Danger

Prologue March 2011 On the one hand, it was nice not living in the dorms on campus. The apartment was a lot bigger, a lot more private. At least if the neighbors did overhear, they weren’t gossiping in his classes the next day. On the other hand, the dorms would have been a lot more convenient, even if this was one of the closest apartment complexes to the university campus. Benny still had to drive in every day and drive home every evening. But his father had been insistent after seeing the dorms. “We can afford better,” he’d said. Didn’t matter what Benny argued after that, his dad wouldn’t be budged. Now he was grateful since having his own place meant not being as involved in the campus drama and gossip machine ‒ and it meant his girlfriend had been able to move in with him. He’d met Susan his first year and it was love at first sight. A lot of people didn’t believe in that outdated nonsense anymore. Love was something you sought out, love was something you worked at, but Benny knew he was different. Oh, it wasn’t the money. He’d met a lot of guys here at university who had more money and more privilege and more of the attitude that went with both than he had or could ever hope to have. No, Benny was a werewolf, and he knew sometimes the wolf just went ,“That one there, that one is ours” and that was it. Love at first sight, a soul mate. And his future mate was Susan Dupris. She was perfect. Straw blonde hair that she kept back in a simple ponytail. She wore make-up but she didn’t look like the sorority girls who probably spent more time in front of a mirror than they did in front of a book. She was short, petite, fit without being bony, soft without being pudgy. And she was smart, too. She was going to be a nurse. At first it had been coffee and studying together, then dinner and the movies as they made the leap to being a steady couple. After seeing each other nearly a year, she’d moved in, cheaper and more convenient for her, and cheaper for him, too. They’d been living together over a year now. Things weren’t perfect, they were both under a lot of stress. Benny with his application to law school looming, Susan trying to balance a job and her nursing degree, but he was happy living with her. If it could have been just him and her, without the stress of school and the pressure from his father, the fight would never have happened. It started around the start of second semester. Benny had been out late one night and come home drunk to find Susan waiting up for him. When he tried to hug her, she pushed him away. “That’s three times this week,” she said. “Three times, what?” His brain was still foggy from the beer. “Three times that you’ve come home drunk. And don’t think I don’t notice how fast you go through the beer in the fridge, even if you do replace it nearly as fast as you drink it.” “I have a high tolerance.” Being a werewolf meant a high metabolism, a bigger appetite, and a lot more beer before he felt drunk. “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. Nursing student here, remember?” She untucked one of her crossed arms and gave him a little wave before crossing her arms again. “I really don’t like how much you’ve been drinking, Benny.” “I’m attending class, paying the rent, never been short on grocery money, passing my tests …” “It’s not about that,” she said. “Ugh, Benny, I don’t want to watch you kill yourself with alcohol!” “I won’t.” He’d never heard of a werewolf dying from alcoholism. If his father was fine after all these years … “Then you need to cut back, like way back.” He didn’t feel like fighting right now. “I’ll watch how much I drink, okay?” “Okay,” she said, grudgingly letting him hug her at last. And he did try to keep it under control, at least for a while. And then he switched to trying to keep it a secret from Susan. He didn’t drink beer at the apartment anymore, just the odd glass of wine when she wanted a nice dinner, and at first that worked. As long as he didn’t come home stumbling drunk, she didn’t seem to notice. He was just finishing up the last of his exams and the stress of studying was getting to him. His dad called almost daily to hound him about his grades. He was pretty sure he was having minor anxiety attacks from the stress – shaking, sweating, chills, dry mouth. The alcohol helped, it kept him calm. He didn’t need much, usually, but he was having his first drink before lunchtime these days and had taken to studying in a quiet pub in the evenings where he could drink while he worked. He came home from one such study session to find Susan angrily puttering about the kitchen. She wasn’t looking at him, but she was closing doors and drawers with a little more force than was needed and she was muttering to herself. “Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong? You look pissed.” She slammed a drawer shut and turned on him, waving a wooden spoon under his nose. “I saw you at the pub today,” she said. “Yeah, I was studying. I had a beer, a beer, and some wings. I’ve cut way back, just like I promised. No more staggering home blind drunk, no more beer in the fridge, it’s under control.” “Under control, oh that’s rich. That’s just great. I ran into your friend Neil the other day, he asked if everything was okay with you. Says he saw you ordering a beer at 10 am the other day. How is drinking at 10 am ‘under control’?” “I’m not …” She cut him off and nearly hit him with the spoon at the same time. “The next words out of your mouth had better be ‘in control of my drinking’ and you’d better be ready to tell me how you plan to go to meetings or something starting yesterday because I’m not going to accept anything less.” “You’re not even giving me a chance to explain.” “Why don’t you explain just how much you’ve been drinking? And be honest.” “I’m not getting drunk anymore.” “So, you’re drinking the same amount, you’re just spreading it out more so that you don’t get wasted. That’s not keeping it under control!” “Can you keep your voice down, please?” “Oh, am I hurting your head?” she said, mocking him. “I’m more concerned about the neighbors.” “I’m more concerned with you lying to me!!” she shouted, making him cringe. “How many times did I ask you if you’d had a drink and got a lie for an answer? Hmm? Probably every damn time!” “I don’t know what the big deal is! Why are you so obsessed with how much I’m drinking?” “Because I care about you! Do you think I want to see you die young from alcohol poisoning? Or in a car accident because you were driving drunk?” “Susan, I’m not …” “Being honest with me? Not upholding your promise? Not willing to get the help you need?” “Would you stop interrupting me? For f**k’s sake, I can’t deal with this right now. I’m going out.” He turned on his heel and went back to the door. “What? Where are you going?!” she called after him. “OUT!” He slammed the door behind him and stalked down the hallway. The cool evening air was delicious on his skin but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He could hear his pulse in his ears, deafening. His hands tightened into fists. His breathing was too fast. “f**k,” he muttered. It was pretty close to the new moon so he didn’t think he’d lose control and shift, but he had to calm down. He turned and walked down the street in the direction of the nearest bar. When Benny headed for home again he wasn’t quite staggering but someone smaller than him, someone without the tolerance of a werewolf, would probably be asleep under a table by now. He came into the apartment as quietly as possible, intending to shower quickly and crawl into bed without waking Susan. Of course, the whole plan hinged on Susan already being in bed and he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure of the time. Susan was not asleep, was not even in bed. She was sitting on the couch waiting for him. She had a book on her lap, probably something course related, but she seemed to be staring at the wall instead of the words. She set it aside when he came in. “You went out drinking,” she said. “I’m not doing this again,” he said. “I’m going to have a shower.” She came around the couch, intercepting him before he could get to the hallway. “How much did you have tonight?” “Susan, I’m tired, I want a shower and I want to go to bed.” “HOW MUCH?!!” “More than you wanted me to drink,” he snapped back. “f**k! This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been picking at me like some kind of crazy bitch.” “Oh, is that what you think of me?” “No. f**k, Susan, I love you, but you’re nagging at me like an old hag or something.” “A b***h and a hag. Gee, I love how romantic you are when you’re drunk.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Stop twisting my words around.” “Then tell me what you mean. Tell me what you really think of me.” “I love you. You’re beautiful and smart and funny. I just don’t understand why you have to hound me about the drinking! I told you I wouldn’t come home drunk anymore and I stopped!” “Until the stress got too much and now here you are, drunk again.” “We had a fight!!” “Are you going to get drunk every time we fight? Benny, people fight! That’s just a part of life. What other excuses are you going to use? Just at weddings. Just when we fight. Just when there’s overtime at the office. Just … just … just …” The sound of that word, over and over, it slammed against his brain, triggered something feral and angry. He snarled and lashed out at her, the back of his hand connecting with the side of her face. “SHUT UP!” She staggered back, her hands on her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. “Just shut up! Enough already.” He shoved her to the side and stormed down the hallway. “I’m going for a f*****g shower and then I am going to bed. I’m not talking about this anymore!” He slammed the bathroom door shut but didn’t bother to lock it. Susan had seen him naked more times than he could count, so why bother? He stripped, throwing his clothes against the wall as his temper raged in him. He turned the water on hot and stepped in, scrubbing his skin until he was raw. The bathroom steamed up, blotting out the mirror. He leaned his forehead against the wall and let the water beat down on his shoulders. He didn’t hear the door open, but he heard her voice, soft, subdued. “I’m going out for a bit, okay? Don’t wait up, I know you have a busy day tomorrow.” “Fine,” he said. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard or already left and he didn’t care. He turned the water off, toweled off, and dropped naked into bed. He woke up alone the next morning, his head pounding for the first time in years. He groaned and sat up. “Susan? Could you put some coffee on?” His bladder felt ready to explode and he stumbled to the bathroom. When he came out, he dressed and padded down the hall to find the kitchen empty. The living room, too. Confusion was quickly shifting towards panic. Then he spotted the paper on the fridge, the scrawl of Susan’s writing over the page. “Gone to Amy’s.” That set him at ease and he went about getting ready for class. It wasn’t like her to leave so early in the morning but at least she’d left a note so that he wouldn’t worry. Early study session? Or did Amy call with some emergency? I was so out of it last night, I didn’t even hear her phone ring. He didn’t often see Susan during the school day. Their classes were in different buildings and their spares rarely lined up. He muddled through, trying to focus through the pounding of his headache, a headache that no amount of coffee or pain killers seemed to soothe. He picked up flowers on his way home, his concern building again because Susan hadn’t responded to any of his texts over the day. The first thing he noticed when he got home was how quiet the apartment was. He knew Susan was finished earlier than him today, but she wasn’t home. Still at Amy’s? He set the flowers on the table and went to change. He opened the closet to hang up his shirt and frowned. Susan’s dresses were missing. None of his clothes were gone and his suits were worth a lot more than her dresses. And dresses seem like a stupid thing to steal. Besides, the TV was still there. He started opening drawers and found all of Susan’s clothes were gone. Her toothbrush was missing from the bathroom, as were her hairbrush, clips, ties, and shampoo. Half the movies were gone from the shelf in the living room. Her coffee mug was missing from the dish rack. He grabbed his phone and called Amy’s number. It was Susan who answered. “You’re home?” “Yeah. Where are you? Where’s all your stuff?” She laughed but it was a bitter sound, even over the phone. “What?” The confusion was starting to hurt is head, and it didn’t need much help on that front. “So, were you black out drunk and honestly don’t remember? Or are you passing that off as no big deal, too?” With a rush that made his headache worse, the events of the night before flooded his mind. He sat down hard on a kitchen chair. “Susan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You’re right, I’d had too much, my head was ringing, and I lost it. It’s my fault.” “Yeah, it’s your fault. The drinking is your fault, hitting me is your fault, refusing to acknowledge you have a problem is your fault.” “I’m apologizing.” “You’re not even offering to change. Most guys would be groveling. ‘Come on, baby, I’ll change, give me another chance, I’ll get help, I’ll stop drinking, I’ll never hit you again’,” she said, her voice a poor imitation of a man’s. “Susan, you know I didn’t mean it, and I’ll never hit you again.” He thought of the yelling at home, the slamming doors, the sudden silence that ended a fight midway through, and the way his mom avoided people after those fights. He shuddered. “I didn’t mean it,” he said. “They never mean it,” Susan said. “Not the first time, not the second, and not when they finally shoot you or strangle you. How can I believe you?” “I’m not like that.” “How can I believe you?” “You trusted me before, can’t you …” “Oh no,” she said. “I trusted you and you lied to me about the drinking. I’m not about to believe a word you have to say without some concrete proof.” “You want to go around town and hand out my photo to every bar and beer vendor you find? Tell them all I’m cut off, that I have a problem and they aren’t allowed to let me drink?” “No. I don’t want to do anything. You do it. You fix this.” “f**k, Susan, I don’t know what you want from me!” “I want you to stop yelling at me! I haven’t done a damn thing wrong.” “No, this is all my fault, and you’re f*****g perfect, aren’t you?” he snapped. “I didn’t say that.” His head was pounding, his heart was pounding, he was ready to throw the phone against the fridge and watch it smash into tiny pieces. “You used to be fun! You used to come out drinking with me. I didn’t overdo it then, did I? You don’t admit it but the stress got to you too, it got to us …” “This isn’t about stress or our other issues, Benny.” “Never is. Ever ask yourself why I drink?” A part of him was screaming at him to stop, to tell her the truth, tell her about being a werewolf, but she’d hurt him by leaving and he’d already shut himself up tight. He couldn’t leave himself that vulnerable with her, not now. “You want to blame me?!” “I didn’t have a drinking problem four years ago.” “That’s your problem right there. You won’t take any f*****g responsibility for your life.” She said something else, but away from the phone, probably to Amy who was probably standing nearby, listening to every word. “Benny, I was willing to stand by you, work with you, get you help for the drinking, be part of your support team, but after this …” “It was one mistake!” “No, it was the final outburst at the end of a whole line of mistakes.” “You’re breaking up with me?” “I have to. I can’t stay with an abuser. Get help, Benny, before you hurt someone else.” The line went dead. He threw the phone first. It hit the fridge and the back popped off, but it didn’t shatter like he’d hoped, like he’d craved. He growled, and the sound built into a scream. He grabbed the flowers, ripping them, shredding them, even as the thorns on the roses cut into his palms. He dropped them on the floor and stomped on them, then grabbed the dirty mug from the counter and threw that too. That shattered, and the sound calmed him for a moment. Breathing hard, he found his cellphone, wallet, and coat and stormed out of the apartment, not even stopping to lock the door. He took the stairs down to the lobby knowing that he’d never be able to handle the confines of the painstakingly slow elevator in this state. He rushed past one of his elderly neighbors at the mail box and disappeared into the afternoon rush. At first, he wasn’t sure where he was going but sure enough he soon found himself walking into a nearby pub. He ordered wings, lots of wings, and a beer. When the pub started to get busy, he paid his tab and moved on to a bar a few blocks over. When the bartender there started watching him a little too closely, he moved on again. He wasn’t sure what time it was when he staggered home, didn’t know how many bars and pubs he’d visited, or how far he’d walked. He managed to get his key in the lobby door and stumbled into the elevator. He pushed what he hoped was the right button but when he stepped out and got to what should have been his apartment door, the brass number was wrong. He stared at it for a moment until he understood what he was seeing and then he went back to the elevator and tried again. He tumbled through his unlocked door, managing to close it behind him without slamming it, and collapsed on the couch. He woke up the next morning with one hand on the floor, a crick in his neck, a puddle of drool on the pillow, and a pounding headache. The kitchen was still a mess and he was still alone. “f**k it all,” he muttered and went in search of something to clear his head.