WILDA.Damian does not speak or look at me the whole way. His grip on my arm does not loosen either. It is as if he is afraid I might still run away or something.We walk to the house in silence, my heart beating hard in my chest and my palms dripping with sweat. what will happen to me? What will I say should he ask me what I remembered? What did I remember?Grey fur… yellow eyes… white fur… red eyes… skin turning inside out into fur… the sound of bones crushing… my father… am I going crazy? Why did no one tell me I was there? Why did no one tell me I was the reason for my father’s death?My eyes begin to tear up as my chest grows heavier. No. I will not cry. Not in front of my sadistic brother. I sneak a look at him walking beside me, eyes locked on our house in the distance, there is a troubled expression on his face I have never seen before. It disappears the minute he notices me watching him and I look away immediately.Somehow, I get the feeling he will not continue his interrog

WILDA Before logic can convince me otherwise, I wrap my small towel around my body and step out of the shower, sparing a moment to wipe the steam off the mirror, just to make sure I look as best as I can considering the circumstances. The bags under my eyes are still visible, but the red in my eyes is gone and I am flushed enough that, thanks to the hot shower... or maybe the man in my room, I no longer look like a ghost. I freeze in place the minute I step out of the bathroom and catch a glimpse of him, closing the door behind me to stop the steam from following me into the room. His head lifts at the sound of the door closing and a second later, blue eyes stare back at mine with such intensity my legs almost turn to spaghetti. Cooked spaghetti. I find myself unable to move, breathe or think as his gaze drops to the towel around me, down to my legs,lingering for a second before meeting my eyes and dropping to the towel again. I get the feeling that he wants it off, that he wan