Five

five

“Well, like oil and water, I can’t quite adapt or fit. Every so often I even seem to be on the outside just looking in…” Beatrice Sparks, Go Ask Alice

When class ended, I spoke to Mrs Telopea about what I needed to do to pass this assignment, considering I was working alone. I tried to control my tears, but unfortunately, I was a blubbering mess. I should have known better, but oh well. I’ll put this down as a lesson for me in the future.

Anyway, I’ve decided to study the role of Norse Mythology and its impact on Viking life. Mrs Telopea likes the idea, and I walk away from History feeling a little better about myself.

I scan the lunchroom like always and see Logan, Jaymie and Yvonne sitting at my table. Shaking my head, I turn around and head outside towards the garden in front of the art building. I don’t feel like being sociable right now, and I especially don’t feel like seeing Yvonne or Jaymie.

When I get home from school, I jump into the shower and sit on the cubicle floor, letting all my pain out in my tears.

Stupid girl! Nobody likes you! Who do you think you are? No one will ever want you! I tell myself. When the water goes cold, I finally get out and walk back to my room. I close my curtains, dress into my tracksuit pants and a baggy shirt, and climb under the covers of my bed. Tears roll down my face as I contemplate my life. I tried to fit in, and again, it backfired on me. This is what I deserve for being me. I wish I would just disappear and be gone so I don’t have to feel like this again. I hate feeling like this. I wish… I wish I hadn’t been born.

Mum came in sometime at night to tell me dinner was ready, but I told her I didn’t feel well and wanted to sleep. She closed the door for me and left me alone, thankfully. I spent the night staring at the wall of my room. Even my phone couldn’t keep me occupied. I think I fell asleep like that. After all my crying today, I knew I would fall asleep quickly.

I woke the next day to an empty house. Turning my phone on, I text Mum to let her know I’m not feeling great and won’t be going to school. I then turn back toward the wall and go back to sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the day, chastising myself for sleeping through the morning; I eat and then head back to my room. Mum and Dad come home at night, and again I refuse to join them for dinner.

I kept my curtains closed throughout the day, and I kept my lights off when night approached. Mum checked on me, but when I told her I was okay, she left me alone. She knows I’m not okay, but I’m grateful she respects me enough to give me space.

Thankfully the next day is Saturday, so I don’t have to go to school and face the world. I feel like such a reject. Unwanted. I got my hopes up, which I shouldn’t have, and now it’s biting me on the arse. I often wonder if this is my karma or punishment for something I’ve done in a past life. We werewolves believe that our souls come back to life after life to learn things we didn’t learn in a previous life. Our soulmates are connected to people from our past life; they’re chosen for us before we were even born. I sometimes think I must have done something really bad in a past life to get treated the way I do by my peers in this life. I hope my penance in this life is enough. I hope that I get a happier next life. Because of how I feel and how others treat me, it’s not fair. It’s not nice. Or caring. Packs are meant to care about each other. All I feel is a nuisance. I doubt they noticed I was away yesterday. I doubt they’d notice if I weren’t part of the pack.

I stay in my room on Saturday, only coming out for the bathroom. Mum and Dad knock on my door, leaving food for me outside in the hall on a tray, which I am grateful for. At least they love me. They accept me.

The door bangs open, and I lift my head to the noise.

“Enough!” My Mum growls, walking to the window and opening the curtains. I sit up and rub my eyes, trying to adjust to the light in my room.

“You have been moping for two days now. You will not mope today. Can you tell me what happened this time?” Mum asks.

I shake my head. I don’t want to tell Mum what happened at school. Tears fill my eyes, and I look at my mother through a blurry lens. But I will not cry. I will not. Mum waits patiently as I ready myself to speak.

“I was doing this project with a girl in my class, but then she decided she wanted to do it with somebody else,” I admit to her. My Mum wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to her.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you tell the teacher?”

I nod in Mum’s arms but don’t say anything, continuing to cry on her shoulder.

“What did she say?”

“She said I could do my project on my own,” I admit. Mum doesn’t say anything, but I hope she feels for me.

“What do you plan on doing? For your project?” Mum asks. I tell her. I told her I wanted to look at Norse Mythology and how it guided the Viking way of life. I tell her how I want to present my work differently than the others in the class. Most are doing a PowerPoint, but I want to make an interactive poster using Makey Makey.

“Well, you’re a strong baby girl. Stronger than you realise. And smart. But let’s get you out of this slump. Get dressed; we’re going out,” Mum tells me. I try to protest, but Mum stops me before she leaves my room.

Reluctantly I get out of bed, shower and dress in my brown jeans and a maroon long-sleeved shirt. I put my shoes on and meet Mum in the dining room. She pushes a bowl of froot loops in front of me, and I smile.

“So, mum says you want to make a poster and use Makey Makey?” Dad asks as he joins us at the table. I nod. Dad is a tech geek. He may work in a factory, but he loves technology, always reading up on the latest gadgets. When Makey Makey first came out, Dad eagerly bought a box, and together we made a hula hoop controller for a game and a banana piano. It was fun. For my history project, I wanted to make my presentation hands-on; rather than viewing the information on a screen, I wanted people to interact with it.

“I can get the stuff you need if you like. What size do you want your poster to be?”

“Um, two times A3 size?” I ask, looking at Dad.

“I’ll go to the stationary store after the tech store then,” Dad says, and I smile again.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Mum doesn’t tell me where we are going. I think she might be taking me to the mall to get a pedicure or something together, but instead, we’re heading towards Clevedon House.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask when Mum pulls in front of a building. It looks slightly familiar, but I can’t place where I recognise it from.

“They’ve painted it since you were last here,” Mum tells me when she sees my quizzical face. I nod and follow Mum towards the building.

“Oh!” I gasped when I saw the sign at the building’s entrance. The sign reads ‘Clevedon Rest Home.’ I haven’t been here since my Mum’s Mum passed away three years ago.

Grandma moved in with us from her pack when I was a child after her mate died. Every weekend after pack school, Grandma would take me to the rest home so I could spend time with the pack members who lived there. We would make biscuits, read and watch television with the residents of Clevedon Rest Home. I enjoyed coming here and tried to come after Grandma passed away, but it felt too raw to go without her. I got so engrossed in my own life and worries that I hadn’t returned.

I walk into the foyer with Mum and smile when I recognise the receptionist at the counter. Emma.

“Hello, Sera! And you must be Violet’s daughter!” Emma greets.

“Hi, Emma,” I reply shyly.

“Hello, yes, I’m Amy. I called on the phone,” my Mum answers.

“It’s good that you’re here. My my, Sera, you have grown; the residents might not recognise you!” Emma says, smiling. I chuckle at her statement. The last time I was here, I hadn’t started high school.

Emma calls one of the nurses and tells us to sit while we wait.

“Hello, I’m Nurse Darla. I heard you’re both here to visit our residents?”

“Yes,” my Mum agrees, standing up from her seat.

“And you’ve both been here before?”

“Yes,” I agree. The nurse smiles and directs us to follow her.

“Our residents have just had lunch and are either in the living room or are back in their rooms. Anyone here you’re keen to see?”

“Uh, Mrs O’Brian?” I ask, hoping. I made good friends with Mrs O’Brian, or Frances as she insisted I call her. I hope she remembers me and that she’s still around…

“Oh yes, Mrs O’Brian. I think she retired to her room. Can you remember where it is?” Nurse Darla asks.

“Uh, no, I forgot,” I admit. Nurse Darla smiles and directs me to a hallway.

I leave Mum in the kitchen, she wants to help clean up, and I walk toward the hallway the nurse indicated.

I find Mrs O’Brian’s door and knock. Her door has her name, and the letters are bright and shiny. I’m pleased; it looks like someone cares.

“Come in,” I hear a frail voice say from the other side of the door. I twist the handle and open the door, popping my head around.

The room looks just the way I remember it. The walls are painted a pastel yellow, and there is a small sitting area with a small brown couch on one side. On the other side of the room is a queen size bed with an old patchwork quilt I remember Mrs O’Brian telling me she made with her grandmother as a child.

“Hello?” I speak. An elderly woman looks up from her book, her blue eyes taking me in. She smiles when she sees me.

“Sera, is that you?” the woman asks. I nod and walk into her room.

“Yes, Mrs O’Brian, it’s me, Sera.”

“I didn’t say you could come in!”

“Oh! Sorry!” I stutter, quickly making my way back out the door. I hear laughter and turn around to look at the smiling woman.

“Just kidding, of course, you can come in!” Mrs O’Brian says, getting up and walking over to me.

I notice that she seems smaller than I remember. But then I was a tween when I saw her last.

“Well, look at you; you’re all grown up!” Mrs O’Brian says, taking both my hands.

“Yeah, I’m taller and uglier now,” I try to joke.

“Nonsense! You’re still the pretty little thing I remember. Have you got your wolf yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m eighteen next week,” I admit, shaking my head.

“Hmm, I look forward to meeting her,” Mrs O’Brian says.

“Oh… I thought…” I begin. Mrs O’Brian is about one-hundred and twenty-something now. We werewolves age differently from humans. We stop aging at thirty-five and start aging again in our sixties. This is because it’s tough for us werewolves to reproduce. Which is funny, considering we usually get pregnant shortly after we meet our mates.

“That I’m old and senile? Just because I can’t shift anymore doesn’t mean I can’t meet your wolf,” Mrs O’Brian smiles.

“Sorry,” I reply.

“No worries. Take a seat, and I’ll make you a cuppa tea. You still like it the same way?”

“Yes, but uh, one sugar now,” I tell her.

“Oh, lah dee dah. No more three sugars, huh?”

“No, I’m already sweet enough,” I reply. Mrs O’Brian laughs and heads for the alcove where her small kitchen is.

~ Edited with Grammarly