F and C

The morning air carries an unmistakable, heavy weight when I open my eyes. It isn't just a shift in the weather; I can feel the quiet pressing into the walls, thick and unnerving. It's already nine in the morning but the whole house is dead silent.

I didn't even bother to attempt to finish cleaning up the washrooms after yesterday's meeting, or touch the towering laundry piles I'm supposed to handle today. My logic is petty, sure, but entirely fair: they bled my entire life savings dry just to dump me in a converted closet under a strict no-food arrangement in this pack hell house. I'm allowed to be bitter. Yeah, I'm salty and petty like that. What surprises me though, is that nobody comes knocking at my door demanding that I do my usual chores this morning.

That same suffocating quiet follows me down the hall to the bathroom. I brush my teeth, take a quick shower, then dart back into my room and lock myself in again.

"I'm bored," I inform Winston. It's noon now and my stomach is clawing at itself. I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do next, but I can't think when I'm hungry. "Why is it so dead around here today?" I ask Winston.

A sudden, sharp knock makes me leap off the mattress. I creep toward the door on tiptoe, every instinct warning me to stay put. The ghost of the Beta's fingers is still pressed into my throat from yesterday; I spent half the night choking on nightmares of him.

"Hey, it's me," a hushed voice breathes from the other side. Corbin!

I unlock the door and pull it open instantly. "Hi."

His dark chocolate eyes look down at me, shadowed and urgent. "Meet me in Nana's back garden in twenty minutes," he whispers, before slipping away down the hallway before I can even answer.

I click the lock back into place and exchange my pajama shorts for a pair of worn jeans, a grey t-shirt, and white Converse, then pull a comb through my straight black hair in front of the small, old mirror hanging on the wall across from my bed. I took that mirror from Nana's old house and hung it there myself. I'm not vain, but a girl needs a mirror.

My green eyes stare back at me from the glass. People always comment about how unusual and vivid they are. I always wonder if I got them from my unknown biological father, because none of my relatives here have green eyes. I guess that's just one of the things in life I'll never figure out. At least the puffiness around my eyes from crying last night is gone.

I hurry outside because Nana's old house is fifteen minutes walk away from the pack house. Before I step outside, I grab a scarf and wrap it lightly around my neck.

***

"Hi, C!"

"Hey, F."

Corbin calls me F and I call him C. Together, we're F and C, get it? No? Well, that's okay. I don't fully understand it either, but when a seven-year-old Corbin told a six-year-old me that we were going to be C and F, I agreed with him wholeheartedly. The six-year-old me thought it was the coolest tag-team title in the world. That was until I figured out I was his sidekick, the one meant to fetch things for him while we fought imaginary evils of the world. I'm nobody's sidekick. We argued about it for weeks. Now we're F and C in my head. In his mind, I'm pretty sure we're still C and F.

I survey the garden before me. This used to be my Nana's pride and joy. She used to spend whole afternoons happily tending to it, humming to herself, while Corbin and I ran wild around her. It's been a couple of months since I last saw it, and now it's grown wild too. Weeds choke out the coneflowers, penstemons, lilies, and black-eyed Susans, while thick wild grass has invaded the tomato, peas, squash, and beets.

Corbin catches the look on my face and softens. "I came by to water them once in a while, but I'm not good with anything else. Maybe the new owner will do a better job."

"Yeah," I choke out my answer. It's hard to believe this place belongs to a complete stranger now. They haven't moved in yet, but I hope they'll love and care for it the way Nana did.

I look up and give my cousin a watery smile.

"Here," he says, handing me a sandwich wrapped in paper napkins. The smell alone makes my mouth water instantly. I stuff the turkey club sandwich into my mouth like an animal. Oh, so good! I know I look like a pig, but I'm hungry and it's just Corbin. It feels like I haven't eaten in days! Oh wait, I haven't, safe from a couple of bananas I stole from the kitchen yesterday morning before I started my chores.

I look up at my cousin, giving him a big grin with my mouth still full. The smile he gives back looks tight, almost pained. His dark eyes trace my face carefully as I finish eating. Swallowing still sends a sharp sting down, but the ache of an empty stomach hurts worse.

Without warning, Corbin closes the distance between us and starts to unwind the scarf from around my neck. "Corbin, don't," I protest, but he tilts my chin up anyway to inspect my throat.

A muscle ticks violently at his jaw as his finger skims the reddened skin gently. Almost as quickly, he lets me go and shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets, spinning on his heel. Frustration radiates off every line of his posture as he starts kicking pebble after pebble at his feet, over and over again. "You have to get out of here," he mutters, his voice dangerously low.

My heart stutters at his words and I just watch him for a moment. His broad shoulders are hunched, his head down. The wind blows his hair wild. His dark hair is getting long and starting to curl, and if it gets long enough it'll turn into ringlets. I used to make fun of his hair when we were little, all while secretly wishing I had those ringlets myself.

"Did you hear me, F? You have to get out of here. Very soon." He turns around to look at me. His eyes are so sad. "I can't protect you, F. You have to go far away from here and never come back."

"Why?" I know Corbin. There's something he's not telling me. "Corbin?"

"Everything is fvcked up, you know that right, F? My father is fvcked up. This whole pack is one big clusterfvck."

I've never heard Corbin Hayes swear so much before. It was always me and Nana who swore a lot, so much so that we had a swear jar. I still have that swear jar. We used to put a dime in it for every slip. That's exactly why I try so hard not to swear anymore. I'm broke.

Corbin runs his fingers through his unruly curls before dragging his hand over his face, looking utterly exhausted.

Corbin has always been more than a cousin to me. He's the brother I never had. He's the only one who used to visit Nana and me often. Nobody else did. I used to secretly feel guilty that Nana had to go all the way to the pack house just to see them all. Maybe if I hadn't been living there, they would have actually visited their own mom and grandmother.

For a moment there's only the sound of wind rustling through the long grass and the chirping of birds somewhere above us. Out here, far from everybody, there's a strange kind of freedom. I miss it.

"Do you know that Judith Thorne, our former Luna, died last night?" says Corbin, breaking the peaceful silence.

"She's dead?" A small chill runs through me. Maybe that's why the house felt so odd this morning. I didn't know the old Luna that well, and she'd been bedridden for years, but I still feel kind of sad.

Corbin nods grimly. "She died last night," he repeats. "You wanna hear something funny, F?"

"Okay," I say, though I can't imagine what could possibly be funny about this.