Werewolf Compilations

Every part of my body aches now, even my fingers and toes. I know what is coming, and I was prepared for it once before, but now all of that has been thrown out the window. I don't know how to be alone anymore, not like that. Sure, I didn't have him, but at least I was close to him, at least I got a taste of him.

I swallow. "Okay," I say, trying to choose between 'goodnight' and 'goodbye', but I leave the kitchen after that.

For a moment, I thought he was going to give this a try. I thought he was going to keep me. I thought we would grow together over time, my forgiveness coming after his endless amounts of apologies ranging from different attempts to earn it. I thought we would sleep together in his bed, that I would feel his arms holding me greedily from the world, not wanting to share. I thought we would kiss a hundred more times and laugh and cry and yell. But no. It's over instead. I wasn't even given the chance to forgive him.

Once inside my bedroom-the door locked-I rush to my bed and collapse onto it, burying myself into the pillows and blankets. The tears come immediately like a dam opening its floodgates, wetting the pillows and filling the room with quiet, muffled sobs.

It hurts already, and I know I should be happy to leave, I know I shouldn't care about leaving him, but I can't help it. I can't help myself. Just the sight of him gives me a warm feeling, especially after that inch of hope. He gave me my things back and he touched my face, looked into me with soft eyes and brushed back my hair, only to send me home. There was no passionate kiss to mark the beginning of our healing, or gentle hug to show me that he's going to try, only a struggle to let go.

In the morning I feel the need to throw things around as I once did. Pulling over bookcases and smashing lamps like a madwoman.

He's gone, he's not here like he told me last night. I expected this, but my body wants to touch him one more time, my mind wants to see him, to remember him properly.

I slowly begin to pack my clothes and books and other things such as a hairbrush and toothbrush into my bag that I came with. It was stuffed under the bed, never to be used again, or so I thought before this all started. Theresa and Gail come up one at a time to offer help, but I quietly tell them that I can handle it. I'll miss them. They were one good thing about this place.

I stuff my books and iPod into the bag last, seeing the diary laying on the bookshelf, begging to come with me. I take it and gently maneuver it in, needing to keep it to at least remember all of this. I'll need a reminder someday when I am old. I'll look back through the journal and remember how I once had a Mate, how I wasn't destined to be alone.

I make my way downstairs to find Theresa and Gail sitting at the small table in the kitchen. Gail looks up at me and smiles a sad smile. "We made you breakfast before the drive."

I wander in, setting my bag against the wall. "Where is he?"

They keep quiet as if they didn't hear me.

"Is he close," I prod again, sitting down. "Is James close by?"

"Rae," Gail starts, then snaps back, "hurry and eat before it gets cold."

It isn't until about twenty minutes later that Gail comes back from the living room and says, "the car's here. The Guard is waiting just outside for you when you're ready."

I grab my bag and face the two women. "Thank you for everything."

"Take care of yourself, dear," Theresa says and gives me a small hug, then Gail does the same.

I leave the house after that, not wanting to make things harder than they have to be. The large car out front is similar to the one that too me here, and I watch as Theodore gets out of the front seat and takes my bag, placing it in the back. "Go on and get in," he says.

I climb into the passenger seat and slowly strap myself in, feeling as if I am not entirely here. I feel numb and distant like a ghost wandering an empty house.

Theodore gets in as well and glances over to me before starting the car. "So this is it? You're going home?"

"He let me go," I murmur and peer out the window, not wanting to talk.

The rest of the drive is silent, but I do not find myself drifting off to sleep, I am awake for the hours that it takes to get home. Theodore attempts a few more shots at conversation, but my lifeless responses tell him not to. I want to do nothing but stare out the window and dread the loneliness I am going back to, second-guessing the life I could have had if I stayed. Wondering if James could have loved me, really loved me like I had once convinced myself I didn't need.

I was wrong. I need it. I need love. I don't want to live without it, and now I fear going home and having exactly that happen to me.

His touch haunts my skin, my cheeks still feeling the warmth from his hand, and I fear it leaving me. I fear that my cheek will grow cold.