though the temperature was somewhere around negative fifteen, it didn't feel so bad as the damp cold they had been getting of late. Her gloved hands were deep in her pockets.
The clouds had vacated the sky above, and even with the streetlights the spray of stars above was easy to see. The moon was bright on the horizon, peeking out between buildings and trees. Sam moved quickly as her warmth began to seep away.
The restaurant was bustling with life and warmth. Before entering, she swiped at her runny nose with her gloved hand. There was an overstuffed bag sitting at the end of the counter by the till. When she approached, she didn't need to say her name. The young man behind the counter grinned and grabbed it immediately.
"Good to see you, Sam, how have you been?"
What was his name again? Barry? Larry? She felt bad for forgetting, but her mind was foggy from the painkillers.
"I've been better." She held up her bandaged hands and gave a dry smile. "You?"
"Tired but good, school is kicking my ass." He hit a few buttons on the screen and gestured to the card reader. "That was you, then? The one that got attacked?"
Her name hadn't been in the papers, so she nodded. "I fought a dog and lost."
"I heard animal control was real confused by the tracks, said they were huge. One of 'em comes in every Thursday, I overheard him talking with a friend at a nearby table. You ask me, he was trying to get attention, you could hear him all the way from the kitchen."
Sam chuckled, but her stomach roiled for new reasons. She didn't like being the source of discussion, even if people didn't know it was her.
"I'm glad you're okay, though. You're one of my favourite customers." He gave a dramatic wink and tucked her receipt in the bag.
"Thanks." She smiled again, fighting a wince as the weight of the bag strained her stitches. "See you soon."
"Counting on it."
The further the restaurant became, the more her anxiety lessened and hunger crept back in. At least the nausea was passing. She could smell chow mein and was ready to devour it all. Snow crunched under her boots, background music to her drifting thoughts.
Her skin was crawling, an itch in the centre of her chest she couldn't quite scratch through her jacket. It was tight, too, the way she felt just before going into a full-blown panic attack. A quick self assessment, though, told her that wasn't the problem. She worked the zipper down and rubbed at her sternum, but it didn't help.
"God dammit."
She wasn't far from home, but she stopped anyway and set the bag at her feet. Hands free, she was able to get a good scratch going with her free hand. If she didn't know better, she'd say her skin was literally crawling beneath her fingers. Frustrated, she tipped her head back and took a deep breath as she fought to control her emotions. When she opened her eyes, the moon was above her, full and bright as ever. Transfixed, she forgot about the crawling and found herself staring at its beauty.
Then, the crawling was too much to ignore. Her joints ached from the inside out, like they all needed to be popped at once. The crawling spread from the centre of her chest outward, inching toward her fingertips. Frightened, she tugged at her sweater to see her skin.
It was crawling, moving before her eyes. She had only seconds to gape in horror before the pain became overwhelming. Pop, chk, her body began to crackle. A cry was strangled in her throat. She fell to her knees on someone's snow-covered lawn as her hands contorted, her knees shifted, reforming in a backward angle; but that was impossible, surely she was having a bad trip. Maybe she had taken too many painkillers? Was she hallucinating? The pain was too real, though, too consuming to be imagined. Her mind was blank but for an endless scream that she couldn't let out. The distinct rip of denim rent the silence, cold biting at her bare flesh. Her spine contorted, rippled, arched. Her ribs felt as though they were squeezing her chest in a vice grip.
Sam had no idea how long the pain lasted, but all at once, she was free. She lay panting on her side in the snow, too afraid to move for fear the pain would return. Whatever the fuck had happened, she had no idea. An eternity later, she put one hand out to push herself off the ground, then froze. Her hand ... a paw? It flexed in the snow when she tried to make a fist. Up, down, side to side, it mirrored every move she tried to make. A biding calm overcame her as she sat up and tried to assess her body.
There was a crater melted into the snow where she had lain, and her side was sopping wet. Scraps of fabric littered the lawn. Rusty fur blew in the wind on the parts of her body she could see. Far away, a firetruck turned on its siren, clear as a bell despite the fire hall being on the other side of town.
It was hard not to panic. Something crazy had happened to her. A bad trip, for sure. Maybe they gave her the wrong prescription. Maybe something was interacting badly with another pill. That must be it.
Something delicious tickled her senses. She sniffed at the air, finally spotting the plastic bag on the sidewalk. Without further thought, she dragged it into the bushes and tore it open with her teeth and claws.
Satiated, sanity returning, she scooped her phone, keys, and wallet off the ground with her teeth as gently as she could and nudged a large scrap of her jacket around them, then tucked them into the bush.
Then she was off. Energy burst from her pores and urged her to run hard, run fast. Strong muscles propelled her through the streets. She lived close to the forest already, so it was a mere skip to get to the cover of trees. Something in her brain told her running in the woods was bad, but she didn't care, nor did it matter. Her reflexes were astounding. Trees whipped past and she wove between them like she was designed for it. She was light on her feet, nearly silent in the quiet night.
Her body sang from the exertion, endorphins filling her with joy. She couldn't remember the last time she had run this hard, and she had certainly never run this fast. Granite Lake was upon her in mere minutes, where it would take her almost a half hour by car. She finally slowed at its edge and let herself rest a minute, panting hard. The lake was crusted with ice and bore tracks from snowmobiles. She never could understand why someone would want to tempt fate like that. She padded to the ice and cracked the thin edge so she could take a deep drink.
Again Sam ran, but slower this time, taking in the sights as they passed. She wound around town to the park near the high school. Trails wound through light forest and were studded with benches and trash cans. In the warmer months, Sam usually ran here. She knew the trails like the back of her hand. She followed her favourite to a forked tree and curled up at its base, head on her paws.
The thought of her having paws was less shocking now, less horrifying. Sleep tugged at her brain until she drifted into a deep slumber.
Voices roused her from her dreams, closer than she would have liked. At first, she couldn't make out what they were saying. A flashlight beam shone through the bare bushes to her left.
"... told you, they're huge! When I saw them in the parking lot I knew we had a problem. It's probably the same thing that attacked that girl."
"I'm telling you, Frank, those aren't dog tracks. You ever seen a dog this big?"
Sam jumped to her feet and slinked into the trees, eager to be out of sight.
"Well what else could it be?"
"See the way the prints are shaped? Look here, at the toes; you could draw a perfect X through the print without hitting the pads. A dog's print is more like an hourglass shape. Not to mention how clean the tracks are. Dog prints aren't usually this crisp. I dunno, man, I think this is a wolf."
"Could it be a cross-breed? I know a guy who has a wolf-dog, he's pretty big."
"Maybe ..."
Sam didn't stick around. As soon as they passed, she trotted through the trees in the direction of home. It normally would have taken her a while, but on all fours, she covered the distance in no time.
She couldn't very well get inside like this. She sat, glaring at the back door as though it might magically open for her. It didn't. Instead, Sam curled up under the awning beneath the kitchen window and let sleep pull her back under. She could only hope that tomorrow this nightmare would be over and she'd be asleep in her own bed.