Mentally Ill?

Baylor POV

“Come on Baylor, those dishes aren’t going to do themselves” Kenneth shouted from the grill area. I can tell you, I fucking loathe doing dishes. But I digress, when you’re 15 and not technically of legal age to work, eleven dollars an hour doing dishes isn’t the worst I could be doing. “Listen big guy, I am going as fast as I can, it’s Mother’s Day and this dive is packed” I shouted back. Kenneth is my best friend and has been as far back as I can remember. We lived in Monroeville together and managed to escape from there two years ago and have never looked back. Monroeville is an orphanage in Boston that I had lived in since I was two when my parents died in a car crash. Apparently when they died and United States authorities tried to contact any relatives back in Ireland, there was no record of Connor or Sophie Dunne ever existing. Well, I exist so that means they did too.

Anyway, once we escaped Monroeville, we set out across the U.S. and landed in Silverthorne, Colorado. We live in a one room apartment above Owen’s garage. Owen, he’s ok, and he believes that we are twenty. Not hard to imagine since we range from five foot eleven inches tall to six foot nine and are built like a bunch of linebackers. That and the identification that each of us possess states as much.  We work in this little mom and pop restaurant called Running Cool. Apparently it was a nod to the owner's favorite movie to watch with her kids when they were growing up and just catchy enough to work in the foothills of a ski town.

“You boys really shouldn’t be shouting back here, you’re gonna scare the customers” Bessie said, when she opened the door between the kitchen and dining areas. “Sorry Bessie, we’ll tone it down” I replied. “Just remember if there are no customers, I will put the lot of you out on your ears, Baylor Dunne.” I just rolled my eyes and called her a few choice names, in my head of course. Bessie can really be an annoying and nasty old C U Next Tuesday. 

At the end of shift, the guys and I headed back to our place. “Mitchum, it’s your turn to cook tonight” I said. “Come on Bay, I spent two hours plunging a toilet that some asshole decided to flush a condom down.” I chuckled, because that’s just nasty. “So what you’re saying is we aren’t having fried clams tonight, right?” I chided. “Come on guys, you fight about dinner every night” Kenneth groaned. Kenneth can burn water, and when it is his turn to cook, we have pizza or burgers from a fast food chain. “Up yours, Kenneth. You can’t even cook, so don’t go there” Mitchum replied. “Funny, since I man the grill at work,” Kenneth replied. “That isn’t really cooking,” Mitchum taunted.  At this point, I just get up and start boiling water, I am not going to argue with these nit-wits all night and not eat. I get out a bag of cheese tortellini, the bowl of leftover chicken, and a jar of garlic alfredo sauce. 

While we ate, we started the same conversation we always do this time of year. “So Bay, what do you want this year for your birthday dude?” Kenneth asks every year and every year I answer the same thing. “I want to go to Ireland, I want to figure out where I came from.” Mitchum was actually quiet for a moment, then said, “No, really we want to know something we can realistically get you for your birthday this year.” Then he lowers his voice to whisper, “Sixteen is a big deal.” I know sixteen is big in the life of a normal teenager, but my life has been anything but normal. “I don’t know dude, it isn’t like we aren’t all working Friday anyway. So I guess it really doesn’t matter” I say. “So we’ll celebrate on Thursday,” Kenneth replied. I don’t really care either way, I will make it to Ireland one day. I just need to save enough money and go. I want answers, how did my parents ‘never exist’? 

Thursday nobody even woke before noon, but that was normal for a day that we all had off. I went to grab a shower and when I came out I noticed that Mitchum and Kenneth had taken off. Wondering where they had taken off to, I picked up my phone to text our group chat.

Me: Hey, where did you buttheads go?

Kenneth: Chill buttmunch, we are right around the corner, be there in less than five.

Mitchum: (middle finger emoji)

Me: Mitchum, you wish dude. You aren’t my type, cocksucker! 

Mitchum: Don’t call me a cocksucker, or I am keeping your gift for myself!

Oh, that’s where they went. When they came through the door they had a balloon in the shape of a penis and a cake that said ‘Happy Birthday Dickweed’. I can smell salmon and garlic too, which means the guys picked up dinner as well. “You guys really didn’t have to do anything, but thank you” I said. Kenneth handed me an envelope, “Happy Birthday Dude, it isn’t Ireland, but it can help you take a trip” then he laughed. Inside the envelope were a couple of joints, so we toked. We had a good buzz going when Mitchum laughed and said, “Let’s have some cake.” I looked at him and said, “But there isn’t a candle.” “I thought you would say that,” he replied. Then he stuck a boob shaped candle that had a wick coming out of each nipple on the cake and said “I figured you wouldn’t turn down a pair of tits for your birthday.” I closed my eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candle.

The next morning I woke up with a fuzzy head and thought that maybe the joints we had last night could’ve been laced with something. “No dummy, the first day you get your wolf everyone has a brief moment of feeling  fuzzy before everything clicks into place.” “Who the fuck said that?” Kenneth and Mitchum both stare at me like I have grown an extra head, and in unison said “Noone said anything dude.” Kenneth adds, “Are you feeling ok?”

“They can’t hear me dummy, only you can. I am your wolf,” I hear in my head. “Yeah, I am fine. Must have been a little something extra in one of those Js last night.” “Ok dummy, you tell them whatever, but I am not just a voice in your head. I am your wolf Shammus.” Fucking Great! Now I can add being a raving lunatic to the list of things that are wrong with my life. “You are not a lunatic, you are Baylor Alan Dunne, I am your wolf spirit Shammus and you are a werewolf!” Oh that’s perfect, my mental hallucination thinks I am some sort of fantasy movie bullshit!

I can’t even believe this is happening to me, I swear I will never touch weed again as long as I live. One toke too many and I’m in mental illness city. Can I tell my best friends that I am hearing a voice in my head that says I am a werewolf? Yeah, I don’t think so. They may have been my best friends since forever, but they will definitely ditch me if I tell them this shit.