The freak

The bitter November wind cut through my threadbare coat as I pushed open the creaky door of the 24-hour diner, the warmth from inside fleetingly caressing my cheek. Glancing at a watch, I noted my shift had lasted from noon until just now, 10PM. It was always the graveyard shift for me easier not to deal with the judging eyes that way.

I sat down on the curb around back, letting the door swing shut behind me, muffling the clanging and sizzling sounds of the small kitchen inside. I unfolded my paycheck with trembling fingers. $180. Not much, but if I budgeted carefully, it would cover food for the next week.

The wind picked up, seeping through holes in my sneakers. I couldn't afford new clothes or shoes, not when every cent went to keeping my small family afloat. I used to have dreams of college, a career, mate - but those evaporated the night a gas explosion killed my mom. The night that I got blamed for being the murderer. It didn't matter that I was innocent, that it was a freak accident - I was the pack pariah, the girl who killed her own mother.

Heaving a sigh that hung visibly in the frigid dawn air, I pocketed my check and headed towards the grocery store before returning home. I kept my head down late early night commuters. I could feel their glares, sensed them crossing the street to avoid the "cursed girl."

The automatic doors to the grocery store slid open with a soft woosh. I grabbed a small basket, making a beeline for the bargain bins.

The grocery store was busier than usual for a Tuesday evening. I kept my head down as I walked past chattering mothers with carts full of food. When I entered the produce section, conversation seemed to fade away. I felt their eyes on me, heard the whispers. I was used to it by now. Being nineteen and hated by most of the pack wears on a soul.

I inspected heads of lettuce, looking for the freshest one. Money was tight and I had to make what little I had stretch as far as possible. My part time wages from the diner would just cover rent and utilities this month. The lettuce felt cold and firm. I put two heads in my basket.

That's when I felt it - a sudden pain against my shoulder. I looked down to see the remains of a splattered tomato sliding down my worn overcoat. Gasps echoed from the mothers. I glanced up to see a young boy about 4 years old looking defiant.

"Witch!" He shouted. "You killed Dr. Anna! I hate you!" The mothers shuffled him away quickly as he kicked and screamed. "She's a killer!"

Hot tears pricked my eyes but I kept my chin high. The teen cashier looked at me warily. I dumped my items and rustled for my wallet, hands shaking, just wanting this interaction to be over. She muttered my total without meeting my gaze. I paid quickly and practically ran from the store.

The winter wind felt good against my burning, tomato-splattered cheek. I took deep breaths to rein in the sobs wanting to escape. I couldn't break down every time this happened. I just couldn't.

My wolf, Crystal, stirred softly in my mind. "It's okay, Tray," came her gentle whisper. "Don't let their cruelty beat you down. You know the truth."

Crystal was as timid as I was - she almost never took control in wolf form. But her kind words soothed my ragged nerves just enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

My wolf was all I had left.

I entered the sad little apartment, filled with the stench of stale cigarettes and booze. The worn furniture looked ready to collapse at the slightest touch. I didn't bother announcing myself. The TV was blaring - it meant Dad was home which was never a good thing.

I tiptoed to the kitchen and started unpacking the groceries as quietly as I could. The news station went to a commercial break. I froze, listening. If I was lucky, he had drank himself into oblivion already. The snores coming from the couch dashed that fragile hope.

"Where the hell have you been?" he growled. I heard the squeak of springs as he rose unsteadily to his feet. His shadow loomed in the kitchen doorway, weaving slightly.

"Just the store, Dad," I kept my voice low, placating. "I got stuff to make sandwiches for dinner."

"It's 10 o’clock, you ungrateful bitch!" His voice rose to a shout even as it slurred. "I've been home starving for hours waiting on you!"

"I just got off work an hour ago," I protested, but knew it was pointless. Anger was his permanent state, worsened by liquor. Any words just added fuel to the already raging fire.

He pushed past me to the fridge, nearly knocking me down. He jerked it open, grabbed cold cuts and cheese from my bags. "Make me a damn sandwich then and be quick about it!"

Fists clenched tight, I silently compiled. I spread mustard on stale bread with shaking hands while he leaned against the counter sneering. "So clumsy and useless just like your mother."

Rage flashed hot inside me at the slight against my mom’s memory. Crystal stirred, whimpering, telling me don't engage. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed and forced my anger down as I finished slapping the sandwiches together.

I handed him the plate and ducked my head, waiting for the next blow. He grumbled curses through a full mouth as I cleaned the kitchen quickly. His chewing sounded loud in the tense silence.

When I finished, I sidled toward my bedroom. If I was lucky, he'd pass out soon and leave me in peace. His next slurred words shattered that hope.

"Get me another beer then get your ass to bed. Boss says if you’re late to your shift again he'll fire you."

I silently fetched a bottle from the fridge and gingerly held it out to him. As he grabbed it, some liquid sloshed onto his shirt.

His face purpled with rage. "You little cunt, look what you did!"

The backhand caught me across my cheek and sent me sprawling to the floor. The bruise would be hard to cover up tomorrow. Not that anyone would care - just another wound for the witch who murdered her mother.

"Clean yourself up then get out of my sight," Dad growled before stumbling back to the living room. Through tears of pain I crawled into my bedroom with its lumpy twin mattress on the floor and shut the door. I didn't bother locking it. The flimsy hollow wood wouldn't stop him anyway.

I let silent sobs shake my thin frame as I curled under the moth-eaten blanket that couldn't hold warmth anymore. Crystal nuzzled against my spirit, murmuring comfort. We would endure this together. We had to.

I couldn’t keep living this half life anymore, my soul slowly suffocating. But fear kept me paralyzed. My stepdad’s drunken abuse was the only life I knew now. Running away had floated through my mind many lonely nights. But finding the courage seemed impossible.

Exhaustion finally claimed me a few hours later. The neon alarm clock showed 4:30am when rustling near my bed dragged me from restless dreams. In my groggy state for one confused moment I thought it was Mom gently waking me for school.

Then the stench of liquor hit my nose and my eyes flew open. Dad loomed over me, the sight of his thick frame backlit by the streetlights making him appear some slavering beast.

I jerked upright, clutching the blanket around myself defensively. He stared at me with red-rimmed eyes full of a twisted hunger that chilled my blood.

“Please just let me get ready for work,” I whispered, unable to keep the terror from my voice. “I don’t want to lose another job.”

His lips stretched in a gruesome parody of a grin. “Pretty girl like you just trying to seduce her poor stepdad. Your slut mom would be proud.”

His words shredded me but I knew any reaction would only encourage him. I tried sliding towards the door but he grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise. I barely held back a whimper of pain.

“Please, I’ll be late,” was all I managed to gasp out. His grip tightened further as he yanked me towards him.

“Gonna give you what you’re begging for, witch,” he hissed in my ear. “Shoulda done this long ago and maybe you wouldn’t have killed my Anna.”

His weight crushed me down to the mattress before I could scream. Survival instincts kicked in and I smashed my fist into his nose with a sickening crunch. He roared in pain, grip loosening enough for me to wrench away.

I bolted from the bedroom and outside before he recovered, my feet slapping the cold sidewalk. I ran full speed no direction in mind just away, the frozen air burning my lungs. I had to get away this time or I would die there one way or another.

Eventually I collapsed by a park, breathless with a painful stitch in my side. The sky lightened to predawn grey. Exhaustion seeped into my bones but adrenaline kept me moving.

Huddled on the frost crusted swing set, I made my decision. The time had come to finally leave this town and my stepdad behind, even if it terrified me. I would rather risk the unknown than stay where hatred and abuse slowly drained away my soul. This little park marked the first sunrise of my new life.