Arrie and the Wolf 2

by Glass Eileen

  Thinking I’d like to help him was easier, safer than this. More than once, I look back at the safety of my corner, acknowledge that I’m pushing it. Surviving once not enough for you? I think. Guess not. I toe the extra inch and the next.

  He doesn’t notice.

  But then my toes cross some invisible trip wire, just a nudge, and that’s all it takes. He’s alert at once, his fierce red eyes pinning me in place. The slack expression gone, his brows draw low over his eyes. Not friendly.

  “Uh, hey.”

  He growls, a rumble that only partly sounds like Rex. The ink surges over his face, the wolf reappearing. Monstrous, but not hideous, I notice. His feet draw in, and I know he’s about to launch himself at me. I’ll find those jaws on my throat if I come any closer.

  It was a stupid idea.

  I hold the coat and desperately wish he’ll forget about me, so I can go back to minding my own business. Morality and pity won’t get the best of me a second time.

  “Sorry.” I back up an inch. “I just thought you looked cold.”

  He understands me, I’m certain, because his eyes go to the jacket and his brows soften to lose that aggressive snarl.

  Sweetly, like I’m talking to a frightened kitten: “You want this?” I try to reclaim that inch, my toes seeking ground. “You can have it. It’s yours you know. I’ll be fine, I have long sleeves.”

  He didn’t ask, so I’m supplying the answers my chivalrous Rex would have demanded.

  “I have my clothes, at least, and you have nothing. Take it.”

  I sink to the floor so I can be level with him.

  “Here.”

  His bare feet push back, pressing him into the corner.

  “I won’t hurt you, sweetie.” That pet name again, applied to this monster. It feels right. “I’m tired, sweetie, just take it. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise not to touch you. Just put this on and I’ll leave you alone, okay?”

  His shoulders hunch like I’ve threatened to kick him. Impossible that I should appear so fierce to a creature from nightmares, but then I think about him, in monster land or where ever he’s from, summoned to this dimension, trapped inside a hurting man. Two beings wounded for the amusement of the old witch.

  I’d be more sympathetic if I didn’t have the sense that he could crush my neck between his jaws and hold tight until I stopped kicking.

  If he didn’t wear the face of Rex, I don’t know if I’d care at all. But that’s neither here nor there. He does and I do. And, though this might be reaching, especially in my tired state, I sense a gentleness in him.

  “Sweetie, let’s wrap you up, alright? You’ll feel better.”

  He approaches me as carefully as I had approached him. We’re an odd paradox, me meek but frightening, him deadly but frightened.

  “I’m not going to touch you, I promise. Come here.” He approaches to a point, then just stops and hunkers on the floor, waiting for me to make the move. I talk. He seems to calm a little when I speak. “You’ll be alright. I’m going to take care of you. Nothing to fear, sweetie. Let’s wrap you up.”

  He submissive and still as a rock, but I set the coat over him like he were as fragile as a spider’s web, not to be touched lest he be destroyed utterly. I have an urge to reassure him in some physical manner though, so I croon, “There you go. Don’t be cold, sweetie.”

  My compassionate urges satisfied, I lumber clumsily to my corner, lay down flat, content to fall asleep before the concrete chill can seep into my bones.

  Behind me in a raspy voice: “Sweetieee.”

  What I’ve heard isn’t human, even if it came from my own Rex’s lips. I roll over, certain I’ll find him bearing over me with an awful smile that curves up too far.

  I don’t. He huddles, the coat laying on him but not worn by him, watching me with his ears perked forward.

  “Sweet-ee.”

  It sounds like a question. My paranoia is swept away by (cautious) adoration, seeing him give me that tilted look of a puppy. He’s still fierce though. And though he’s small, huddled there on the floor, my sixth sense says there’s barely room for me here in the cell. His presence is massive.

  Still, his ears poke up from the thick, fluffy red hair. His hurt beckons my compassion all over.

  “Yes,” I say. “You are my sweetie. And I am your Arrie.”

  I roll back over. Wonder if Rex heard that…wondering if he knows or if he thinks I squatted in the corner…

  Wondering if he’s ever coming back…

  “Sweetie.”

  “Yes, you got it perfect. Goodnight.”

  I really can’t think anymore. I’ve only been here a night and a day, and I’ve discovered magic is more real and terrifying than I had ever imagined.

  (Is all my affirmative wishing just a waste of time without materials and ingredients? If this creature exists with me, what does that have to say for enlightenment? For the universe in general?)

  “Sweetie.”

  “Yes, sweetie,” I murmur sleepily. “G’night.”

  What will tomorrow do to me? Will I survive it?

  I know the answer to that one. I don’t know how I know, but I just know. I’m a piece of meat in Edith’s grocery store, and my expiration date is in hours.

  Dawn, my subconscious hints.

  Too loud, his hot breath panting on my face: “Ahrrie.”

  “Holy—” Red orbs bear down on me, black worms reaching for me. I shoot up and scoot back, finding nothing but solid wall. No matter my illusions, I can’t actually flatten myself, and oh, don’t I know it now.

  He’s breathing my oxygen. He sits on all fours, staring, his eyes huge and curious, peering up at me from under my nose.

  The jacket lies cold and unused back where he was.

  He…leans in.

  If he were going to kill me, he’d have done it already. That’s what I tell myself as a sensation as soft as satin and warm like summer slicks along my jawline.

  Breathe.

  It feels great, but shameful too, like I should be disgusted. Leave it to me to enjoy all the forbidden pleasures of society, from high heels to this. Earthly temptation is endless, and I don’t know how to say no.

  He’s too intense for me though. I’ve shut my eyes, and when I peek from my lashes, I can’t tell whether he sees something he wants to lick or something he wants to eat.

  “Hey, big guy.” Breathing is good.

  He smiles, in a good way, his lips quirking up playfully, and for the first time I see a glint akin to happiness within the red, swimming orbs.

  My tension leaves. I think I see a rim of gold at the edge of his eyes, and his expression mimics Rex perfectly. He must be in there somewhere. I can trust him.

  His nose bumps my chin, nudges my jawline up to the back of my ear, and I let my head fall aside to expose my neck. Even breathing and soothing thoughts keep me still and submissive. When his teeth touch me, I seize up and he pauses. But the touch is gentle, far too careful for a mindless monster, and my muscles relax again. He’s decided to keep me.

  Meanwhile, the heat from him is like my own personal furnace. I had misread the shaking. He’s cold from fever. Pale too, pinkish in the cheeks.

  “Hang on a sec.”

  I test him, bumping him aside as I get up and reach far for the coat. No growling, no snapping, no disgruntled glares.

  “Alright.” Brushing the coat, I settle back into place, then reach for him. “Come here.”

  Another test of sorts. He understands me, but does he listen?

  He bows his head and crawls the small distance on all fours.

  Test number three: I grab his arm, gently but without hesitation.

  He flinches, tenses up, but doesn’t exhibit aggression.

  We’ll be okay, him and I. The problem of escape will have to be solved in the morning, though. I’m spent, and not in the fun way.

  “It’s alright. We’re going to sleep. It’ll be more comfortable like this, I promise,” I say a
s he resists. Soft words do the trick, and patient steering eventually guides him to lie back against my chest. Like this, the coat covers only the top half of us, but there’s plenty of heat. Mostly from him.

  The old hag will be supply water first thing in the morning or I will dip into the toilet and force him to drink. I don’t know a thing about fevers, but hydration surely must be important. He’s burning up.

  He’s stiff as a board too, not easy to hold, curled small like a boy. I keep my arms around him loose.

  “Lay your head against my chest.” A ribbon of ink snakes up my wrist, then vanishes fast like it’s been sucked back in. Soft as satin and warm like a bath, but more smooth than wet. “It’s okay, you can touch. I’m not afraid.”

  I run a finger on his collar bone, petting a dark rune there, the lines shimmering at my touch. A ribbon lifts and twirls around my finger. It tickles like a kiss.

  “See? Nothing to worry about. Come here now, you’re shaking.”

  As his weight sinks atop me, ribbons of ink are alive on my chest and limbs, but the light is dim enough that I can barely see the stuff. There’s nothing crawling on my bare legs nor up my skirt, so I can almost pretend he’s normal in the darkness except for the pleasurable tickles and touches I feel through my clothes.

  His ear tucks under my chin, and this is the closet I’ve come to touching them. They’re satiny and warm, and my hands come up to pet but I don’t. I’ve tested him, sure, but he’s not the family dog. He’s wild and dark, and I’ll never assume I’ve tamed him. Edith is a moron if she thinks she’s done so.

  I pet the curls on the back of his neck instead, and say, “There. Comfy?”

  Clearly not, he’s solid like a rock and bony in my arms. I’m almost too tired to care, and same goes for my cold exposed legs. A little more effort, I tell myself as I spread the coat over our top halves and begin rocking back and forth slightly.

  “Sleep now.”

  Humming crosses my mind, but it reminds me too much of Edith. Then he says, “Ahrrie,” in such a quiet little sigh, and a song comes, spoken in only the barest of whispers as I continue to rock.

  Too much saliva in my mouth, like I’m going to puke, and the back of my throat is rough and aching. Copper tang permeates the air, and I can’t get the taste out of my mouth. My legs have gone numb from sitting on them too long. My fingers too, from trying to break the iron bars of my prison. The thin rods trapping me are indifferent to my efforts.

  Nuts and bolts rattle in a drawer someplace. The sound is awful, I just want it to stop, why won’t it stop?

  On the wall, a shadow of a mad scientist dressed in goggles and a lab coat grins over an experiment, tongue waggling visibly as he—she—chants continuously during the surgery. The show is disturbing, the cause of these awful sensations, but I can’t stop watching.

  Shadow scissors clack like lobster claws while the scientist draws something stringy and gooey from the rattling thing in the chair.

  Not a living thing, my dream-self assures. A machine of some kind. She’s pulling out the wires.

  Snip, snip, and she puts the part in a jar.

  I’m dreaming, I realize, but I don’t wake up, even as the rattling gets louder. The terrible jangling noise mixes with the clink of Edith sorting her keys, and I can’t think.

  Arrie, wake up, it’s eating me alive, help me…

  I’ve been awake for awhile, I realize, blinking. The noise was a dream, but the hate is real and with me, and blocking my ability to come to. Pleasant, that feeling. I am God. Nothing will keep me from killing the bitch.

  “Arrie! Wake up! Help me, please!”

  I see the words on his lips before I hear them. He’s pulling at my clothes, tears running down his face. He’s a mess, mascara and eye liner rivers running down his cheeks. That’s not make up, I remember. His lovely chocolate brown eyes are wiggling with red. Worming is more appropriate. How the ribbons writhe, but I don’t cringe.

  My own hand is like a ghost, the ribbon coiling up my arm not felt, nor his flesh under my fingertips as I touch his cheek.

  He’s crying, black messing his pretty face, his lips pleading.

  “Shh,” I say. The sound brings me closer to myself. I’m fading from the dream world and back into this one. I can hear his labored breath now. The ink tickles my wrist. I hold his face in my hands. The hate stays with me. Calm and in control, thinking I’ll get her for this, I ask, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  He grips me tight, clinging for his life.

  “Save me. Do something. Please.”

  I come back to myself fully. My wrist aches where Edith’s heel crushed it. Sprained or broken maybe, and tender.

  “He’s killing me, please, make him stop.”

  His left eye surges with a red glow, then dims back to brown. A trickle of red leaks with the ink and tears, and I swipe it gently with my thumb. Red eyes don’t bother me, but I can’t stand to see anything that looks like blood on him.

  “Tell me.” My disaffected nature isn’t entirely a reaction of self preservation. There’s nothing I can do for him.

  “It’s eating me alive,” he moans.

  I sense he’s speaking of the pain, not that the creature is actively devouring him. Empathy is my only medicine, and it hurts like acid.

  “Let me see.”

  His skin is untouched where my palms run over his shoulders, down his chest. I touch his stomach, and the breath pulses live and even through his organs. When she cut him, he’d hyperventilated with a panicked squeaky wheeze. I couldn’t look, but I remember the his stomach pulsing fast.

  This is scared, but not that.

  Yet, I’m still useless to him, and I can’t stand to see him like this.

  “Does it fight you?”

  He nods.

  The coils don’t leave his body as freely as they do with the wolf in control, but they gather where my palms touch and tendrils reach for me. They behave like worms, and I should be disgusted, but they’re movement spirals and swishes gracefully, their touch is satin. I’m ashamed for their pleasantness, like I’m betraying my companion while he suffers. So my hands retreat and the ribbons reach for them, but not far enough.

  I catch a glimpse of both eyes turning red, then Rex groans and drops his head, his fingers digging into me painfully. I pry them off. My injured hand hurts too much, so I offer the good one, and he hangs on with his head bowed, like he’s praying to me, a saint and savior.

  I’m so helpless, I want to die.

  “Breathe with me,” I say. “Gently. In through the nose.” He does. “Out through the mouth. Now back in.” Three breaths, then I guide him through meditation. “Become aware of the pain. Let it hurt. Now bring your focus back to your breath.”

  He whimpers, tries to hold it in, cries out, his hands crushing mine in their grip.

  I continue to chant, unwilling to give up on him.

  “In. Out. Feel the pain ease on the out, let it go slowly.”

  He’s trying, really he is. But it’s not helping, and I can’t help the twisting of my mouth. I want to cry, but a sob doesn’t touch my voice.

  “Breathe with me, c’mon Sweetie.” I reach to grab his shoulders, to hold him steady, and all at once the runes flare alive over his skin, filling with black, leaking out much like the tears down his cheeks, like the runes are being cut into him and he’s bleeding the ink.

  “Sweetie, I’m here,” I say, wishing that actually meant something. One day it will. When I get her. But for Rex, will it ever matter? Will there ever be anything I can do for him?

  His eyes are overtaken by red when he looks up. His teeth bare in anger, but I don’t flinch. He’s right to be mad at me. And I can’t be afraid of him anymore, my emotions are too thin. Maybe I’m losing it.

  “Sweetie—”

  “He is not I.”

  Heaven help me. He speaks.

  I try to let go and find my hands fastened to his by black ribbon. Soft and satin, yes, but also strong and unbre
akable, even when I throw my weight back, pulling hard.

  “What is this? You—Sweetie—stop this!” Calm, stay calm. Senses fear. Excites.

  I stop pulling, though the ribbons reach for more of me, wiggling mid air for my nose and eyes.

  I stare past them, at him. Half lidded, so that I’m not glaring. Would a show of complete submission pacify the anger I see in his drawn brows and snarling mouth? He’s not actively growling, so he isn’t enraged. He’s not going to hurt me…I think.

  He speaks.

  He’s more than a beast.

  I lick my lips.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  His smile looks not-nice. The tendrils touch the sensitive skin of my nose, make it itch, and more wisp at my temples as he leans in, alive and ticklish like that stray hair that sometimes won’t get out of my face no matter how I tuck or pin it back.

  My nostrils fill with the scent of burning leaves and ash. I inhale the burning scent deep into my lungs, unprepared for how my head swims with it, for the sense of elation that makes my limbs tingly and light. There’s a ribbon licking my knee, wrapping around to the sensitive underside and lapping the dent there, making me kick and snap my legs closed.

  Nice is an understatement, but I have enough presence not to be overwhelmed and taken by this thing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  I knock my head back, trying to get away from the scent. Clean air in my lungs, that’s what I need. I think.

  “I want you,” the beast says.

  My eyes are closed when he kisses me. Heat and cinnamon. Someone exhausted as I shouldn’t be capable of arousal. I just want to wake up and be home, warm and safe. What I want isn’t a quick and dirty romp in this nasty cell of my dark nightmare.

  That smell, I swear it’s the source of an image. Me, covered in ink. Satin ribbons wrapping all over me. Holding me, petting with a curious, flicking touch, like snake tongues tickling, exploring.

  What was I thinking of before?

  Rex. In pain.

  Come to, Arrie, you’re drifting. This thing…it’s like…