Page 15 of Werewolf Heart

“You shut up!” He screams. “I can’t believe I stayed with you for so long. I can’t believe I asked you to move in with me. I can’t believe I ever loved you!”

That makes her laugh. “You never loved me.”

“You know what?” He smirks, mean and rude. “That’s probably true. How could I love such a dumb bitch like you?”

It is in that split second that Sara realises she’s in a dream.

Oh, not because Tom isn’t acting like his usual self. He could get really nasty behind closed doors. It’s because they’re inside her home. This is her flat. That was her sofa Tom was sitting in and that was her remote he threw at her. Tom couldn’t possibly be here. Sara would’ve fought him before she ever let him inside.

This is a dream.

And she can do anything she wants in a dream.

She imagines Robert next to her, eyes glowing as bright as the moon, his claws out, baring his teeth—she pictures them digging into Tom’s fragile little body. Although very satisfying, it’s not good enough. It has to be done by Sara’s hands. (She doesn't want Robert to ever dirty himself for her.) The young woman picks up the same remote Tom threw—which feels like a heavy rock in her hand—and smashes it over his head. Again and again, till Tom’s face turns into a bloody mess. Till she can barely recognise the monster in front of her.

After the horrible deed is done, Sara feels a clawed hand brush a strand of hair behind her ear. The young woman looks up and she sees Robert. Just Robert. With his sweet face and blue eyes and easy smile. Sara kisses him with blood on her skin. She feels him kissing her back. They make out till they’re on the floor and he’s on top of her, smiling, eyes glowing, looking as if he wants to devour her whole.

“Sara,” he whispers. “I love y—“

Her alarm clock goes off, ripping her away from her sweet dreams. Begrudgingly, Sara shuts it off. Sighs. Lets the shame wash away.

At least you got to kiss Rob, she thinks. God, that’s really silly.

Sara mumbles to herself, then finds the will to get out of bed and get on with her day. She does her hair; which takes about an hour and forty five minutes. The young woman has a momentary spike in her mood, so she decides to have breakfast before leaving. She cooks banana pancakes, and makes sure to leave a couple extra for Robert. Her way of saying she’s sorry for how she feels about him.

For the muffins, she writes in a little note. Quid pro quo and all that. ;)

She resists the temptation of writing XOXO at the end.

Sara takes the tube to the university’s campus, just off Warren Street. A group of tourists rush in before everyone’s off, causing her to almost trip on her way out. Which leaves her in a sour mood. Her spirits are lifted, however, when she spots her friend waiting at the station—a tall redhead holding two iced coffees. Her name is Rita Correia Evans, and they’ve been friends since the start of the semester. The daughter of a famous Portuguese actress and an English businessman. So, quite privileged and at times naive, but she makes up for it with her generosity and good humour. Rita insists on meeting up before their joint classes; always with an extra cup of coffee in hand. (She’s yet to allow Sara to pay for her share.) If Sara were gay, Rita would be it for her. Sadly, she’s not. Besides, she’s pretty sure Rita has her own set of flings to worry about.

“Rough morning?” She asks.

Sara sighs as she takes her cup. “How about a rough month?”

Rita hums. “A tua tese está a dar-te cabo dos nervos?1”

“Um pouco de tudo,” she mumbles. “Você sabe como é.2”

“Não, não sei. É por isso que perguntei.3”

“Caralho, também acordou mal?4”

“Sure,” Rita sighs, sounding tired. “Now, what’s really going on?”

Sara pretends to take a sip of her coffee. “Things just keep piling up. With school and work… It’s a lot.”

“Are you sure that’s all? You do look worse than usual.”

“Wow. Look who woke up bitchy!”

“Listen, I can tell when something’s bothering you. You know you can talk to me about it, right? I’m just worried.”

Sara hears the concern in her friend’s voice, twisting the guilt in her gut. She takes a long sip of her cold sugary coffee before confessing, “I saw Tom yesterday.”

Rita looks back at her, eyebrows shot up. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

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