BFWR

2. B.F.W.M.

I'm not a werewolf, I'm werefolk. I abhor the term werewolf. It has negative connotation. When someone speaks "werewolf" they figure "race for the hills, monster!" Or they think it's a joke.

I am not a monster, I'm troubled by youth.

And I am not a joke.

If you laugh at me, you will learn to fear me.

Werefolk. It had a buzz to it. Folk to depend on. They were your friends, your neighbors. You could borrow a cup of sugar from werefolk. I'm not an advocate of allowing werefolk to babysit your kids anywhere near a full moon, but I'd sure as shit endorse them for the neighborhood watch.

There are two types of people in Alaska, native born and folks running from something." I'm a runner. I ran from a sepulcher of carcasses on a trail of blood, mayhem echoed in my wake.

My fledgling year was brutal.

Year two has been better.

I lust for Alaska. I was in heat, dopamine surged through my brain, but that had nothing to do with it. I fucking loved Alaska. It's gorgeous and isolated. You could lose yourself in the back country, or a corpse. If I detect a shift before the moon is full, I can be deep in the woodlands, wildlife my only fodder. Moose, bear, bison, musk ox, sheep, caribou, goats were abundant. The menu was far from limited.

Not that I'm opposed to human flesh, its tasty. Nor am I riddled with remorse over the lives I've stolen to satiate my hunger. Do you weep when you eat steak? Maybe you do. Maybe you're a vegan, "a" vegan? Or just "vegan"? I'm going with "a vegan", somewhat like "a leper." I ramble and digress. If you're a vegan, spoiler alert, this story isn't for you. The lesson I learn by the resolution isn't to eat soy products. Just sayin'.

Alaska has more moonlight, than daylight. That's why I migrated here… and for the PFD check (don't criticize, broke ass student here! Vote democrat). The dark is where I prosper and play. And where I hide, muff out, and in the bushes below my apartment window.

The rising alpenglow over the distant mountains signaled the dawning, but it wasn't full dawn yet. I had time. The darkness conceal me.

This wasn't the first time this had transpired, I'm em-bare-assed to admit. As of late—being in heat—I've established myself outside my apartment, nude in the bushes, more than I want to accept. I left my bedroom window unlocked for a hasty and furtive entrance. I counted on my roommate forgetting to lock the balcony door.

I closed my eyes and listened.

I was downwind and sniffed.

No witnesses.

Below my apartment terrace, ten-meters (fuck the Imperial system) ahead of me was the concrete dumpster enclosure. I darted from the bracken and hopped on top, scampering along the narrow wall. When I approached the end of the enclosure, I sprang toward the facade of the apartment building, and ricocheted off with my right foot, and landed in a squat on the second level balcony railing. From there, I rose, seized the balcony above, and climbed over the railing.

Sorry, I neglected to point out my apartment was on the third floor.

Ezio Auditore da Firenze (play it) ain't got shit on me.

Viviana, my best friend and roommate, had left the sliding glass door unlocked.

Score! I squeezed myself through the door.

"Show me how you do that." Viviana said.

I glimpsed movement in my peripherals, they're receptive to motion.

My perceptions differ from yours, assuming you're not werefolk. I view the world quicker than you. I detect the slightest actions, a fly landing or the twitch of an eye. It permits me a superiority in most instances. Body language is that, a vocabulary, one I comprehend. It's futile for a mortal to lie to me and I not discern it.

If my vision doesn't give your lie away, my nose does.

I can smell fear. It possesses a specific aroma, a nervous sweat. It's sweet, and it's delicious. Telling me a lie gives off a similar sweat, but not as robust or appetizing. In fact, it's downright irritating, because it's not full-blown fear. Every lie told carries a faint note of dread, it's perfume to my nose.

If my sense of smell doesn't give your lie away, my ears do.

The world sounds much different to me. My ears are keen, they pick up everything, near and far. When a baby cries a mile away, I hear it. Every grind, wind, and Tick-Tock of a clock is a melody to my ears. If a tree crashes in the woods six miles away and I'm not there, I hear it. Lying has a sound of its own and it's the rapid throb of a pulsating heart.

When Viviana speaks, I sense where she is, what she's doing, her frame of mind, when she showered last, what soap she used, and what she had for her last meal, as soon as I slink in through the sliding glass door. She's on the couch, reading, inflamed, nine-hours ago, dollar store eucalyptus lavender hair and body scrub, and the bitch ate my last goddamn ham and cheese Hot Pocket. These were not conscious deductions, but subconscious observation made without active thought. Was Sherlock Holmes the true Hound of Baskerville?

Regardless, I fucked up. I shouldn't have allowed Vivianna to see me enter from the terrace. I'm far from fucking perfect, okay?

My superior, or "super" for short, come with drawbacks. I can't tell you the difference between a green apple or a red one. They're both varying shades of yellow. This isn't a formidable handicap. I don't "miss" these colors, but it's aggravating. I don't give a fuck what color an apple is, I'll devour the shit out of one either way. But people regard these things with uncertainty. When people notice things, I bounce, and I adored what I had going in my life.

I didn't want to bounce, but I didn't need a mob of gun toting Alaskan big game hunters up my ass either. It's paramount that I keep a low profile. My sensory differences impede that. It's tough to keep them secret, keep them safe (read it).

I yearn for farts, yours or mine, it doesn't matter, they're marvelous, and the worse the better. When you smell one scent, I receive a thousand. I love cheese and want to take a cheese trip to France. Red flags I can avoid, most I cannot. The ones I can't keep under Locke & Key (read it) are medical ones, life-threatening ones, for example: when I tell a diabetic to take their insulin, or someone to get a medical examination for melanoma, or to take their seizure medications right away. People welcome my advice, but it alarms ring. And that produces dilemmas. I had a fan boy who considered me an angel. Great, until he decided a parking attendant was a demon. My fan boy "freed" him from this life with a ball peen hammer.

I remained vigilant. And keep my enigmas from people. It's debilitating. When I slunk through the sliding glass door, my legs were tender from running thirty miles, my head reeled from the mass quantities of booze I didn't remember consuming, and thoughts were on cock. Then I reflected on the possibility of being pregnant. I wished to hell the gentleman I fucked, mangled, and eaten had been cheating on his wife, with six youngsters at home, and had a vasectomy.

When we're distracted, we lumber into poles.

Vivianna was a pole. She was in the room's corner on the chaise lounge, and she had been reading a fat tome which she tossed on the coffee table with a thump. My night optics differ from you. It's not only shadow and light, but many shades of grey. If you've ever used "night vision" and the grey kind, not the green, I see like that. I could discern the name of the novel, despite the distance and dark. She was reading The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss (read it).

"Name of the Wind. Any good?"

"It's ingenious, but you're sidestepping the question."

"What question?"

"Show me how you do that."

"That's a statement, not a question."

"Ha ha, funny." Vivianna scowled. "You disappear at night and reappear on our third-floor balcony. How the fuck do you do that? Was that a question?"

"That's preposterous. I came home a while ago. I've been out on the deck." I lie.

Vivianna scowls and crossed her arms.

"You detest it when I lie to you. Don't lie to me. If you're my best friend, I'd appreciate the same respect and honesty, I show you."

Fuck. I can perceive a lie, but my shit at telling one.

"I'll gather my things."

Vivianna rose and said, "What? No."

"What?" I shrugged.

"Fuck you, bitch. I asked you a genuine question and you will ghost me? I thought I was your friend. You're an asshole. Do you realize that?"

I scurry toward my room and Vivianna cuts me off. "No."

"What do I do?"

"You answer the damn question." Vivianna explained. "Listen, I realize you have your mysteries. I have my secrets too, but they don't include teleportation, or flight, or however the fuck you just materialized. Just tell me... the... truth!"

"The truth? It's not that simple."

"The truth is simple. Lies are complex."

I was silent.

"Listen Lovegood, I don't care what you are. I love you regardless. Who's sleeping next to me? Can I help? I love the shit out of you lady, you're the best friend. I'll accept you for who you are. I can't sleep. I worry, if you'll be home, or if I'll ever see you again!"

"You're correct. I'm pitiful."

"Are you an alien? Is my asshole in peril of deep probing? Should I get a plug and start stretching?" She cracked up. "Fuck, Luna. Give me something."

And I chuckled too. "You want the truth?"

"Like my bagel."

"Plain."

"Now, please let me understand you."

"You won't believe me."

"I want to try."

I opened my mouth, but I had no words.

"I'll make it easy on you. I'll guess and if I get it right, just nod or something, Deal?"

I nodded, "Deal."

"Are you a vampire?"

I shook my head.

"A supernatural entity?"

I pondered and nodded. "Yes?"

Vivianna's eyes go wide.

"Are you a Universal Studios classic?"

I nodded.

"Well, we've established you're not a vampire... you're no mummy... holy shit! You're a fucking werewolf!"

I shrug, "My preferred nomenclature is 'werefolk'."

"Get the fuck out!"

"I tried, you didn't let me." I teased.

Vivianna flops on the couch, mind blown. "No. Fucking. Way."

"Heavy, huh?"

Vivianna looks up and smiles. "Prove it!"

"How?"

"Can you transform?"

"When it's a full-moon or when I'm under extreme emotional stress. Beyond that, I'm out of control. And you ate my last Hot Pocket. You, bitch. Beware, I may shift. Grrrr." I giggled and growled.

Vivianna snickered, "Sorry, you pissed me off. How did you know?"

"It's on your breath and fingers."

"You can smell it on me?"

"Yes."

"Gross. Awkward." She laughed. "What else do you pick up on?"

"You masturbated a few hours ago. That odor is on you often, skank."

Vivianna put her hands on her hips, mortified. "My hot boyfriend paid me a sexual visit?"

"No he didn't."

"How do you know?"

I sniffed, more for effect than sensory perception.

"You reek of pussy, not cock."

"Jesus, that's disturbing. Ha!"

"How's the boyfriend going?"

"Awesome. He's incredible. More on that later. I'm more intrigued by you. Jesus, you're a werewolf, huh?"

"Werefolk." I corrected. "Or wolfkin. I vacillate. Which is better?"

"Werefolk." Vivianna shakes her head, mystified. "Dude--"

I cut her off and smile. "Duder. Let's stop with the gender specific pronouns, okay?"

Vivianna laughed and continued. "Duder, it makes sense. Those solo camping trips I wanted to go on, but you didn't let me. Full moon, huh?"

"Told you it was me, not you. You still got butthurt."

"We can go camping when it's not a full moon."

"Shit. That never even occurred to me. I'll make it up to you. We'll go camping. I'm a remarkable hunter. I'll grab you supper." I grinned at that.

This was so strange. I'd never communicated my circumstance to anyone. It was refreshing. A burden lifted from my soul. I loved it and wanted more.

"Thank you." I said and meant it.

Vivianna shrugged, "For what?"

"For this." I said. "For understanding me. For accepting me. I've told no one."

Her jaw dropped. "Never?"

"Not a soul."

"Are there no others like you?"

"There's not a legit social media group yet, but I could get a crew of devotees." I jested. I'm a regular Court Jester, if you hadn't noticed.

"That's unfortunate, Luna." Vivianna was an Empath, so she empathized. "How long have you been a were—been werefolk? Were you bitten?"

I shook my head. "Nothing bit me. There may be others like me, I suspect as much, I doubt I'm an aberration, but I was born this way."

Vivianna leaned forward, rested an elbow on her knee, and her fist under her chin. "This is so compelling. I'm beyond thrilled. Elated."

"You're a biology major." I shrug.

"Can I study you!? Or would you feel like a rat in a cage?"

"Despite all my rage (listen to it)? There's no manual for this shit. I'm pantsing it."

Vivianna pumped a victory fist. "Fuck yeah. When did you first find out?"

"That I was werefolk?"

"Yeah?"

I drew a deep breath and exhaled. "That's subjects rough."

Vivianna cupped her bare palms and presented them to me. "Honey, your heart is in my hands and your secrets are safe with me."

I blanched, shut my eyes, and cried. Not sloppy, ugly tears. Not a lone tear. Just tears. Tears of comfort, of worry, of anguish, and of acceptance. An abyssal well of emotion.

"I've always been stronger, quicker, and on alert more than other girls growing up, but I did not realize I was, 'unique'. I had my first period two years ago, right after my sixteenth birthday. It was a full moon. That night, I shifted."

I choked up. This next one was a doozy.

"I woke up the next morning and my foster family was dead. I slaughtered them. I... ate them. My foster mom, my foster dad, and kid sister. She was seven. I've been in and out of foster families my whole life and had only been living with them for six months, but they were good to me. And I fucking ate them."

"You're good, honey." Vivianna rose, came toward me, and enclosed me in her arms. "I got you. Come here."

Bob. Bob had bitch tits (read it).

I was a monsoon. I didn't think I could cry. It had been years.

Vivianna held me tighter and guided my head into her shoulder.

"There, there." Viviana said. Two words that meant everything.

I clutched her tight. "Thank you, Vivi. B.F.F's?"

She let me said, "No. To me, you're B.F.W.M."

That puzzled me, "B.F.W.M'?"

Vivianna smiled, "Best Friend, Worst Roommate."

We shared a laugh, a smile, and another hug.

"You're making so much sense now." Vivianna said.

"How?"

"Everything. You. Your bloody ass disgusting blue rare steaks, your animal handling ability, shit, your job, the late nights, but... what's with the constant fucking, slut?"

My face sours, "I'm in heat."

Vivianna burst with laughter, but stifled it. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but that... that's insane... who d'you fuck last night?"

I snickered and shook my head, "No clue. A stranger."

"Jesus, you whore."

"Not a whore. Whores get paid."

"Wait, did you trans—shift last night? Is that why you left the party?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"I've been furious with you. You ditched befor my boyfriend showed up, he's dying to meet you."

"Me? Why?"

"I talk about you often. I talked a lot of shit about you after you bailed on me."

"How do I make it up to you?"

A devious smile crossed her face. "You will not like it."

"Consider it done."

"I knew you'd say that." Vivianna strutted over to the kitchenette, grabbed something and handed it to here. "Here, I got you these."

I looked at what she'd handed me. They were two movie ticket stubs, to Bear Tooth Theatrepub, for True Romance.

"True Romance? What's that?"

"A movie with everyone in it."

"You want me to come with you?"

"Yes. Tonight. Eight o'clock."

"Fair enough."

I held one ticket out to her. "You'll need yours."

Vivianna flashed a grin across her gaping maw.

Shit! Fuck! Ass! (Watch it.)

"You skank." I said.

"Find a date. We're doubling up. It's Valentines Day."

I'd never been on a date.

"Where the hell am I going to find a date?"

"The guy from last night?" She suggested.

My faces screamed 'eek'.

"What?" Vivianna said.

"Ugh… not possible."

"Didn't get his number? Just his V.D. Ha! You got V.D. on V.D."

"Not quite."

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do tell.��

"Um… well, at the party, I was holding my dixie cup, avoiding advances from douchebags with faux hawks, and felt a shift coming on."

Vivianna eyes went wide. "Wait. It wasn't a full moon, was it?"

"No. Extreme emotional stress."

"Ah." She understood. "Wait. Why?"

"Well, the guy, the date I won't be bringing was hot as fuck."

"Okay."

"I'm in heat."

"Oh." Vivianna held a laugh and snorted. "I see."

"Wait, how does you feel? A shift. What're the warning?"

"Hot," I described, "and then my bone shift and it's agonizing. Half-way through a shift, I black out. I wake up the next morning and I pick up the pieces and the flesh from my teeth."

"Jesus."

"Ya… so, he won't be joining us."

"Wait! YOU ATE HIM!?" She yelled.

"Only parts of him."

"ONLY PARTS OF HIM? YOU STILL FUCKING ATE HIM!?"

I scan the room for phantom listeners who may overhear, knowing that it's moot. The guy downstairs is playing a first-person shooter and screaming racial slurs. The woman next door was in the middle of an epic battle with the shits and losing.

I could already smell Preparation H.

"Quiet. I don't want it broadcasted."

"Jesus." Vivianna said, shaking. "I'm apologize."

"I know."

She wore Buzz's girlfriend's face. Woof (classic).

Vivianna closes her eyes, absorbed, and asked a question, I didn't expect. "What's it taste like?"

"What?" I winced, appalled.

"Does it taste like pork?" Her eyes were hungry.

"I have no memory after a shift."

She huffed.

"Next time, could you bring me a piece?"

"What!? You want to be a fucking cannibal? Have you ever seen a movie where that worked out?"

"Meat is meat." Vivianna shrugged. "It seems like such a waste."

My ringtone blasted from my cell phone, startled me, and I jumped. When I jumped so did Vivianna. I did a quick pat of my jacket, searching for my phone. At least I hadn't lost it. I was getting good at these unplanned shifts.

A muffled ringtone came from my inner jacket pocket and was a noisy nuisance when I took it out. My phone sang, "Duran Duran's Hungry Like a Wolf."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Vivianna said.

I shrugged and answered my phone, "Luna Dellamorte speaking."

It was my boss.

"Yeah, for sure. I can do that. Uh-huh. As soon as I can. No worries. It's one class, and it's math. I hate math. Just a night class after that. Figure drawing. I can be out by five? Sweet. That'll work, class is at six. C'ya, Doc."

And I hung up.

"Work?" Vivianna said.

"Then need me."

I give her my best "I'm sorry, but pretty, please," face.

"Just ask."

"Can I get a ride?"

"Under one condition."

Her conditions scare me. "Yes?"

"Can you put on a pair of fucking pant? Your snatch is making me hungry."

And she winked.