Chapter 16: Behind
It was the Monday of all Mondays. Brooke sat in the lecture hall, trying her best to pay attention through the migrainous storm brewing between her ears. Apparently one day was all she was going to get between flares. Great. Her chemistry professor had agreed to let her attend the later classes of some of the lectures she had missed the week before, but she was still hopelessly behind. Her form drawing class wasn’t too difficult because she could do her homework even with a migraine and her teacher wasn’t too strict about attendance, and she was almost caught up in history, minus a couple reading assignments she’d have to take an f on, but chemistry was giving her fits. She missed half the classes because of her chronic pain and her instructor had no interest in being at all understanding about her absences.
So, she sat in a lecture that wasn’t meant to be hers, wracked with pain, and struggling to absorb the information the professor was rattling off in a dull monotone. Avery had wanted her to stay home and rest. There was nothing Brooke wanted more in that moment than to be curled up in their bed with a mug of coffee and Avery’s arms wrapped around her, but she felt selfish even for thinking it. Because now that she was marked, Avery shared her pain. And her pain was chronic, and debilitating, and torturous. And not something she would willingly impose on the person she loved. She had heard friends and loved ones wish they could take her pain as their own for years, but it was always hypothetical. Now those words were being twisted into a nightmarish reality.
In the few days since she’d been marked, Brooke had noticed that her pain was more tolerable when Avery was nearby. She had asked Sebastian’s mother about it the day before.
“Avery said that you and Seb’s dad have experienced what we’re dealing with,” Brooke had asked Leia when she’d run into her in the kitchen, making a sandwich for Mariah. She had been careful to use the vaguest of terms, seeing as they’d been in a public place. The pack leadership, in particular Rachel, Serena, and Jade, had thought it best to keep quiet about just how much Avery was impaired by Brooke’s disability. The pack would be sure to notice some differences. After all, many of them had been present during Mariah’s birth and seen the effect it had on her father. But the Alpha needed to project strength, they had said. Especially with the lycan threat looming.
“That’s right, it was the worst for him when I was giving birth,” Leia had responded. “Wasn’t too bad for me though, I didn’t even need painkillers.”
“Why was that?” Brooke had asked, eagerly; willing for anything that might make the situation even slightly better.
“I’m not sure, exactly.” Leia took out a long knife and started carving thick slices off of a large roast ham. “Human-werewolf couples aren’t as common here as they are on the east coast, from what I’ve seen. But it seems to me like rather than feeling each other’s pain through the bond, it’s more like you share it. Both of my births were less painful than they should have been. It was like Gabriel was feeling part of the pain for me. The closer he was, the more he took on. When he was right next to me my pain was almost halved. You’ve heard of sympathy pain?”
Brooke had nodded.
“Well, we like to call this phenomenon ‘Empathy Pain’.”
“Empathy pain,” Brooke had repeated. “I like that. I wish my doctors could experience empathy pain.” And then she asked the question she really wanted answered. “Is there any way to stop it?”
Leia’s brows furrowed and she looked up from what she was doing, her face solemn.
“Not that I know of. Not as long as you and Avery are mates. I’m sorry.”
Brooke had left the kitchen, her mind in turmoil.
She was left with few answers and an impossible situation. The best pain reliever available to her was to foist her pain off on her girlfriend. Her mate. The woman she loved. A woman who, despite her strength, could barely tolerate a small fraction of Brooke’s pain. And Brooke herself had little choice in the matter.
Thankfully, that afternoon, as Brooke sat in her lecture hall, Avery was nearly a mile away, practicing on the soccer fields with her team. Brooke could feel safe in the knowledge that, if Avery could feel anything, it would just be a few twinges here and there. Brooke let her attention drift inward, trying to feel what Avery was feeling, but she got nothing. She was relieved. If she couldn’t feel Avery then that should go the other way, too, and Brooke did not want Avery feeling what she was feeling just then.
The class wrapped up, eventually, and Brooke packed her things quickly and made a beeline for the door.
“One moment, Miss Johnson,” The instructor called. Brooke turned slowly and dragged herself over to his desk at the front of the classroom, dreading whatever he was going to say.
“I hope you appreciate the opportunity I’ve given you, by letting you sit in on extra lectures,” Professor Whitman started, his tone dripping with superiority. “I’m essentially giving you free instruction your parents didn’t pay for.”
“I do appreciate it, thank you,” Brooke said. Can I please just leave? she thought.
“Even with this make-up, though, you’re still in danger of failing my class. You wouldn’t want to be seeing me again next semester, would you?” The professor crossed his arms and laughed like he’d made a funny joke.
“No, sir,” Brooke replied. No way would I agree to be in your class again, you condescending jerk. No doubt he thought he was the best professor in the entire science department and any student would love to take his class. The truth was that she’d slept through early registration and his had been the only science class with any open spots left. Now she knew why. Brooke held in an exasperated sigh.
“So, you’ll be sure to make it to the lecture tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course,” Brooke answered. Like it’s my decision. What else could she say? “Is there anything else?”
“That’s all, have a nice day.”
“You, too.” Bite me.
Brooke turned and sped out of the lecture hall. She walked down the hallway and as soon as she rounded the corner, she slumped down onto a nearby bench, cradling her head gingerly in her hands. Her migraine was throbbing in time with her accelerated heartbeat. Why did teachers always have to make students stand when they had their little talks with them?
Brooke looked at the time on her phone. It was just past 3:00. Avery would be in practice for another hour and a half. Seeing that she had several unread texts, Brooke unlocked her phone with a scan of her thumb print, and opened the messaging app.
Avery Black: Hang in there, love. Come by after class. I love you
Brooke sighed. She wouldn’t go by. Not yet. She wouldn’t cripple Avery with her pain mid-practice.
Alex Oppenheimer: You ever wonder what the deal is with Bigfoot? What do you think? Are there real Sasquatches? Or are people just seeing werewolves? Brooke chuckled. Alex’s non-sequiturs had always been a fun distraction from her pain. And since they’d discovered the supernatural world, his wild notions had gotten even more frequent and fantastical.
Brooke Johnson: I think they’re seeing lycans after they’ve transformed she typed back. Alex responded almost instantly, even though Brooke knew he was still in history.
Alex Oppenheimer: Oh shit you’re right! Your make-up lecture over yet? You want me to pick you up when I get out?
Brooke Johnson: YES PLEASE
Alex Oppenheimer: No doubt. I’ll be there in an hour. Meet at south parking lot?
Brooke Johnson: Sounds good. C u then
She sat on the bench for several minutes, debating where would be the comfiest spot on campus to wait and not wanting to move to any of them. Just as she was thinking that this bench was as good a place as any, Brooke remembered that her history teacher had asked her to come by during her office hours. Brooke groaned aloud in the empty hallway, dragged her backpack around into her lap, and pulled out her tablet. Crossing her fingers, Brooke pulled up the syllabus and saw that she was right in the middle of the instructor’s posted office hours. She was so ready to go home, but she still had shit to do. Hauling herself to her feet, she adjusted the weght of the backpack on her shoulders and set off with a deep sigh.
Brooke sat in the hallway outside her history professor’s office, wondering what she wanted to meet about. She could hear the voices of the professor and the student she was meeting with filtering through the closed office door, their silhouettes visible through the fogged glass. Brooke liked this instructor. She didn’t stick to the usual script when it came to American history, providing many primary sources from minority perspectives when it came to topics like the trail of tears and white colonialism. She also often grounded her lessons in the culture and history of the peoples of western Oregon. It was much more engaging than the history classes she had in high school. She had also announced on the first day of classes that she had the occasional migraine which might cause her to miss a couple classes, so Brooke was confident that she would understand the paper she had turned in 2 days late the day before.
She had emailed her instructors every morning of the previous week to explain why she couldn’t make it to class. The history paper had been due on Friday, but Brooke’s migraine hadn’t even started to clear until Saturday afternoon, and she’d had to rest the rest of that day, at Avery’s urging, then scrambled to type up the paper all day Sunday using the research from Monday. She had started right after lunch and hadn’t finished until just before dinner, exhausted but triumphant.
The professor would understand, It was only 2 days. And Brooke was properly registered with Student Disability Services. They would have her back if she needed it. But she wouldn’t need them. The voices from the office sounded friendly enough, with the professional coolness that was to be expected with any teacher student conversation, certainly not harsh. When the classmate she vaguely recognized left the office they exchanged a nod and a small smile. The professor, Shiela, motioned for Brooke to come in through the open office door. She had students use her first name because her last, James-Zamsky, was cumbersome and hard to pronounce. Brooke took a deep breath and entered the small office, hoping this would be a quick meeting so she could go home already.
“Do you know why I asked you here?” Brooke shrugged. The professor’s tone was light and conversational, but Brooke couldn’t focus on her face past the bright window behind her.
“No, not really.”
“I just want to preface this by saying I don’t want to wave a smoking gun or anything.”
“Okay…” Brooke replied, confused.
“But looking at the document you turned in on Sunday, it looks like you only started working on it on the same day at…” She glanced at the large monitor on her desk, the rectangular screen reflecting in her glasses in twin miniature. “At 1: 15.” Shiela stared down her long, sharp nose at Brooke, expectant. Brooke’s mind was spinning to orient itself, and clearly not fast enough. So it is about my essay? Brooke thought. But she seems reasonable. I can just explain and it’ll all be cleared up.
“I had a really bad migraine most of last week,” she started, unable to read the look on Shiela’s face. “I did send you a message on Wednesday and Friday explaining why I couldn’t make it to classs.”
“Yes, I got your messages.” Her tone was unnervingly cold, and getting colder. “I don’t understand why you didn’t work on the essay when you were home all week. How is it that you weren’t able to do any schoolwork, but you were able to type out and send messages every morning? I’m looking at the document you submitted and it’s clear it was created yesterday.” Brooke felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She didn’t know what to respond to first, let alone what that response should be.
“I mean, if you’re looking at the portal, I created that submission document yesterday when I turned it in.”
“No, you don’t understand, I’m looking at the actual word document and it’s saying it was created yesterday. So that means you didn’t work on the essay all week, you started it two days late. I spoke to Student Disability Services and they agreed that this is out of the realm of reasonable accommodations.” Brooke stared down at the brown-grey office carpet, feeling brutally alone. It was like she was under a spotlight. She had to say something. She wracked her brain but the past week was hazy, blurred together by pain and fatigue
“I did work on it earlier in the week. On Monday I went through and took notes and found the quotes for the essay. I did the final draft on Sunday, but I worked on it earlier.”
“Well, I specifically said in the assignment rubric that I wanted you to turn in all files and drafts from every stage of your writing. Why didn’t you include them in your submission?”
“I was reading the book and taking notes on my mom’s old kindle. I have no idea how to get the files off of it into the portal or whether the file type would be compatible even if I could.” The instructor harumphed, her shiny black hair not moved by the puff of air.
“I usually dock fifteen percent for every day an assignment is late.” Brooke knew that. It was why she didn’t bother to try and makeup the reading assignments she’d missed because they had a much smaller impact on her overall grade. The skills you learn being chronically ill in school. You have to learn to pick your battles. “I would be willing to compromise and only dock you for one day instead of two.” She talked like she was doing Brooke a favor. Anything to get out of here.
“Okay,” Brooke mumbled.
“Okay. I’ll see you on class on Wednesday.” Shiela’s tone was that horrible mix of superiority and scorn designed to make sure Brooke knew she couldn’t get away with anything on her watch. Including having a week-long migraine, apparently.
Brooke lifted her heavy backpack onto her shoulders, fighting back a sob. When she heard the latch of the door to the humanities building close behind her, the dam burst and Brooke felt hot tears running down her cheeks as her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She thanked her lucky stars that it was cloudy out that day. Sunshine would make her pain so much worse. She trudged along the winding concrete path to the south parking lot and sat down heavily on one of the benches there, her breath leaving her lungs in a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes and bent forward, once again resting her head in her hands. Guilt welled up in her chest like a thick, sticky glob of doubt and shame, stopping her lungs from expanding fully. Thoughts raced each other around her mind, none staying at the forefront long enough to really be processed. Is she right? Am I just using my pain as an excuse for being lazy? I could have started typing up the essay on Saturday, at least. If I haad I wouldn’t have to be going through this right now. I should be doing schoolwork right now while I wait for Alex. Not sitting here, useless, wallowing in self-pity.
Brooke was interrupted by her phone ringing. A low, rolling melody she’d chosen for its lack of shrill notes played from her pocket. She picked it up and groaned when she saw the caller ID: Mom. Exactly what this day needs.
“What’s this about you giving up your dorm room?!” Brooke’s mother’s sharp, high-pitched voice rang out.
Brooke quickly turned the volume down all the way. She had been dreading this phone call. “Hi, Mom. How’s everything back home? How’s Ethan?”
“Your brother’s fine,” her mother snapped back. “I got your email. An email? Really Brooke?”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Brooke replied, her voice a monotone. “I should have called you.”
“That’s right, you should have! You decide, on a whim, to move in with some lesbian you barely know, and all I get is an email? What, are you dropping out of school, too?”
“No, Mom, I’m not dropping out of school. And I told you before, she’s not ‘some lesbian’, she’s my girlfriend.”
“Still. I’m paying for you to get an education, not to gallivant around with bad influences.”
“Avery isn’t a bad influence! And besides, Alex and I are still living together, I told you that.”
“Oh yes, I remember. I’ll never understand you young people and group living. I don’t know if I like the sound of this house you two have moved into. A bunch of teenagers, all together. Sounds like a recipe for trouble if you ask me.”
“Ignoring the fact that we are adults, there are older adults there, too. And families with kids. It isn’t a party house, or a drug den, I promise.”
“Alright, but I want to meet this Avery.” Brooke’s mother drawled out Avery’s name. Brooke sighed deeply.
“You talked to her on the phone last week, remember?”
“I want to see her face. I’ll meet her over webchat.”
“Mom, you mean video chat.”
“Yes, that. I want you to videoskype me and put her on.” Brooke sighed. The sound of the phone static was exacerbating her migraine.
“Alright, alright,” she agreed. “I’ll do that. Is there anything else?”
“Are you still getting the headaches?” Brooke sighed again, letting her head fall back for a moment until the hard cold steel pressed against her sensitized nerves forcing her to move.
“Yes, Mom, I’m still getting the headaches. I’ll always still be getting the headaches. That’s what makes it chronic migraine.” Not completely accurate but brooke didn’t have the spoons to correct herself.
“Yes, yes, but a mother can hope.”
I wish she wouldn’t. I’ve come to terms with it. Why can’t she? Brooke thought. “Uh-huh. Listen, I gotta go, Mom,” Brooke lied, rubbing her temple. “It was nice talking to you. Hey, tell Ethan to text me, would you?”
“Alright, I’ll do that, honey. Take care.”
“You, too.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Brooke hung up the phone and within a minute she spotted Alex’s grey SUV pulling into the lot.
“Got a ride for a Luna B,” Alex called through the open passenger window. “Are you Luna B?”
“That’s me,” Brooke said, playing along as she climbed into the car.
“Fantastic, I’ll be your driver, Luna A. There’s water and snacks in the cup holder.” Brooke chuckled, unable to muster a smile, stuffing her backpack down by her feet as Alex drove out of the parking lot. “But seriously, though, this whole Luna thing is a trip, isn’t it? I still look around every time one of the pack members calls me that to see who they’re talking to, before I realize they mean me.”
“Yeah, it’s weird for sure. I don’t know, I don’t hate it.” Brooke’s tone was flat and didn’t sound like her, and she forgot the words a second after she said them.
“Yeah, me either. We going to the soccer fields?” Brooke started shaking, a cold wash of panic washing over her from head to toe. She knew that if she got close to Avery, she would get one inkling of what Brooke was feeling physically and emotionally and drop everything she was doing to comfort her. Brooke’s head shook painfully.
“No, just go home. I don’t wanna mess up Avery’s practice. I’ll text her.”
“Ok,” Alex replied, nodding. “Bad day?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well when we get home I’ll dip into the human-friendly weed stash for us. Rachel showed me.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Brooke sighed. She pulled out her phone.
Brooke Johnson: Gonna have Alex take me home. Migraine. Meet you there after practice?
Avery Black: Are you okay? I can’t feel. I can come home early if you need me to
Brooke Johnson: No, no. I’ll be okay. Stay and finish your practice. Alex will stay with me
Avery Black: Ok I’ll stay. But I’m not responsible for any broken speed limits on my way home.
Brooke Johnson: lol ily
Avery Black: I love you too <3
Brooke groaned, leaning her head back against the car seat’s headrest, closing her eyes. She stayed like that for the rest of the drive, listening to the soft chill wave music playing off of Alex’s phone.
When they got back to the pack house, Alex dragged 2 lawn chairs out onto the veranda outside Avery and Rachel’s shared office, between the two top floor bedrooms. Then he disappeared inside for about 15 minutes, returning with soft blankets, and coffee, and his pipe, expertly packed by his experienced hands.
“So how was the makeup lecture?” Alex asked, leaning back and lighting the pipe.
“Ugh long and annoying,” Brooke answered, taking the offered pipe and lighter and taking a long drag. “Whitman’s an asshole, but at least he’s up front about it.” Brooke’s conversation, if yoy can call it that, with Shiela replayed in her mind like a hellish highlight reel.
“What d’you mean?”
“I had a meeting after class with Shiela. She was pissed I turned in my essay late.”
“I’m assuming you explained that you literally had a migraine all week last week?” Brooke shook her head, looking down on the yard and parking area between the pack house and its gravel access road.
“She didn’t want to hear it.” Brooke passed back the pipe and lighter.
“You know, she was late to class one day last week and I asked the other peeps in Art History; no one in my class has gotten an A on anything all quarter. She’s clearly one of these teachers with a god complex.”
“You think so?”
“Oh definitely. Why else would she make you come in for turning something in two days late when that’s on your list of accomodations. On your IEP.”
“She said CDS agreed with her.”
“I’ll bet she was just talking out of her ass.” Hope blossomed in Brooke’s chest, loosening the nearby knot of guilt.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. You should ask CDS.” Brooke’s brain liked the introduction of an accomplishable task. Pulling out her phone, she opened the school portal and sent a message to Center for Disability Services dryly summarizing the situation with Shiela and asking them to confirm what they told her, pressed send, and turned her phone back off, leaning back with a sigh.
The two friends sat and spent the afternoon reminiscing and talking about whatever crossed their minds. They sipped their coffee and passed the pipe back and forth as they watched the sun set behind the clouds. Leave it to Alex to choose the spot with the best view. He had his camera hung around his neck and would periodically snap a picture. No warning, just acting when inspiration struck. For the first time since she had woken that morning, Brooke felt calm and at peace, even though she was still in pain.
Avery was late getting home. It was coming up on five thirty when Brooke started to wonder where she was. Alex said, via Rachel, that she’d gotten held up but was on her way home, but it couldn’t hurt to check again. Just as she was pulling out her phone, Brooke heard the sound of engines and gravel nearby and looked up. Two vehicles pulled into the clearing in front of the pack house, a large SUV and a motorcycle. Brooke looked to the bike first, expecting to see Avery driving it. But Avery didn’t have short red hair. Looking back to the car, Brooke was surprised to see Avery climbing out of the sun roof, landing in the mud next to the car with a soft squelch. Their eyes met for a moment before Avery headed into the house. If she was taking the stairs she really was tired.
“You said she was just caught up at practice,” Brooke asked Alex. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Not not telling you,” he responded, holding open the door to the office. “Just trying to let her tell you herself.” Brooke nodded uncertainly and walked through into the now-dark office. Avery was just coming up the last flight of stairs when Brooke and Alex closed the office door behind them. Alex shot Brooke a concerned look, nodded to Avery, and disappeared across the landing through the door to his and Rachel’s room. Brooke turned her full attention to Avery. Up close, she looked rough. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were disheveled, and there was blood streaked across her face.
“Hi,” she said, her voice rough and tired.
“hey.” Brooke crossed the distance between them. She could feel a vague, itching pain in her limbs. She ran her hands over Avery’s arms, finding no major injuries, but the thick pleather jacket she was wearing made it hard to tell. “What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” Avery sighed, running a hand through her hair.
“Rough day?”
“You have no idea.” Avery put a hand to the side of her head, no doubt feeling the blunted edge of Brooke’s migraine. “Or maybe you do.”
“Yeah, it’s been a really long day,” Brooke said, mirroring the gesture.
“I need a shower. I reek.” Brooke hadn’t noticed before then, but there was a weird, fishy smell clinging to her. “Will you be okay til then?”
“I’ll be fine,” Brooke reassured. Holding Avery’s hand, she led her into their room. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and tugged gently at Avery’s nearer sleeve, trying to ignore the sticky dried blood staining the dark brown pleather. Avery shrugged out of the jacket, sighing. Holding it out she tsked at the sizeable tears in both sleeves. It was too damaged to repair. Rather than ask, Brooke merely raised one eyebrow. Avery’s eyes glowed.
“I, uh, kind of went through a window.” She rubbed at the back of her head, as if she was trying to erase the memory. Brooke knew from the thick mess of stress, fear, anxiety, guilt, and exhaustion she was feeling from their bond that there was more to it, but she wouldn’t push. Avery would tell her when she was ready to. They both would. Avery pulled off her baby blue jersey over her head, leaving only a blood-stained off-white thermal. She held out the jersey at arm’s length,
“Not too bad. Just need to soak it in cold water to get the stains out.” Red-brown blood stains bloomed like gory flowers on the right side of the collar and the left shoulder.
“Ah, yes,” Brooke joked. “The old period standby. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I’m flaring so bad.”
“Werewolves actually don’t get periods,” Avery said, stripping off the ruined thermal and tossing her uniform into the laundry basket across the room. She liked to recite facts when she needed to make sense of things.
“Really?” Brooke held out a hand and Avery, now wearing only a grey sports bra on top, stepped into her touch.
“Yeah, like most mammals, those of us with uteri just maintain the same endometrial lining continuously. Like humans do with their stomach linings. It’s way more energy efficient than shedding and regrowing the whole thing once a month.”
“Huh.” Brooke followed the blood and the itching pain she could feel through the bond over the tattooed skin of Avery’s arms to what looked to be the deepest wound on her left shoulder. The cut looked deep, but it was already healing. The edges of the wound were starting to knit together and the rest was working on forming a scab. “Are you okay?” Brooke trusted that her emotions would make it clear she wasn’t only talking about the cuts.
“No.” Avery rubbed a spot behind her right ear where Brooke’s pain was currently flaring. “Are you?”
“No.” Brooke chuckled. “At least we can be not okay together.” Avery’s eyes glowed as she stooped to plant a tired kiss on Brooke’s lips.
“That sounds perfect.”
“You go shower, then we’ll catch up.” Avery nodded, bent down for one last kiss, and left through the door to the bathroom.
Brooke sat back in bed, thinking. Pulling out her phone, she sent Joseph a short text. Within a minute there were heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, followed by a soft knock at the door. She called for him to come in, ushered him towards the bed, and told him what she needed. He was happy to help, adding some suggestions of his own, then rushing back down the stairs, grinning.
Brooke worked on the room, lighting cedar incense Avery liked and replacing the lamp on the bedside table with a string of dim fairy lights that framed the hanging garden on the far wall. When Joseph got back she had him pull back the curtains so the stars filled the window wall. It made her feel better to have something productive to do. To take a break from her own circular thoughts by focusing on Avery for a while.
When they heard the water shut off, Brooke thanked Joseph and ushered him towards the door, feeling ridiculous for whispering. As if Avery wouldn’t have heard, sensed, and probably smelled him coming and going from their room.
By the time Avery reemerged from the bathroom, dressed in a white tank top and blue shorts, towel-drying her hair, Brooke was ready.
“what’s all this?” Avery asked.
“Whatever you might want,” Brooke answered, smiling. “A joint from the werewolf-strength stash, some moonshine, coffee, The spicy vegan chickn nuggets you like, and some chickpea puffs.”
“My favorite.” Avery radiated wonder and gratitude.
“Well, to paraphrase P!nk, We’ve clearly had a shit day. I think we’ve earned a relaxing night in.”
“That sounds perfect,” Avery said, wrapping her arms around Brooke, who returned the embrace contentedly.
“So he just showed up at your practice?” Brooke asked. She sat in her usual chair on the balcony while Avery stood next to her, elbows on the railing, smoking and staring off towards the distant town.
“I think he was just checking I was out of the way.” Avery took a long drag from her joint and Brooke watched the smoke rise towards the stars.
“And lycans are most powerful during the new moon? Does your goddess only live on the light side? Is there a different goddess of the dark side?”
“No, it has less to do with the New Moon and more to do with the darkness that comes with it. Lycans worship a god they call the lord of shadows. In a nutshell, the darker it is, the more powerful they are.”
“And what did he show you? When he grabbed your arm.” Avery had skimmed over that part when recounting the events of the evening, and Brooke knew it was important. Avery looked over, her eyes glow sparkling in the tears forming in them.
“I wish I could just show you. I hate words sometimes.”
“I know.” Brooke put a hand on her arm and Avery took a deep breath
“he showed me my parents. Their deaths.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to relive that.” Brooke took a long sip of the coffee and stood, wrapping an arm around Avery’s waist.
“The worst part is, it made me realize how long it’s been since I remembered.”
“What do you mean,” Brooke asked, feeling Avery’s guilt and grief.
“for years, their last moments would play on a loop in my mind’s eye. As clear as day. But, I guess, over time they faded. I can’t remember the last time they were as clear as they were today. And I didn’t even notice it was happening.” Brooke chose her words carefully.
“Do you still remember the good times you had with them? When you were a kid? The trips they took you on, the pet names they had for you, the way they smelled when you hugged them?”
“Yeah,” Avery said, sounding thoughtful. “Yeah, I remember the first time we went down to visit our cousins in Mexico. I buried Joseph in a sand dune.” She smiled faintly.
“I think it’s more important that you remember how they lived than dwelling on how they died.”
“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” Avery turned and swept Brooke into her arms.
“Yeah, yesterday,” Brooke laughed. Avery looked deep into her eyes.
“Seriously, though, thank you. For everything.”
“You, too.”
“I’ll run down to the kitchen and make us some popcorn. You pick the movie.”
“Sounds good.” Five minutes later Avery was back with a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and two large mugs of hot chocolate balanced in the other. She set them down on the side table and settled into bed behind Brooke, legs on either side of her hips. Brooke adjusted the icepack Avery had brought up from the kitchen so it was between the back of her head and the front of Avery’s left shoulder.
“I can see why you like these things,” Avery said with a sigh. Sure enough, the ice helped both with the migraine pain and the bone-deep itch that traced along Avery’s cuts.
“Are you sure Brave isn’t a little too close to home?” Brooke asked, leaning back and letting Avery’s long arms enfold her.
“Why? Because bears are also furry and bipedal?” Brooke felt the rumble in her chest as Avery chuckled.
“I just don’t want to be insensitive.” Brooke smiled.
“I’ll be fine. And bears are way chiller than lycans. You leave them alone and keep food sealed and they’ll leave you alone.”
“Brave it is, then. I remember the first time I saw it in theaters when I was nine. People talk about having queer crushes on fictional characters before coming out; Merida was definitely one of mine.”
“Yeah?”
“oh definitely. That montage in the beginning? That hair? Forget about it.” Avery laughed softly. Brooke twirled a lock of Avery’s long, black, curly hair around her index finger. “You know, the color’s wrong, but you do have gorgeously unique hair and enjoy running through the forest. I think nine-year-old me would be proud.” Avery laughed.
“Mental note: learn to use a bow and arrow ASAP. Maybe Leia’ll give me some pointers.” Brooke laughed, turning her head to kiss Avery’s neck.
“You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“So are you.” Brooke could feel how much Avery believed the words, almost enough to make Brooke believe them, too. Almost, but not quite. Especially when she heard the chime of a notification from her tablet and immediately tensed.
“What’s wrong?” Avery asked.
“That’ll either be CDS responding to my email or it’s the portal posting my grade for my history paper. Either way it’s…”
“Terrifying?” Avery suggested.
“And you say you’re not good with words.”
“You want me to check it for you?” Brooke nodded, head throbbing. She held her breath, thoughts spiraling, trying to play out evert possible scenario simultaneously and ending up with a confusing mess of anxiety tangles.
“It is from Disability Services.” Brooke let out her breath in a ragged gasp, heartbeat thundering in her ears.
“What does it say?”
“It’s from someone named Erica. She says there’s no record of any exchange between their office and ms…” Avery squinted at the screen. “…James-Zamsky. What a mouthful.”
“Is that it?” Brooke pulled the tablet into her lap to see for herself. The email was barely 6 lines long, closing with a reminder that she needed to transfer her care to a provider in Oregon ASAP.
“See? It’s just like I thought. She was probably just trying to scare you off reporting her ass for ableism.”
“Alex said something similar,,” Brooke mumbled, rereading.
“Smart guy.”
“I don’t know what she thinks they might do. It’s not like they actually enforce everyone’s accommodations. They don’t have the time.”
“Lying bitch.” Brooke was touched at how angry Avery was on her behalf, but they’d both agreed that punching Shiela in the face probably wouldn’t help matters, even though it would be satisfying.
When she checked, she saw that she’d been given an eighty on her essay. Which meant that, if not for the late penalty, she’d have gotten an A. It was looking more and more like Alex was onto something with his egomaniac theory. Brooke had heard about teachers who took a weird amount of pride in how hard their classes were, buyt she’dnever had one like this. They scoffed together at Brooke‘s grade.
“It really is nice not having to deal with all this shit alone,” Brooke said, holding Avery’s hand.
“It really is.”