Page 6 of Werewolf Heart

“Nope,” she mumbles. “She definitely is not.”

Sara Ramos is the daughter of immigrant parents. An opportunity opened up overseas for her father, so they packed their bags and left the humid warmth of Brazil for the dreary weather of England. She was just eight-years-old. It was an overwhelming experience, to say the least. Besides having to learn a completely different language, deal with racist bullies, and undergoing messy notions about her identity—she also had to deal with her mother.

She was always a tough person to handle, but the move had only exacerbated her nastiness.

No, she never hit her. Her words stung like she did, though.

“Why can’t you do anything right?”, was a constant phrase heard throughout her childhood. Also, “God gave me a worthless child.” And, “I’ll send you back home in a carbon box, how about that?” Or her favourite, “You’re crying? Really? I can cry too, you know. You want to see me cry? You want to see your own mother cry? Do you? God, grow up!”

So, no, she wasn’t supportive when Sara called with the news she’d be dropping out. Her mother also wasn’t supportive when she called to say she was back in school and was planning to apply for her Masters. Both times she called her an immature little girl. Both times she told her this was the stupidest decision of her life.

“Maybe make up your mind?” Sara said to her last time. To which her mother hung up.

No, they don’t speak much. Usually it’s her father who calls. He’s an enabler, constantly defending his wife instead of standing up for his daughter, but at least he has the decency not to bring her up when they talk.

“Well, she can fuck off,” Robert says, bringing her out of her clouded thoughts. “You’re doing an amazing thing. You needed a break, that’s all. After what you went through… You’re amazing. If she can’t see that, it’s her loss, isn’t it?”

Sara stares at his dark blue eyes and spots the kindness there. The care he has for her. It almost makes her choke.

“Thank you for believing in me,” she whispers.

The young woman has a need to hold his hand, but she resists.

“Mind if I keep you company?” He asks.

“Sure,” she says, smiling. “Another reality TV marathon?”

“Yeah, let’s shut off our brains for a few hours. We both need to relax.”

He leans back, spreading his legs just slightly, smirking at her as he gets comfortable.

Oh God, she realises. I’m in deep shit.

“Don’t make me beg for it,” he said.

Don’t make me beg for it.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Sara rushes to the restroom, feeling her body start to heat up.

He said those few words so casually. Amusement clear in his tone. And God, his curls. His beautiful red curls. She wishes she could grab them and—

Sara splashes cold water on her face.

The young woman stares at herself in the mirror, watching drops running down her hot cheeks, mouth glistering. None of it eases the heat inside her.

Her mind goes back to that night in the cabin. Against her will, she remembers how Robert sounded screaming her name, the desperation in his voice, the need howling out of him. Her legs start to tremble.

What would’ve happened if she had stayed inside?

What would’ve happened if she had opened the door?

Sara pictures Robert, his face now twisted into one of a fairy tale monster, she imagines how his voice would’ve sounded, if it had been rougher and deeper, if his eyes would shine under the full moon. She imagines him grabbing hold of her. She also pictures those big glowing eyes conflicted. Because knowing Robert, he’d feel guilty just thinking about kissing her.

Feeling desperate, she slides a hand down her shorts, under her underwear. The woman teases herself. She massages her clit, closing her eyes. She pictures Robert on his knees for her, just as desperate and in need. She imagines him looking up at her—asking for permission. In this fantasy, Sara pets Robert, gently caressing his scalp, feeling his beautiful curls between her fingers. Her brain then hits her with the image of the beast. Of the deep howling. She imagines him ripping her shorts to shreds, desperately mouthing her knickers. It’s like she can truly feel his tongue touching her. Him tasting her. Him savouring her. She pictures those pretty pink lips over her clit, the same desperate glowing eyes looking up at her. At the peak of her pleasure, she dares to look at herself in the mirror. A mess is what she sees. Face still wet. Lips swollen from biting too hard. Her pupils blown wide. Sara sees the mess Robert would make of her and she comes on the spot.

Her legs shiver as she still stands upright, forehead hitting the cold tiles. The young woman takes a moment to catch her breath. Lets her shame wash away.

---