by Reed, Zoe
She stood there and smiled for a minute, like she was thinking of something, and then waved. “See you later.”
I drove away wishing I could know what she was thinking. Wished I knew why she was so okay with me being a werewolf. So okay with being the one to clean my cuts and go through the bad guys’ backpacks. I sighed, today could have gone a whole lot worse, but so far it was going pretty well, considering.
The dogs barking outside my window caused me to flinch, harshly pulling me out of deep thought as I lay on my bed. There was no single word to describe what I felt when I found out Camille really was a werewolf. Shocked? Scared? Calm? Confused? I’d known there was something different about her and already had my suspicions, so I wasn’t as surprised as I could have been. Even though I thought about it, never in a million years did I truly expect it was possible Camille was actually a werewolf. Not only was it possible, it was true – and yeah, I was scared.
Of Camille? Maybe when she practically knocked Jonathan’s locker off the wall. At that moment I’d been scared of her. I had never seen her angry. To me, Camille was the rescuer. The one who caught me when I fell and carried me to bed when I got sick, but it had always been obvious to me the mystery about her was a dangerous one. I could see it in the girl’s eyes every time I looked into them. So, surprised as I was with discovering the truth, I couldn’t avoid the sense of serenity that came with the confirmation of what deep down, I already knew.
Albeit, I couldn’t help but be concerned for my ‘humanity’, as Julian had put it. Jonathan had punched Camille without a second thought, a hit that probably would have knocked me out cold. Regardless, even though I wished the circumstances were different, I knew I still would have wanted to be told. Since I’d met Camille the mystery had plagued me. Now I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Besides, I couldn’t help but admit that I was growing a little fond of being able to tend to her battle wounds, to be needed by someone so extraordinary. Someone so special.
“Kyla!” my mom yelled up at me. I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Camille waiting for me. My mom discreetly eyed the blonde’s backpack and pulled me aside before I could greet her. “Is she staying the night?”
I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to tell her that Camille was coming over, and struggled to think of an excuse. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Her parents are out of town, so she’s going to stay here so I can take her to school tomorrow.” I ended the sentence on a higher note, indicating that I was asking my mom rather than telling her.
She sighed. “That’s fine.” I smiled and turned to leave, but she put her hand on my arm to stop me. “In the future, tell me before she gets here.”
“Sorry. Thanks.” I apologized again and pranced to the kitchen to greet Camille happily. “Hello.”
The smile that spread across Camille’s face was oddly contagious and I grinned back. My mom returned to her place at the stove as she finished cooking dinner and tried to make small talk with us. “Camille, I noticed that cut on your lip. What happened?”
Camille glanced nervously at me, and then turned her gaze to the floor. “Oh, um, a cabinet door was open in the kitchen and I wasn’t paying attention.”
My mom winced. “That sounds painful. The perks of being tall I guess,” she said sarcastically and then changed the subject. “You got here in time for dinner, I’ll call you girls down in a little bit.”
“Nice cover,” I whispered as I led Camille up the stairs. When we reached my room I took her bag and tossed it in the corner. “How is your lip feeling?” I stretched out on the bed while Camille sat in the chair at my desk.
“It’s great, thanks to Dr. Walters.” She smiled, running her fingers over the cut. “And how are you doing with the whole thing?”
“I’m okay with it.” I told her, and when I saw a small wave of relief wash over Camille’s face a slight guilt panged me.
It never occurred to me before now how scary it could have been for Camille to lay out her secret on a silver platter. I was glad she trusted me with something so huge. Especially because it made her so obviously happy, as shown by the way she enthusiastically swiveled in the rotating chair. I knew she had never had any real friends outside of her family, and I was glad I could be that person.
“I won’t stop being okay with it, Cami. You can trust me,” I told her reassuringly.
Camille stopped spinning back and forth and picked up the guitar sitting next to the desk to pick at the strings. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you. I was just afraid that, I don’t know, you wouldn’t understand it. That you’d be afraid.”
I nodded in understanding, “I’m honestly not scared. The whole thing kind of makes you even more special.” As I finished my sentence, Camille’s eyes met my own.
Those warm brown spheres bored into me with what felt like a deep curiosity. It was strange to me that it was Camille who was giving off the curious vibe. I was the one who had all the questions. I watched her for a few seconds, wondering if there was something she wanted to say or ask. Then her cheeks tinted the tiniest bit, and she looked down to play with the guitar again. Even though she’d looked away, I couldn’t stop staring at her. Of all the things I wanted to know about her being a werewolf, about her life and the things with the mutts, my biggest question was why me?
Camille stopped picking at the instrument and glanced up to hold it in my direction. “Play something for me?”
I hesitated at first, and then with a shy chuckle I reached out, took the instrument and sat for a moment, deciding what I wanted to play. I grinned as I came to a decision and started strumming. For the next few minutes I played one of my favorite songs, singing along quietly. Once I finished I looked up to find Camille gawking at me. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I blushed and covered my face with my hands.
“You’re fantastic,” Camille grinned. I peeked out through my fingers and shook my head. “No, it’s true! You’re really good.”
I blushed even more, and my cheeks were flaming. “Thanks. I do what I can.”
Camille asked to hear another song, and it took a bit of pleading before I started strumming again, but then I sat and played until my mom called us down for dinner. When we got downstairs we were the only two that sat at the table, since my mom was still rounding up everyone else. As she set a basket of bread rolls down I noticed that she had put out the nice silverware, since we had a guest. Gold-rimmed plates sat on top of maroon place settings, complete with crystal glasses and my mom’s expensive silver utensils.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Camille pick up a fork, and I turned to watch out of curiosity. After a moment of holding it she set it back down and furiously rubbed her hand on her jeans. “Are these real silver?”
I nodded, and Camille looked at me expectantly. It took me a little too long to put the pieces together, but when I figured it out I laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Camille nodded, a slight red hue tinting her cheeks. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed Camille’s eating utensils and carried them to the kitchen, smiling to my dad and brothers as they entered the dining room. I chuckled as I returned the fork and knife to the drawer and grabbed the everyday, non-silver ones next to them. So werewolves were really allergic to silver? That was unexpected. Upon returning to the dining table I discreetly set them in front of Camille so as not to draw attention, and then sat down across from her while Rob said grace.
Once he finished his prayer we all took food from the plates we passed around the table. Aside from my Uncle Rob, my family hadn’t spent any time with Camille. So the whole meal consisted of them asking her questions about family, how many children her parents had, where they went to school, what they did for a living. It was strange for me that werewolves had conventional answers to the questions I considered average and a little boring. But I didn’t mind my family asking Camille too many questions. It did give me a chance to study her as she sat at
the opposite side of the table. Memorizing every laugh line, every feature, and every move. Wondering how much of each of these were influenced by the wolf.
Knowing Camille’s secret not only drew me closer in knowing I was trusted, but it made me feel needed. Now I could do something for her, be it keeping her secret or getting information about Jonathan. Since I’d met the mysterious blonde, I’d wanted to know her on a level that no one else did, and I was making more progress than I thought possible. No matter where I looked as I studied the werewolf, I was pulled back to the cut on her lip. The only thing that corrupted those flawless, silk-soft lips. But even then it just gave her more edge, adding to the provocative mystique that was and ever would be Camille.
As Camille was answering another question she glanced at me, and at being caught staring I looked away, purely embarrassed. I sat silent for the rest of dinner, doing my best to look at everyone around the table instead of only at Camille. At the end of the meal everyone dispersed, and after my mom declined Camille’s polite offer of helping with the dishes we made our way back up the stairs to my room.
“I’m so full,” I groaned, patting my stomach and pulling my pajamas out of the dresser.
Camille laughed while she searched her bag for her own. I had already changed by the time she pulled her pajamas out, so I sat on the bed waiting for her to change. I picked at my guitar while she stripped within sights of my peripheral vision, and after a quick and involuntary upward glance I was stuck staring at her long torso and perfectly defined abs.
Again Camille caught me gaping and raised an eyebrow, laughing as she teased. “Like what you see?”
I almost smacked myself for doing it again. “You just have perfect muscle tone. It’s like strength without the gross body builder effect. Is it a werewolf thing?”
“Um, yeah I guess so. We just have really fast metabolisms.” Camille laughed awkwardly, and as she twisted to pull her shirt on my eyes were drawn to a long scar across her ribs.
“What’s that from?” I asked, leaning forward and stopping Camille’s hand from pulling her shirt down so I could point to the scar.
She stretched to look, and then finished putting her shirt on and sat across from me on the bed. “Nothing too exciting. When I first started Changing, into a werewolf, I lost control of it one time and Phased inside the house. I was in so much pain I didn’t feel it when I crashed into a glass cabinet and cut my side open.”
I winced at the thought of how much that should have hurt. “And all these little ones?” I asked, running a finger over the barely visible scars that decorated Camille’s arm.
It was quiet for a minute, and when I looked up Camille was watching me. Then she cleared her throat, glancing down at the scars on her arm so she could answer. “Those are just bite marks from play fighting, and maybe a couple from real fighting,” she told me, turning her arm to look at the back of it.
“With your brothers and sisters?” I asked, astounded, to which Camille nodded. “Isn’t that dangerous, fighting with them? I mean, with those big teeth?”
She laughed at the seriousness of my tone. “No, it’s not really a big deal. We’ve all got thick fur. That stops most bites from breaking skin.”
Running my fingers over Camille’s tattoo, I read the words to myself thoughtfully. “In spirit and truth. Is it really different? The way you think or react to things?”
When I looked up she was watching me again, and quickly looked away at being caught. Maybe I should stop touching her so much. I just got so curious sometimes that it didn’t cross my mind that she might not like it.
Camille gently pulled at her lip, poking at the cut on it while she thought about how to answer. “Well, instincts are a hard thing to control, they aren’t meant to be. So basic emotions and reactions, they’re very simple. It’s run or don’t run. Fight or don’t fight. Dominate or submit. Love or hate. The thing that’s hardest about it is having to adjust all of it to human standards.”
“For example?” I stretched my legs out next to her and leaned back on my hands, that way I wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again.
“Um, jealousy. It’s a simple human emotion. You want what someone else has. But to any animal, it’s territorial. Most things are never really yours unless you can defend it, so you fight for it, most the time to the death. But if I’m jealous of that guy’s cool cell phone I can’t go kick his ass just so I can have it. There are consequences in society that instincts have no interest in. So it’s confusing, and tiring, and all about self-control.”
I nodded thoughtfully. Aside from the meeting with Jonathan, the only Camille I’d ever seen was the calm and collected one. “If there were no consequences would your instincts take over?”
Camille thought about it for a brief second before answering. “Well all my life I’ve been taught to know those consequences. So if tomorrow they just disappeared would things change, probably not, but if they never existed? Without a doubt instincts would take over. I wouldn’t be anything like who I am now. But then again, would you?”
I let out a deep sigh. Even though now I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Camille to have to control the things she felt like she needed to do, I could understand and sympathize with it. “No, I guess I wouldn’t.” A flashback of her holding Jonathan against the locker forced its way into my thoughts. “And with Jonathan? Was that hard to control?”
It took Camille a second to understand what I was actually asking. “Oh, yeah. That took a lot of self-control. Especially after he threatened you.” Before I could answer, my cellphone starting buzzing on the nightstand next to the bed. I was going to ignore it seeing as I had a guest, but then Camille nodded toward it. “Go ahead.”
I smiled apologetically as I reached for it. “Hello?”
“Guess who you get to see this weekend?” the deep voice asked playfully.
I almost couldn’t suppress a sigh. I was in the middle of the most interesting conversation of my life, learning all about werewolves. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Aaron... How messed up was that?
So I tried to be just as playful. “I don’t know. Who?” Then I gave Camille another apologetic smile, moving the phone from my mouth so I could tell her I’d try to be quick.
“Only the sexiest man alive.”
I was quiet for a second like I had to think about it. “I don’t know any sexy men.”
“Jerk,” Aaron laughed. “Are you excited to see me?” I mhm-ed, chewing the inside of my lip impatiently as I knew Camille was waiting for me. “So I was thinking of ways you and me could stay satisfied while we’re so far apart,” he started, and even though I wasn’t sure if Camille could hear, my cheeks flared instantly. “You want to try it out?”
He was not seriously about to suggest phone sex. Was he? “Actually, I got to go.”
“Come on babe,” he whined. “Just try it.”
I glanced at Camille, and her cheeks were about as red as mine. The fact that she could in fact hear this conversation was so mortifying I wanted to bury my head in a hole. Didn’t werewolves have super-hearing too? Not only did that make this even more awkward, but I didn’t want her to think that kind of stuff was normal for me. Aaron had never even mentioned it before.
“Aaron, I can’t,” I told him in an impatient whisper, as if it would keep Camille from hearing me. “I have a friend over.”
“But it’s a school night.”
“Yeah, her parents are out of town.” I don’t know why I lied; I didn’t need to explain it to him anyway. “I got to go. I’ll see you this weekend.”
He sighed. “Okay, I love you.”
That’s when my eyes went wide, and at hearing the words I felt the corner of my mouth twitch uncomfortably. For some reason I glanced at Camille again, maybe to see if she’d heard that too. Which she had, seeing as she awkwardly looked away when I caught her eye.
“Okay, bye,” I said hastily and then hung up. “I’m so sorry,” I told Camille, my cheeks flaring
again, and then whispered quietly, “So awkward.”
“It’s okay,” she said, though I could tell she was uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So um,” I started, trying to remember what we were talking about before the phone call. Oh right, Jonathan turning me into a werewolf. The thought of it and all the pain Camille described made me cringe. “What would happen if Jonathan did Change me? How does it work?”
Camille seemed happy about the change of topic, and leaned forward with interest. “The ‘how’ part is just like the movies, you get bitten. I mean, you don’t have to get bitten. You just need to get a werewolf’s blood or saliva into your own bloodstream. And I was never bitten so I can only tell you what I’ve heard is supposed to happen. Once the werewolf gene gets in it starts the process of Changing you. Your temperature rises and your pulse quickens because all the blood in your body changes. The gene needs to build from a stable foundation, so before it goes further it heals any injuries, a lot faster than you’ve seen any of mine heal, and then it just sort of takes time for everything new to be set in stone. I’ve heard that it sort of feels like being set on fire.” As she finished explaining a somber tone fell over us. Fire didn’t sound appealing, and quicker and quicker it was becoming clear to me how different and dangerous Camille’s world was.
Feeling the silence thicken, Camille tried to brighten the mood. “But the healing thing happens no matter what. I remember Luna broke her arm a couple days before she started Changing. Normally it would take a few weeks to heal, but she woke up the day it started and her arm was as good as new.”
I smiled at her seemingly fond memory. “That sounds like a pretty nice perk.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” She nodded and then stretched her legs next to mine and leaned her back against the headboard. “It’s not all bad being a werewolf. The strength, confidence, the freedom, it’s actually really exhilarating.”
I nodded and then laughed. “You know, I think this is the weirdest, most open conversation we’ve ever had. Or that I’ve ever had with anyone.”
