He suddenly sat down in front of me, lowering his head a little more to get level with my eyes. Those steel-blue irises made me miss several heartbeats. I felt like I could stay like this for hours. The hair on my arms stood on end.
Without breaking my gaze, he walked a little closer before laying his head on my thighs with a sigh of exhaustion. As delicately as possible, I reached my hand toward his muzzle so he could feel my presence, then I slid it over his skull. He softened at my touch before lying on his side, totally relaxed. He looked truly exhausted.
I vaguely wondered what breed of dog he could be. I know some Tibetan Mastiffs are massive, and I know more than one man in New York who hopes to cross them with Bullmastiffs to create an impressive fighting dog. I thought I might have one of those specimens in my hands.
In any case, wherever he came from, he was in a terrible state. I didn't want to leave him like that, but I wondered what my options were. He wasn't exactly a size I could carry under my arm.
I decided to give it a shot, slowly getting up as he watched me. With a paw as big as my arm, he tried to hold me to the ground, but he lacked the strength. I pulled away easily, stepping back to lead him on, hoping I could get him home to safety.
"Come on, my little wolf..."
I held out my hand so he could scent it. Seeing him stretch his neck and get up as expected, I grabbed my water jug and empty bag, then shifted further back. At first, he hesitated, then he advanced slowly with a difficult gait. Leaving the park, he limped at my side, leaning against me so as not to waver. His back was almost level with my shoulder, and he was heavy, but I finally managed to bring him home.
Once inside, he crashed to the floor, taking up all the remaining space next to my mattress. I had to step over him just to move around. He remained surprisingly calm and stoic, which meant he must have lived in a house before, despite his extraordinary size.
I shrugged; his story didn't matter to me for the moment-he needed treatment first. I squatted next to him, showing him my hands so he could scent the supplies I'd gathered to tend to his wounds. After a few sniffs, he rested his head on the floor, reassured, and I began to work. Fortunately, the lacerations weren't deep, but it looked as if he had fought a bear... or perhaps another beast like himself.
Once his wounds were cleaned, I offered him food. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite, so I thawed my leftover cheesy pasta and added gravy. It wasn't balanced, but he desperately needed the energy.
When he finally finished the last noodle, it was four in the morning. With a sigh, I threw myself onto my mattress, rolling into a ball to recover as much as possible during the one hour of sleep I had left.
A few minutes later, when the alarm rang, I groaned and swiped at it to silence it. As I tried to get up, I felt my "wolf" around me; he had practically embedded himself onto my mattress. His head weighed heavily on my waist while his warm body immobilized my legs. I gave him a small caress between the eyes as he yawned. When I moved, he shifted, letting me get up.
The reflection in the bathroom mirror was not flattering: my emerald green eyes were surrounded by circles worthy of a panda, and I was terrifyingly pale. Hoping to look human again, I vigorously brushed my brown mane, tying it into a high ponytail before jumping into the shower. I put on black jeans and a gray t-shirt before heading for the door.
My wolf was standing, staring at me curiously. I noticed his wounds had closed surprisingly well since earlier, and even his fur seemed less dull. Maybe he just needed a meal. I was hesitant to leave him alone, but he nudged his muzzle under my arm. I could feel he wanted to go out, and I didn't want him relieving himself indoors.
I opened the door wide for him, watching him cross the threshold with a step much more alert than the day before. Going down the stairs, he wandered off like a young puppy, nose to the wind. It was pleasant to see him recover so quickly. I watched him disappear around the corner just as the bus arrived. I climbed inside, reassured. Maybe I'd see him again tonight, or maybe he'd found a better place to sleep.
I sat on the bench as the bus started moving. Suddenly, a howl rang out-one that broke my eardrums and my heart. The driver heard it too, but instead of stopping when I desperately asked, he accelerated. I was frozen in my seat. I tried to look through the window, but we had already turned the corner. I ran to the front, asking again for the driver to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He was too terrified.
I watched the streets go by, my heart sinking. I thought about getting off at the next stop to go back to him. Had he been hit by a car? There was no traffic on the road, though.
I was still standing, clinging to the bus railing, when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and my heart crashed to the floor. I wanted to smash the device against the glass. Yet, I picked up because I knew I had no choice. The voice of my stepfather, Carlos, sounded on the other end.
"You have the money?"
"Yes..."
"Tonight, 9 p.m. At your place. Be on time!"
He hung up. That filthy bastard.
I hate this man from the bottom of my heart. He is the one I am trying to run away from with everything I have; I'm not even sure Canada is far enough. He turned my mother into a stripper before making her a call girl. His only dream is to do the same to me. He has made every day of my life a hell of fear and pain since I was a child. He surrounds himself with the dregs of society, feeding on everything illegal and atrocious the city has to offer. All I can do to keep him away is give him the money he demands for "raising" me.
I could hit him, break his teeth-he's barely taller than me and out of shape. But no one says no to Carlos. I wouldn't even land a blow before his henchmen killed me. I already tried to run away once; the police were the ones who brought me back to him. It took me a full month to walk again after the beating he gave me.
I sat with my head down, trembling. I still fear every encounter with that man. My wolf will have to fend for himself for now; I absolutely have to keep raising money, or Carlos will end up taking my life.
I could hardly control my tears of rage, but I kept one thought in mind: one day, I will be free.
