Two

A dull pressure pulsed behind my eyes as the morning light hit the pale blue walls of my childhood bedroom.

Everything sat in its usual place, from the stack of old yearbooks to the ceramic lamp on the nightstand, but the air felt heavy. I pressed my palms against my temples to steady the world.

The door hinges groaned. My seventeen year old sister, Astrid, walked in with a white bowl. Steam rose from the surface of the soup, carrying the scent of boiled chicken and rosemary. 

Her black curls bounced against her shoulders as she moved. She looked like a painting with her dark hair and almond eyes, a sharp contrast to my own blond hair and green eyes.

"Hey, sis," she said. She placed the bowl on my lap. "Feeling rough? I made soup."

"I feel like a truck hit me and then reversed to check the damage," I said. My voice sounded thin and raspy. I gripped the warm sides of the bowl. "Wait. How did I get here?"

Astrid leaned against the doorframe and pulled a phone from her pocket. The screen glowed in the dim light of the room.

"Ria brought you back," she said. She tapped the glass and turned the screen toward me. "Oh, and you are trending! Big time."

The video started immediately. I watched myself drop to one knee on the airport tile. Donovan looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor. The woman in the yellow dress stood beside him with a smirk.

"People turned it into memes," Astrid said. She scrolled through the comments. "It is so viral even penguins in Antarctica have probably seen it. Mom's phone has not stopped ringing since last night."

I pressed my face into the pillow to block out the sight. "Turn it off."

Astrid did not stop. She read the words aloud in a flat tone. "'So desperate.' 'What a joke.' 'That poor guy, she ambushed him.' Here is a short one. It just says, 'stupid bitch.'"

I scratched Snowy behind his ears as the Persian cat jumped onto the duvet. He let out a loud yowl and curled against my leg.

"At least you still like me," I whispered into his white fur.

I eventually forced myself out of bed. The floor tiles felt like ice under my bare feet. I walked down the stairs, each step vibrating through my skull. In the living room, my father sat in his leather armchair. He held a newspaper, but his eyes remained fixed on a single spot on the rug. The lines around his mouth looked deep.

My mother sat on the sofa with a teacup held halfway to her lips. She looked up the moment I entered. My brother, Luther, lay at the other end of the couch, his thumbs moving fast across his phone screen. He did not look at me.

"Good to see you are finally awake, Vespa," my mother said. She set the cup down with a sharp click against the saucer. "Your particular brand of recklessness deserves its own university course."

I stared at the pattern of the rug. "Mom. Dad. I am sorry. I thought Donovan loved me."

"You thought?" My mother stood up. Her face was pale with anger. "You dated a werewolf just to disgrace us, then you staged a public stunt for the world to watch. What were you thinking?"

"Mom, please," I said. "It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Her voice rose. "You created a public circus. You embarrassed this family across the internet, and you call it a mistake?"

I felt the heat rise in my neck. "You are supposed to be on my side. You could ask what happened before you start tearing into me. I thought getting married might make you happy. You always talk about grandchildren."

My mother's expression tightened.

"Maybe I do not owe you grandchildren after all," I said. My voice cracked.

"You do not excuse yourself by throwing your uterus around," she said. She stepped toward me. "Especially not to a werewolf. You have shamed us. I am not surprised. You always had a gift for dragging chaos into this house."

The next few days passed in a blur of silence and tension. Every meal was a lecture or a cold shoulder. By Sunday, Ria called me.

"Skip any more classes and you will wreck your final year," she said over the line.

On Monday morning, I scrubbed my face and pushed my pixie cut into place. I pulled on a black hoodie and my oldest jeans. I drove my beat-up Volkswagen to campus and parked near the journalism building. I gripped the steering wheel until my hands went numb before I stepped out.

I walked down the hallway. I heard the whispers start before I reached my locker.

"Delusional," a girl muttered as I passed.

"What a joke," another voice added. "So much for feminism. Begging a man like that."

I kept my eyes on the floor. Ria walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine.

"They cannot all be assholes," she said quietly.

I gave her a small nod. I spent the noon hour in the Student Union office. I spread papers across my desk to look busy, but the words blurred together. The door swung open and the dean walked in. He looked pleased.

"Good news," he said. "Over a hundred werewolf students from the Northern Ridge Pack will be joining us this semester."

After the dean left, Kaden, the union president, leaned back in his swivel chair. He looked at me with a wide grin.

"Guess who is handling their registration?" he asked.

I did not answer him.

"You," Kaden said. "Our resident werewolf enthusiast."

I rolled my eyes.

We moved a long folding table outside the main hall. Ten large buses pulled into the parking lot. The doors hissed open. Young men and women stepped out. They were tall and moved with a confident stride. They carried an energy that made the other students move out of their way.

Ria nudged my ribs. "Holy fuck, Vespa. Look over there."

"Look at who?" I kept my head down, staring at a stack of registration forms. "I am not interested in werewolves anymore. They can take their stupid selves somewhere else."

Ria grabbed my wrist. She forced me to turn my head toward the third bus.

"The three guys from the airport," she whispered. "The ones who caught you.”