Taming the Werewolf - 8
#8 of Taming the Werewolf
Amanda's co-workers didn't really notice that anything was really different since she had been attacked by the werewolf all those months ago. At least, they didn't show it on their faces. After the first transformation, she was jumpy and scared to death. She didn't want to hurt anyone, and she was repulsed by what she had become. She didn't know what would happen if anyone besides Jacob found out. She went to work that week because she didn't want anyone to suspect that she was different. Still, everyone at the office noticed how edgy she had become at the slightest mention of her name or the smallest tap on her shoulder. She would never be the same again.
If her co-workers had any concern, they hid it as best they could. They never said anything or acted too differently around her. But the werewolf could smell them. She picked up on what they felt. Not mind control in any sense, but more being receptive to their instincts. They would desire to back away from her when they felt their space being threatened, or they would want to draw closer when she had sufficiently concealed her more animal tendencies, and was just plain, human Amanda like she always was.
She had grown to resent plain, human Amanda. It wasn't her anymore. It wasn't what she had become. She was a beast, cursed to let herself loose when the full moon rose and to prey on those weaker than her to sate her desires. She had become the werewolf she so hated when she was first afflicted with lycanthropy.
Maybe it was the dialysis treatment. Being strapped to a chair in a cold basement at home three times a week for hours at a time while the lycanthropic filth was being filtered out of her blood was boring enough. Sitting at home like a dutiful housewife reading women's magazines wasn't her anymore, if it was ever her. After the treatment, she felt drained of energy, exhausted from being sucked of blood that was forced back into her system, clean and lacking the vitality of the animal. For four months now, she endured the dialysis so she wouldn't have to transform during the full moon.
And it worked, at least to the degree Jacob was comfortable with. Her body didn't shift, no matter how much the moon pulled at her. At it pulled at her, beckoning the animal within to surface. But the beast was too weak to emerge.
The lycanthropy was never truly filtered out of her body, either. Amanda felt it. It remained dormant, deep within her bloodstream, producing more of the disease and replicating it in her blood to replace what had been lost, growing stronger in her system once a dialysis treatment was complete. As time passed, the wolf would recover, and it was an almost unconscious comfort to Amanda that it had returned. Like a warm blanket that embraced her, she welcomed the beast she had become, so much that she silently cursed the dialysis machine when Jacob strapped her to it. And as the machine sapped the wolf from her system, she would once again be denied the intense pain and pleasure of transforming at the heat of the moon.
She never complained. They had promised each other all those many full moons - those many _months _- ago that they would rid her of the curse. After all, she would have been responsible for anyone she hurt. Innocent bystanders, friends...Jacob. She couldn't live with herself if she hurt Jacob.
So she tried to bargain with herself. No, she didn't have to hurt Jacob. But if she were a werewolf, did she really have to hurt him? Wouldn't the beast recognize someone she loved? Didn't it recognize his scent and realize that he was not to be harmed? Couldn't the werewolf...enjoy Jacob? Taste him? Play with him? Make him one of their own?
"No!" she cried, resisting the werewolf's desires. But she did so to no one in particular.
Those around her stopped to look, first out of surprise, then out of concern and fear. She could smell their fear once again. She hated it. They were her friends and colleagues, why did they have to fear her? Why did she have to conceal her lycanthropy from them.
"Sorry," she said sheepishly, but that didn't satisfy their doubts. "I'm fine!" she said, louder and angrier, forcing them to look away. None of them were convinced, but they moved on out of a sense of office decorum.
Amanda finished the sentence she was typing before she became lost in thought. Then she logged out of her computer and stormed out of the office bullpen to make a break for the restrooms.
The handicapped restroom wasn't soundproofed, but it was meant for one person and she didn't care who heard as they walked by. She locked the door behind her and threw the wastebasket clear against the opposite wall, grunting loudly at the force she applied. Used paper towels and other debris flew through the air, and a stray candy wrapper with a half-eaten chocolate landed on her blouse. Frustrated that she had dirtied herself, she ripped it off her blouse and threw that against the wall, then stepped on it out of anger.
Amanda's fist was headed toward the mirror atop the sink, but she redirected it just enough so it landed against the wall beside it. Her knuckled became bloodied, but they almost seemed not to hurt. And she wanted them to hurt.
She had half a second of self-consciousness to pick her ears up and check if anyone was listening outside. When no one was, she proceeded to bang her fists against the sink a couple of times, just to draw some more blood. She caught herself when the pain stung her fists. Traces of blood trickled down the backs of her hands, and a wave of anger slowly melted away, giving in to a mystified sense of curiosity.
She drew her right hand closer to her face as she watched blood drip from her wounds. They would heal in time - lycanthropy had its good side effects, after all - but before they did, she felt her tongue drawing toward her wound as she licked the blood.
It tasted of copper, then it tasted of sweetness.
Amanda reveled in the taste. It was just a tease, but it played to a suddenly discovered hunger deep within the werewolf. She hadn't hunted for prey in many moons. In all that time, she never sought out flesh or sank her jaws deep into a defenseless creature to savor its energy. She was denied that dark, forbidden pleasure by the machine her mate - lover, no, he was her mate - had forced her to suffer, just for the sake of keeping up appearances. Wasn't that all it was? Keeping up human appearances?
She would have no more of it. She gripped the restroom sink, becoming red with her blood, and tried to let her desires take over.
"Change, dammit," she said to herself, baring her teeth at the restroom mirror, "Change!"
She imagined herself turning into a terrifying monster, letting all her inhibitions fade away, turning into pure animal instinct to be unleashed on nature. She would run free in the night, naked except for her fur, human except for her urges to guide her, and satisfy all of her hungers and revel in the power the curse of lycanthropy gifted her every full moon.
But her fangs would not emerge. Her body would not grow, and her fur would not sprout. There was no full moon out, and even if there were, the animal inside Amanda was far too weak, thanks to their meddling with Jacob's precious dialysis machine.
Amanda whimpered in frustration and defeat. Despite her intense desires to change, she remained plain, human Amanda.
She wanted to lash out again, but as she balled her fists, a pang of discomfort swept across her hands, bringing her back to consciousness. She couldn't afford to make any more of a scene.
Amanda inhaled and straightened herself. Her hair had been tossed around in her fit of anger, and she struggled to get it in the right place again. Then she carefully cleaned the restroom - first the blood, then the trash - until it was back to some semblance of tidy again. The small indentations in the wall weren't big enough to raise questions, and she declared victory after trying to wipe away the blood and leaving trace amounts.
She looked at herself one last time in the restroom mirror, knowing something had to be different. She had to do something.