by Hunter, Troy
Either that, or it’s the result of the incredibly frequent showers we have.
When we first agreed to move to the land of the Celts a little over a year ago, Kenneth warned me of the rain. “It rains a lot more often over there than it does here, Eustace,” he cautioned one night while we were stargazing just a few miles from the Stagwood Ruins. “But the rain rarely ever brings nasty thunderstorms. At most, you may have one or two heavy storms during the summer. Statistically speaking, you’d probably feel much more at peace living there than here in England.”
Once he told me that, I cheered and passionately kissed him.
Anywhere that promised little to no thunderstorms was a dream home to me.
I’m even willing to put up with the stuffy nose.
As I sit outside on our porch, I notice Kenneth’s workbench down the steps. As usual, it’s positively littered with parchment pads, inkwells, and jars. By the look of it, the young Adelbrecht has been packaging his samples all morning so he can send them to his new employers in Dublin. I smile, enticed by my lover’s hard work. The man is most certainly a morning person, as he performs best when everyone is still asleep under the young sunrise.
I, on the other hand, am not. Unfortunately, that never stops me from being able to sense when Kenneth is first waking up in the morning. Every morning, the scientist follows a strict routine in readying himself for a busy day of research. Upon waking up, he steps out of bed and makes his way into the washroom for his morning bath. Afterward, he returns to put some clothes on. Once he’s all clean and dressed, Kenneth plants a chaste kiss on my forehead before walking out the door.
Indeed, I have his entire morning routine memorized by heart. Mind you, I never intend to eavesdrop on the scientist during the early hours of the day. If anything, I just want to sleep. I’m not entirely sure if my fifty-year experience as a wolf somehow altered my human senses…or if it’s simply the fact that Kenneth is very loud in the morning.
I mean, it’s true.
No matter how hard I try to ignore the telltale signs of morning, my slumber is always interrupted by my lover’s rather disruptive habits. I can hear whenever Kenneth stretches his limbs out before hopping out of bed. I can hear when his fingernails scratch his buttocks. I even have the joy of hearing the entire process of Kenneth tossing his clothes onto the floor, emptying his bladder into the basin, swearing whenever he accidently drops something like a jar of hair cleanser or his toothbrush, and stepping in and out of the bathtub.
I hear every action Kenneth performs when he thinks I’m asleep.
I’ve lost many hours of slumber due to this idiot’s brutish approach to waking up.
But Kenneth is my idiot and I’d never trade him for anyone else.
But as fun as it is to give my lover the piss, I honestly don’t want to rule out the possibility of the first option. I don’t need to reiterate just how long fifty years are. There were times where the days would pass me by like a galloping horse. Other times, one day felt like ten. My wolf mind couldn’t comprehend time, but the sound of a cricket tapping his feet into the ground? Not only could I hear that, I wouldn’t be able to sleep until he stopped.
If anyone told me sixty-five years ago that I’d grow up to spend half a century living as a wild animal, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Here I am now, only a year into my reclaimed humanity.
How the time goes by.
I take another sip of my tea as I stare at the date on the top of this diary entry. August twelfth. Today marks the fifty-first anniversary of Ambrose’s Pemberton’s betrayal. Truthfully, I don’t think much of the hedonistic professor anymore. With as long ago as that fiasco was, I doubt he’s even still alive. If he is still alive somehow, then he’s far too old to be breaking any more hearts. I spent far too many years pining for him, even after he hurt me so. Thankfully, time and new love saved me from the demons of my past.
But I digress.
This isn’t about him.
Truth be told, I think more of the chain of events that ultimately led me into the clutches of Elias Adelbrecht. I was but a man. A dejected, heartbroken, pathetic louse of a man, but a man, nonetheless. After the disastrous house party at Ambrose’s estate, more troubles came when I found myself in that dreadful forest. I thought I was headed toward the direction of my father’s farm, but I was actually headed for Stagwood Grove all along. Now that I look back on it, I’m fairly certain I completely bypassed Sheffield during my hunger-induced delirium.
Some claim events like that are ones that hurt at the time but make us laugh as we heal. I wholeheartedly disagree with that statement. Nothing about that ordeal will ever make me laugh. Not even a chuckle will come as I reminisce about the horrors that occurred at Stagwood Grove. The scariest part about the entire situation is that it was only resolved a year ago.
Only a year ago.
I’m trying my best to move on, but some days are harder than others.
Today is feeling like it’s going to be one of those days.
I sigh heavily and take another sip from my cup. As much as I try to tune it out, I can still sometimes hear the voice of Elias Adelbrecht echoing in my head. He tells me I’m a disgrace to lycans and humans everywhere. He reminds me that every failure is my fault. He informs me that I will never be free from his control.
Deep breaths, Eustace.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
But sometimes it feels like he isn’t. How can he be when I can still hear his voice so clearly? How about the times I think I see him in my peripheral vision? Or how about the moments at night where I can feel his hands wrapped around my neck as he chants and reaches for the chemi…
Breathe, Eustace.
It’s all over.
I try to follow my advice and close my eyes, focusing more on my breathing than the horrifying images flashing before me. As I inhale, I see Elias towering over me with that manic look in his yellow eyes. As I exhale, he’s waving a dagger in my face. No matter how many times I try to think of literally anything else, the old bastard always finds a way to return to my memories. Why can’t he leave me alone in death? Why must he continue to torment me?
Suddenly, I feel a sensation on my shaky hands.
I can’t see what it is, but I recognize the touch instantly. It’s the same touch I often receive whenever my nerves are getting the best of me. Its very warmth has comforted me through many of these hard moments, some even while I was still under Elias’ thumb. It’s a touch I’ve grown to love and trust, as it always seems to make the bad feelings go away.
I slowly open my eyes to see Kenneth kneeling before me, gently caressing my hands. He doesn’t say anything, as he often encourages me to get as much off my chest as possible before he chimes in. For that, I can’t thank him enough. I don’t think any words will ever truly be enough to accurately explain how much I appreciate Kenneth for everything he does. If it weren’t for him, I would probably be dead by now.
It may take a while for me to heal but he makes me feel confident that it will be sooner than later.
“G-Good morning, love. How’s your work coming along?”
Kenneth smiles sweetly as his thumbs delicately rub my wrist. “Good morning, my dearest. Work is coming along nicely. How about you? You enjoying your tea?”
I blink a few times before his words fully register with me. “Tea?”
The scientist points at my feet. As I look down, I’m not surprised to see my teacup lying on its side with tea spilled onto the porch. I must’ve dropped it during my episode.
“My big toe is enjoying it, yes.”
My comment manages to get a laugh out of Kenneth before he leans down to kiss my hands. “Shall I go brew another pot? Or would you rather I draw you a warm bath, instead?” I smile sheepishly as I admittedly feel my face get hot. Even after a year of this treatment, I still find Kenneth’s actions to be surreal. Not once in my life did I ever think I’d be lucky enough to win over the af
fections of a man as extraordinary as Kenneth Adelbrecht.
But here I am, holding hands with him in front of our home.
I’ve pinched myself hundreds of times during this last year, just to make sure reality was what it seemed.
I remember Kenneth once telling me we’d found each other through the Great Wolf’s will. I didn’t believe him at the time. I thought the deity was a hoax or simply ashamed of my existence. I wasn’t a real wolf, so how can the mighty father ever view me as one of his own? As I look back on it now, I suppose he’s always been there with me. He took his time in saving me, but I’m glad he did. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t have met the man kneeling before me.
“Actually, I’d like you to stay where you are. Right here with me.”
His smile glows brighter than the Irish sun hovering above us.
“That’s the only place I’d like to be.”
THE END
About the Author
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoyed Diary of a Wolf.
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