Page 23 of Out of My Flocking Mind

“Not a fan of those days?”

“You’ve seen the trouble I get into now—do you really think I did well in a highly regimented environment like a school?”

“I thought you didn’t become a Spirit until later?”

I took another bite of the soup, hating that my spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl since that meant it was almost gone. “I’ve always been difficult. I think that’s why that asshole picked me. He did it because I already had that sort of personality. It means I got worse, sure, but I’m not all that different.” I considered the odd things I stole, the desire to wreck everything I saw, and sighed.

Maybe I am a bit different…

I lifted the bowl to my lips to drink the last of it, savoring the warmth and complex flavors. When I finished, Harrison took it from me. He probably knew if he didn’t, I’d lick the bowl clean.

Which I absolutely had planned.

“How were you changed?” He set the bowl down on the dresser before turning back toward me. “I know the man who showed up changed you, and that Galen later saved you from a werewolf, but I don’t know exactly what happened.”

I thought back to the ugliness of those days, the confusion, the uncertainty. Changing, becoming something entirely different, it was a hard thing to accept or know how to handle.

There weren’t any, ‘So Now You’re a Crow!’ books to help me along the way.

I didn’t love having to go back, to remember that period in my life. Sure, most of my life didn’t seem all that wonderful, but at least I’d gotten my feet under me now.

I considered that I worked as a delivery girl and had just been framed for murder and thought…maybe not as in control of my life as I liked to pretend.

Still, he had brought me food and I did feel slightly better because of the sleep, so what was a story in exchange?

“I was lost one night and wandering through the desert.”

“Lost?” He cocked up one of his blond eyebrows in a knowing expression.

“Fine. I was slightly drunk as well. I’d planned on walking to the store and, well, the desert is surprisingly easy to get lost in. I ended up in an area I didn’t recognize, and spotted three guys following someone else. It was pretty obvious they weren’t planning on just selling him some baked goods or anything. Looking back, I should have minded my own business. I should have turned right around and gone the other way.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Why didn’t I leave him to his own problems. Fuck knows, I had enough of my own.” I sighed, sitting back. “I’ve never been good at that, though. I’ve never been able to just leave things well enough alone. I think it’s because I know how it feels to be alone, to have no one there supporting you. It’s hard, and it sucks, and I don’t want other people to have to deal with that.”

I knew that was an understatement. A huge number of my problems in my life had occurred because I couldn’t keep my nose to myself. I walked right into shit I had no business in because I didn’t like what was going on.

I went on, trying to keep my tone light despite my feelings about that night. “The man didn’t seem to care about the three punks. In fact, it seemed like they amused him, like they were the same type. However, when one got behind him, they lifted this stick to hit him in the back of the head. That sort of cowardly shit is something I hate, so I rushed in and shoved the guy out of the way. I got hit in the temple.” I touched the mark that still remained, the scar on my left side that went to my eyebrow. It didn’t hurt anymore, but something about it forced me to remember everything.

Harrison caught my chin, twisting my head while taking my wrist in his other hand. He pulled my fingers away, staring at the tiny scar there.

It was funny, because it wasn’t like I didn’t have other scars. I’d lived a pretty hectic life, and every scar was from a damn good story. Not that the stories were all fond memories, but in my experience, some of the worst times in my life made for the best stories.

At least, after the wounds healed.

The same did not hold true for that tiny mark, though.

Harrison narrowed his eyes as he stared at the faded scar. “Did it require stitches?”

“It probably would have, but not that night.”

“Because of what that man did?” Harrison released my chin and wrist, allowing me to nod.

“I fell down after I got smacked, and those three started mocking me. I expected the man to run off.”

“Even after you helped him?”

“In my experience, people don’t stay by your side, at least not once shit gets real. Most times they take off then, because people care about themselves the most.” I shrugged, hating how fucking cynical I sounded. “Not that I blame them. I mean, that’s how we all are, right?”

---