Page 49 of Dead Wolf Falling (Bad Moon Academy 2)

There are times when people want help finding their way and aren’t afraid to lean on another for support. Other times all you can do is leave people drowning in their pain and hope they find a way to swim out on their own. Knowing she doesn’t want help doesn’t make the choice to leave her any less difficult.

“You have to make the choice, Raven, I can’t make it for you.” Aunt Lou is standing at the kitchen counter, resting one hand on the granite. Her face is red from crying. She spent all night worrying about where I’d been.

“Then what’s this?” I hold up the pamphlet for a rehabilitation center that specializes in youth addiction. “You’re not asking me to go. You’re forcing me.”

Aunt Lou blows out a hard breath, glancing at the ceiling and fighting off tears. By the time she looks at me again, her eyes are dry and her face hardens. She moves to the cabinet where she keeps her stash of alcohol. It used to be big, but I took more than my fair share, and she’s purposefully not buying more. Like she thinks by letting it run out, it’ll cure me.

Too bad she can’t see I’m diseased. There’s nothing that can cure what ails me.

She slams a bottle of cheap whiskey in front of me, leaning against the counter next to where I stand.

“You want to call the shots? Fine. Drink.”

“What?” I ask with a gasp. “Now you’re okay with it?”

Fire flashes in her eyes, and she cracks the lid open, holding the nearly full bottle out to me.

“You’re so hell bent on an early death. Drink. You’re still drunk from whatever you did last night.”

The strong bite of booze fills the air, making my mouth water, and I lick my lips, eyes wandering down to the bottle. Reaching for it, I gently extract it from her hands and lift it to my lips, waiting for her to scream at me. I take a swig, not even flinching at the harsh taste.

“Do me a favor, tell Mirabelle I said hi.” And with that final punch to the gut, Aunt Lou leaves me in the kitchen, ignoring the tears filling my eyes.

I stare at the bottle, hand shaking as I hold it. My stomach is sour with all the liquor I’ve consumed in the last twelve hours. I catch my reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator, and a sob rips from my chest.

I’m just like Mom. Selfish and broken, dragging the rest of the world down with me. There’s no reason for me to be here. Aunt Lou hates me. Mom and Dad are gone. I don’t have any friends. What’s the fucking point?

No. Fuck that. I’m not like my mom. Swinging my arm back and splashing whiskey all over myself, I hurl the bottle at the fridge, laughing when it breaks. Brown liquid mars my reflection, making me look even more pathetic. Stepping closer, glass crunching under my Converse, I swipe my hand across the stainless steel. I stand, staring into the impossibly shiny appliance. Aunt Lou obsessively cleans it and now I’ve ruined it with streaks of whiskey.

I keep messing up. A big piece of glass pierces through the bottom of my shoe, stabbing into my heel. Pressing my lips together, I stay still for a second, letting the pain ground me, then carefully walk out of the mess, slipping my shoe off and pressing a paper towel to the blood. Everything crashes into me like a train into a car on the tracks.

Sobbing again, I drop my forehead to my arm, letting it all out. They’re gone. I won’t ever see them laugh again. I won’t see Dad shake his head at Mom for being ridiculous and dancing around the kitchen. Or the way her eyes crinkle when he tells a dumb joke. There will be no more camping trips. No more Friday night movies. Nothing. That’s all there is. Nothing.

Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into a soft body. Aunt Lou smells like lilacs and earl grey tea. Dropping the towel from my still bleeding foot, I turn and cling to her, not caring that my snot and tears are seeping into her shirt.

“I’m alone,” I whisper. I’m not even sure she hears me because she doesn’t respond right away.

“Oh, Raven,” she says a second later, rubbing her hand over my messy hair. “You’re not alone, baby. We have each other. It’s you and me, but you have to want it, Raven. I can’t watch you go down the same road as your mother. It’ll kill me.”

Biting my lip, I pinch my eyes shut and breathe her in. Her heart beats steadily, so full of life. She’s here. I’ve been fighting her ever since I got here, but I think it’s time to listen. I really don’t want to go to rehab, like some sort of helpless being, but I don’t know how to stop.

“There’s no shame in needing help,” she says, as if reading my mind. “But like I said earlier, you have to want this. You need to make sure you’re ready to cut the bullshit and pull your head out of your own ass.”

I chuckle at her gruff words and nod. “Okay.” Squeezing her tighter, my throat closes, trying to keep me from accepting her help, but I fight the sensation, swallowing my stubborn pride and the sickness in me to answer her. “I need help, Aunt Lou.” My voice cracks, fresh tears spilling out of me.

“I know you do, baby. I know you do.” She keeps me wrapped in her arms, not letting go until my cheeks have dried and my breathing has evened.

That day was my breaking point. Aunt Lou’s tough love may seem harsh to some, but it’s what I needed. Layla will figure out what she needs too; it’s only a matter of time.

* * *

Carter is halfwaythrough his lesson about the first war between supes and humans when Layla shuffles in. Her head is down, and she slides into her usual seat, not meeting either of our gazes. He doesn’t pause or miss a beat; he keeps on with the lesson as though she’s been there all along. I’m thankful he doesn’t make a big deal about her arrival, because shame is weighing her shoulders down, and I suspect she’s beating herself up for what she said to me.

While I’d like to say I didn’t take it personally, I’m not that person. What she said stung, but she was lashing out. I’ve already forgiven her. I continue writing notes, using it as a distraction from the current reality. Nothing like thousands of deaths and civil unrest to keep you from thinking about how fucked up your life is.

“For being slower and the weapons available in the early twentieth century, humans still found ways to slay hundreds of shifters in any given battle. Cannons were loaded with silver, which served to take care of the shifters. Fields were filled with explosives, so when the vampires tried to sneak up on a legion, they were blasted apart, giving the humans enough time to burn the head and body in separate places.”

“What about the witches?” Layla asks, suddenly perking up.

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