Chapter Four

BILLIE

I get a ride home from work, bribing my coworker with gas money as usual. I

can tell she only takes it to make me feel comfortable; otherwise she would just give me a ride like she’d tried to insist on the first three times. I could take the bus, but it’s not safe this late. She waits until I’m in my trailer as usual, then I watch her leave safely from the back window. I put my counter chair under my doorknob, since my landlord still hasn’t fixed the deadbolt.

Then I plug in my ancient phone to see if I got any messages. There are two voicemails.

“This message is for Billie Black, this is Tricia from the Wesley Dance Scholarship fund. We’re pleased to inform you of your acceptance. Terms will be sent to your email, there will be a housing and equipment stipend. Since your acceptance is so last-minute, there was only one housing spot available, on campus. Welcome to Crescent University. We’ll see you Monday.”

My jaw is dropped, and the second voicemail plays.

“This is Herschel from Freemont Assisted Living. We wanted to inform you that your mother qualifies for a grant from a generous donor, and her treatment and fees here will now be covered fully. Give us a call back if you have any questions.”

I sit there staring at my phone. It’s like someone waved a wand and changed everything in my life all at once.

I look at my email. The room is in a place called The Rock House, used by a campus group called Underground who are willing to let scholarship students stay in their spare suites.

Not a room, a suite. I look at the pictures online. It has a bedroom, a sitting/office area, and a bathroom bigger than the one I have now.

I’ll be out of this trailer by the weekend.

I can quit the Wolf too, if I want. I’ll have to at least use tomorrow to move, since I’m on the weekend schedule.

I’m going to school. I can keep dancing. I can study to be anything I want. I can do both, since there are double majors.

I’ll have a safe place to live. A food allowance through the cafe and the Student Union. I don’t have much—just two boxes of books, a cedar chest with all of my momma’s pictures and things from my grandparents in it, and a single futon mattress. I can get a rideshare to move, stuff my clothes in a garbage bag. Then I can come back for the chest with someone from work.

I’ll be surrounded by werewolves, but they’ve never been anything but nice to me, until last night—and that was a guy thing, I think.

Everything’s changing.

I burst into tears when I’m not dancing for the first time since my mother was diagnosed. Usually I need that outlet to feel anything.

Now it seems like I’m feeling everything.

Wonder, happiness, pride. The realization that after so many years of hard work, after two years spent hustling on my feet—first after my grandparents died from COVID and she couldn’t leave the house anymore, then when I found the treatment facility—I deserve this.

I deserve a normal life. I’ve paid my dues, did everything I was supposed to, and I’ve almost made it. Now I just have to make it through my program and my classes, then I can be anything. Go anywhere.

Have a boyfriend. My first.

When I was a teenager, I had two elderly people and one depressed widow with neurological quirks to take care of. I made sure everything ran smoothly at home while I worked hard at dance and school. There was no time for anything else, and I got a reputation after I turned every boy down who ever asked me out.

Then after high school, I was working long shifts and getting ready to audition some day.

No time for dating.

No time for the awful PMS I get every month, either; when it feels like…like I just want someone, anyone, to fuck me. My libido shoots up like a rocket, and I can come from the accidental rubbing of my panties against my center. But it’s never enough, no orgasm is enough for those times every month.

And the arousal hurts. Nothing I do soothes it. It makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. Which doesn’t make me very trusting towards men, since I have that extra vulnerability anyone could exploit.

I’m a wreck for a full week, hiding behind a shield of virginity and a mask of demureness. Only I know what a slut I really am, the shameful amount of time spent aroused and these urges I get…urges to be used, and used, until I can’t come anymore. I’ve never told anyone what PMS is like for me.

I’ve tried treating it with the birth control shot, but though I no longer menstruate, I still get the monthly week in hell.

Maybe…if I had a boyfriend, the urges would be fulfilled and I could find peace.

At least I wouldn’t finally give in one night and let a stranger fuck me in an alley—my worst fear. And the reason I reacted so stupidly to being propositioned by Spader last night.

Spader…Raven. I have Raven’s number, and he’s a Crescent student. He said he was driving his brother home, so I think he has a car. I’m positive he would help me get my cedar chest to my new dorm.

I text instead of call.

Me: Hi! This is Billie from the Gaelic Wolf. I’m sorry to bother you so soon, but I just got the news I have a scholarship and I only have one day to move. I don’t own a car, or a lot of things, so I was kind of hoping you would be available to give me a ride tomorrow? I’ll pay you gas money!

Raven: You are an absolute delight, and I’m so happy for you. I would be pleased to get you moved in, and am available at your beck and call. Keep your money, it’s an honor to help.

Me: You’re sure it’s no bother? I would be ready at 10 am, or if that’s too early, you could let me know.

Raven: No bother at all, 10am is perfect. Send me your address and I will see you then.

I send him the address of the trailer, and spend the rest of the evening shoving my kitchen dishes and utensils in the cedar chest, doing laundry, and bagging it, then putting my books back in the boxes they came in four months ago.