You Can Be Scared
1540 Words
The words stayed in the room long after Ben said them.
Ruth's face went white. Her mouth opened, then closed. For a second, she looked like a woman caught in a lie she hadn't known she was telling.
Ben was still half-curled against the wall, one arm partially furred, the other wrapped around his knees. His
breathing had slowed, but his eyes hadn't left her.
"Mom," he said again. "You're scared of me."
Ruth shook her head. The movement was too fast, too automatic.
"I'm not—Ben, I'm not scared of you."
"Then why do you always tell me to stop?"
The question was quiet.
Not angry.
Just tired.
Ruth looked at me, as if I might give her an answer.
I stayed where I was and said nothing.
This wasn't mine to explain for her.
"Answer him," I said quietly.
Ruth's eyes filled. She pressed one hand over her mouth, then lowered it to her lap.
"Because I'm scared you'll get hurt."
Ben didn't blink.
"But you say it like I'm doing something wrong. Like if I just tried harder, I could make the wolf go away."
"Is that what you hear?"
"It's what it feels like."
Ruth's face crumpled.
She reached toward him, then stopped herself. Her hand hung in the air between them, trembling.
"Yes," she said finally. "I get scared."
She swallowed.
"But not because I think you're dangerous. I get scared because I don't know how to help you. And every time I see
you hurting, I panic, and I say the wrong thing."
Ben's chin dropped. His shoulders rose and fell once, hard.
"I thought if I could stop it," he said, "you wouldn't be scared anymore."
My chest gave a small, painful pull.
The logic felt uncomfortably familiar.
I didn't follow it any further.
"That's not your job," I said. "Your mother's fear is hers. You don't have to make it disappear."
Ruth made a small sound, almost a sob.
She wiped her face with both hands and took a slow breath.
"I don't want you to stop because I'm scared," she said. "I want you to stop because it hurts. And if it doesn't hurt
like that—"
She stopped, struggling.
"Then you don't have to stop for me."
Ben's head lifted.
"Really?"
Ruth nodded.
"I'll try not to make it worse. But I need you to know I'm not going anywhere. Even if I'm scared."
Anya shifted near the door, her kit still open.
"Ben, can I take another look at you before you rest?"
Ben nodded slowly.
Anya moved in, checked his pulse, felt along his shoulders, and helped him drink from a bottle of water.
She didn't tell him to control anything.
She just watched.
A few minutes passed.
Ben's breathing evened out. The partial fur along his arm stayed where it was, no longer flickering, no longer
fighting itself.
Then he said, "I want to try again."
Ruth's whole body went rigid.
Her mouth opened—the old instinct rising.
But she didn't say not now.
She didn't say you're too tired.
She closed her eyes for a second, then looked at him.
"Okay," she said.
Ben pushed himself away from the wall, still unsteady.
Anya stayed close, one hand hovering near his elbow.
I moved back to give him room.
"Don't rush," I said. "Let it come. If you need to stop because your body needs to stop, that's different. But don't
stop because you think she needs you to."
Ben nodded.
He closed his eyes.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then his fingers curled against the floor, and the fur along his arm thickened instead of retreating.
His spine lengthened.
His jaw cracked softly.
The change moved through him in a slow, heavy wave.
Ruth's hands were shaking in her lap.
She didn't look away.
Ben's eyes opened once, gold and uncertain, and found her.
"I'm still here," Ruth said.
Her voice was thin but steady.
"You don't have to stop for me."
Ben let out a breath.
And let go.
The Shift took him.
Not in pieces.
Not in the ugly, jerking bursts I'd seen before.
His body folded and stretched, fur spreading across his shoulders and back, his face narrowing, his legs shifting
under him.
The sound of it was soft and wet, bones moving in sequence.
Ruth flinched.
But she didn't speak.
Anya stayed on his other side, watching, ready.
I kept my hands loose at my sides.
Ben went down onto all fours, and for a long moment he held there, a half-formed shape trembling on the floor.
Then his tail swept out.
His ears lengthened.
The last pieces of the human boy folded into the body of a wolf.
He lay there, breathing hard.
Then he lifted his head.
A full wolf.
Not stuck.
Not thrashing.
Whole.
Ruth made a sound—half laugh, half cry—and pressed both hands to her face.
But she stayed where she was.
Anya checked him quickly.
"Full Shift. Stable."
Ben stayed there for another minute, breathing.
Nothing flickered.
Nothing tried to reverse itself.
He was simply a wolf.
His head lowered to the floor. His tail moved once against the boards.
Ruth watched him the entire time.
She was still afraid.
I could see it in the way her fingers trembled against her knees.
But she wasn't asking him to change back.
She wasn't asking him to become easier for her to look at.
Ben lifted his head again and met her eyes.
"I'm still here," Ruth whispered.
Anya waited until his breathing had settled further before crouching beside him.
"When you're ready, you can try changing back."
Ben stayed where he was for another few breaths.
Then, slowly, he began.
This time Ruth didn't tell him to stop.
She didn't tell him to go faster or slower.
She just watched, her hands in her lap, tears running down her face.
The change moved steadily in reverse.
Fur thinned.
His limbs shortened.
His jaw shifted back.
There was strain in it, but no panic.
No frantic attempt to slam the process shut.
When Ben was human again, Anya wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and helped him sit up.
He looked absolutely wrecked.
But he was breathing.
His eyes were clear.
The faint pull behind my ribs had eased.
It wasn't gone. There was a heavy, tired ache all through me, my hands were still cold, and my legs felt like I'd been
standing for hours.
But something had stopped grinding.
The two rhythms in the room were no longer colliding.
I didn't understand why.
I was too tired to try.
Ruth looked at me from across the room.
Her expression was difficult to read—gratitude, exhaustion, a little bit of shame.
She didn't get up.
"Thank you," she said.
I nodded once.
She hesitated.
"I still don't know what you did."
"Neither do I," I admitted.
Anya helped Ben drink more water.
Ruth moved closer to him slowly.
Ben leaned into her side, and she let out a breath.
"What do I do next time?" Ruth asked quietly.
I looked at her hands.
They were still trembling.
"Don't tell him to stop. Tell him the truth, even if the truth is that you're scared. Let him choose the pace. And if
something feels wrong physically—"
Anya cut in gently.
"Call medical. We'll assess whether it's a normal Shift or something that needs intervention."
Ruth nodded.
"Okay."
"That's all I'd change for now," I said. "Today, he did better when he didn't have to stop just because you were
scared."
Ruth flinched slightly.
But she didn't argue.
I left them there and went out into the corridor.
The light had changed, though I couldn't tell how much time had passed.
My legs were heavy, and the pressure behind my eyes had settled into a dull, constant ache.
My hands were cold again.
Silas was waiting near the end of the hall.
"Keller and Hart are still available," he said. "But I can move them."
I started to say I could keep going.
The old answer was already forming.
Then I stopped and actually felt my body.
The trembling in my knees.
The cold in my fingers.
The throb behind my eyes.
"Yes," I said. "Move them."
Silas didn't push.
He didn't even nod like I'd made the right choice.
He just said, "I'll let them know."
He walked with me as far as the guest block, then stopped at the door.
"Eat before you sleep," he said. "The kitchen closed at two, but I had something left for you."
I opened the door.
On the small desk was a covered tray with a sandwich and a thermos of warm water.
Nothing elaborate.
Just food and something to drink.
"Thank you," I said.
Silas gave a short nod and left.
I sat on the edge of the bed and ate slowly.
The food was plain, but my body wanted it.
The headache stayed where it was.
It didn't get worse.
No one had added anything to my list.
Tomorrow was empty for now.
I finished the water, set the tray aside, and lay back against the thin pillow.
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