Alpha Girl (29 page)

My poor love.

I hadn’t spoken to him at all since that night we’d shared together. I had been so happy that morning, but everything had fallen to pieces.

I wasn’t talking to my mother, who was adamant that she had done the right thing, no matter how many times I screamed at her that I loved him.

My love was in prison, amongst brutes, and rapists and murderers.

He did not belong there and it was completely my fault. We should have waited until I was eighteen. Why had I pushed him so? I hadn’t made it easy for him to refuse.

Was Mr. Stone mad at me? Did he hate me for what I’d done to him? I’d ruined his life.

The guilt was too much to bear. Some days were worse than others. I considered ending it all numerous times, just to make things easier for myself.

Selfish, I know. 

I’d be moving to the city with my mother two days after the next full moon. It had all been arranged, and I’d even begun to pack my things in preparation.

I was spiraling into misery, but at least I could look forward to a prison visit in two days time. Though I dreaded what Mr. Stone would say to me.

That evening my mother knocked on my bedroom door and let herself in without invitation. I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I was empty.

‘Rose, dear?’ she said timidly, closing the door behind herself.

I ignored her.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

I said nothing.

‘I know how lonely you are these days, and it got me thinking that you need to talk to someone who has been through the things you’ve experienced.’

I couldn’t help but scoff. No one had been through the shit I had.

My mother continued as though I had not made the derisive sound.

‘I’ve been doing a lot of research lately. Well … I think I’ve found something that might interest you. It wasn’t easy to find – I had to go through a lot of scary websites to find it, and filter out all the liars, and crazy people … but I think you’ll find it useful. I had to email a lot of people and convince them that I was serious. Well, anyway … you’ll see for yourself.’

My mother placed a folded A4 sheet of paper on my bedside table before turning around and leaving the room.

I didn’t move for several minutes. I had no interest in what she wanted to show me.

‘God damn it.’ Curiosity got the better of me, and I reached over for the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was my mother’s handwriting.

Silver Moon Forest, Alaska

Alpha: Colt

Pack Population: 32

Call to schedule initiation.

Scrawled underneath was a phone number.

What the hell was this? Some kind of support group for Werewolves? No, it looked like a community.

A pack of thirty-two werewolves living together in Alaska? I didn’t even know such things existed.

How had my mother found this information, and how could she be sure that it wasn’t a group of nutcase twilight fans? I scrunched up the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of my hoodie.

Sunday – 14 days to go

‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ said my mother as she handed me a small, wrapped present.

I didn’t say anything as I took it from her. Unwrapping it, I found it to be a new phone. Useless. Who would I text or call now that Mr. Stone had gone?

‘Its got a five megapixel camera, and a touch screen,’ my mother said, beaming.

‘Thanks,’ I said dully, pushing it aside.

She said no more on the matter.

Next, my father gave me his present. It was slightly smaller.

I pulled the wrappings, but was confused when all I found was a key.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, picking it up.

‘A car key,’ my father said. ‘To your new vehicle.’

‘My new-’ I gaped at him. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

He nodded, his expression solemn. ‘I know there is somewhere you want to visit today. Now you have a way to get there … without sneaking around.’

I stared at my father. ‘R-really?’ I stammered.

He nodded again.

‘Thank you,’ I breathed, jumping to my feet and embracing him tightly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are you sure it’s wise-’ my mother began, but my father quickly silenced her.

‘Rose is eighteen. She can do as she pleases.’

He was right. I was free … to an extent. While Mr. Stone was behind bars I’d never be free - not fully.

‘Where is it?’ I asked at once. ‘Where’s the car?’

‘It’s parked out the front,’ said my father.

I grabbed my bag and flew across the room to wrench the front door open.

‘You’re going
now
?’ my mother asked.

‘Absolutely,’ I said to her, before stepping out of the door.

‘Drive carefully!’ my parents bellowed in unison.

I couldn’t believe it; my father had bought me a car for this very purpose. I burst onto the lawn and froze when I saw the vehicle.

It was a beaten up Ford Escort with peeling red paint. Tears welled in my eyes, but I choked them back.

‘They were auctioning it,’ my father said, hanging out of the sitting room window. ‘I thought you’d like that one.’

I nodded fervently, tears slipping down my cheeks. It was the only thing of Mr. Stone’s that I owned.

Wiping away the tears, I turned back to my father and smiled. ‘Thanks Dad.’

He nodded and closed the window.

While my father didn’t understand my relationship with Mr. Stone, he knew I was not a typical teenager. My instincts were good; and all signs pointed to Mr. Stone. My father could see that. He didn’t like the fact that his baby girl was in love with her thirty-two year old teacher … but we can’t always choose who we love. If we could, well, things would be a lot easier. Perhaps then my parents would not be getting a divorce.

I ran to Mr. Stone’s car and unlocked the driver’s side. It made that familiar creaking noise as I slipped into the driver’s seat. At once, I was assaulted with that familiar smell. Sweet, yet spicy, like cinnamon. It was his smell.

The very scent was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Taking deep breaths, I calmed myself and put the key into the ignition. As usual, the car rolled over a couple of times before roaring to life.

It had been a few months since my last driving lesson, but the knowledge was still there. I pushed in the clutch and shifted the car into first gear. It was stiff and required force.

Crunch.

Good. I let down the handbrake before I balanced the clutch and gently pressed the gas.

It stalled.

‘Shit.’

I tried again, and this time I successfully pulled away from the curb.

It was a two-hour drive to the jail, and I’d never been there before. I’d called up several days ago to find out the visiting hours, so I knew I’d arrive at the perfect time. They’d also told me I needed to fill out a visitation form, which I could download online, and send to them. They said something about inmates having to approve all visitation requests. Mine had been accepted, so I could only assume that Mr. Stone had allowed it.

I was a bundle of nerves. I expected him to yell at me, say hurtful things, and generally despise me. I wouldn’t blame him. I despised myself.

Pulling into the parking lot of the jail, I thought I might be sick.

‘Just do it,’ I told myself over and over again. ‘Go in there.’

Taking a deep breath, I exited the car, locked it, and walked towards the front office.

It was an unpleasant process. There was a dress code for visitors, which meant I had to zip my hoodie right up, as the singlet I wore underneath showed some cleavage.

They checked my identification to ensure I was not a minor, and I was asked to sign a visitor’s log. Not only that, but I was searched. A guard patted me down, looking for anything suspicious.

Once I was given the all clear, I was taken into the visitor’s room. It wasn’t as I’d expected. In movies, they always had the pane of glass with two telephones, but it was nothing like that.

The visitation room was a hall with many round tables and plastic chairs. The guard showed me to a table at the back of the room, before taking a position nearby to observe his surroundings. We’d be under watchful eyes at all times.

Many couples and families were already here, talking, laughing and hugging. I’d feared the visitation room would be a violent affair, but it really wasn’t that bad at all. Perhaps these other people were just like Mr. Stone; misunderstood.

I only had to wait a couple of minutes for Mr. Stone to enter the visitation hall, accompanied by a guard. He looked different. Perhaps it was the absence of his quirky attire, but he certainly looked beat. He wore the jail’s mandatory grey uniform, and it made him look washed out.

Mr. Stone’s eyes scanned the room until he found me. They lit up.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
He was pleased to see me.

He hurried over to the table I was sitting at, and I stood to greet him.

‘Rose,’ he breathed, stopping a few yards away from me. ‘What – what are you doing here?’

Well, I hadn’t expected him to hug and kiss me, that’s for sure.

‘It’s my birthday,’ I told him. ‘I’m eighteen.’

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes like it usually did. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

We stood there awkwardly for a few moments, Mr. Stone’s arms swinging loosely by his side like he always did when he was nervous.

‘Can I … can I hug you?’ I asked tentatively.

Mr. Stone’s eyebrows shot up. He was surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Of course.’ Did he not realize my feelings for him were the same?

‘Yes! Absolutely.’

We both moved forwards and I wrapped my arms around his neck tightly as his hands slid around my waist. He hugged me so fiercely that my feet left the ground. I grinned from ear to ear, my eyes watering once more.
He wasn’t mad
.

‘Oh, Tom,’ I said, pulling away from him and wiping my eyes furiously. ‘I missed you so much.’