Tell Me Again
Marcus sits with his friend Tia as he tries to grapple with what she tells him.
He doesn’t believe she’s a werewolf.
She can prove it.
“Tea?” It’s all I can think to say when she’s done. What’s there to really say? I think you’ve lost it, but I don’t want to be rude?
Tia stares at me, eyes full of something I can’t quite pin down. My hands find a lose thread on my jeans and pick at it, waiting for her response.
“You don’t believe me.”
It’s not a question, but I answer her anyway. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just… It’s a lot, you know?”
She sighs and leans back on the chair. Her arms are spread across the back of the chair and her legs are crossed, foot tapping air. She’s annoyed. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll have some tea.”
I stand, trying to ignore how jerky the movement is. My steps are measured as I move to the kitchen. The cabinet is full of a thousand kinds of tea, but my eyes glaze over each one. I pick one at random and start digging for the kettle.
“You can say it.” The kettle hits the floor with a clang and my heart jumps out of my chest. Tia leans against the door frame. Her arms and legs are crossed. Mega annoyed. “Sorry.”
“No, no,” I say. My hands shake as I grab it and head to the sink. “It’s my fault. I was in my head.”
“Usually,” she says. When the kettle is full, she takes it from me. I didn’t hear her approach. Her hand is burning as it brushes against mine. “Don’t need you making a mess in my house.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
The gas stove clicks a few times before lighting. Tia picks up the tea I set out as she puts the kettle on. “Earl grey?” She raises a brow. “You must be deep in there if you picked that out.”
I blink. “Yeah, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
She rifles through the cabinet and brings out the jasmine instead. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”
“Probably barf after smelling it,” I say. She snorts and shakes her head. She hops up on the counter and looks me over again. I can’t make out her expression. “I can prove it.”
“Prove…it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Prove my werewolf status, obviously. There’s nothing else for me to prove.”
“You’ve never once proved that you can actually do the splits,” I say, trying to distract myself. Tia really believes that she’s werewolf and whatever proof she has is bound to be pseudoscience at best or a hallucination at worst.
Tia has always been the steadiest constant in my life. From shitty middle school to mediocre high school to absolutely daunting young adulthood, she’s always been there. Every shitty job and euphoric achievement—Tia witnessed it all. I don’t know what I’ll do when she ‘proves’ to me that she’s a werewolf.
I pull my phone from my pocket and google, ‘How quickly can the paramedics arrive?’
“Marcus?” My eyes flicker up. She’s waiting for me. I put my phone away and shove my hands into my pockets to hide the shaking. “Ready?”
Fuck no. “Lay it on me.”
She lifts her arm then stops. It’s the first time she’s looked hesitant since I arrived. “Just…don’t scream.”
“I can in no way promise that.”
She smiles a little then looks down. Her brows furrow in concentration and she bites her bottom lip. It doesn’t happen fast. Her body changes slowly and methodically over the next few minutes.
The bones in her arm and hand break and snap and reform then break again. Her skin moves and stretches and pulses. Her normally smooth and dark skin starts to wrinkle and pucker as thick, course hair sprouts. Claws grow thick and long through her nails, blood dripping from her deformed hand. It almost looks like a hand, but her fingers are too long. Her palms are huge and could easily wrap around my head.
I stare in awe and disbelief as Tia’s arm transforms in front of me. I don’t hear the kettle as it screams on the stove.
Blood drips from her chin as she stares at me. She bit straight through her lip, a long fang where her canine should be. It wasn’t just her arm that changed. The rest of her has shifted too, though not as drastically. Tia has always been tall, but she towers over me, her head nearly touching the ceiling. Her hair, normally in protective braids, is long and unkept as it hangs over her shoulders. Her brown eyes are large, pupils small as she stares at me.
If I weren’t already pressed against the counter, I would take a step back. Instead, I let my mouth hang open as I stare.
I blink.
I blink again.
I pinch my leg through my pocket. It stings, and I pinch again until I know it will bruise. It hurts, but that just means this is real.
I turn away from her and grab the kettle. It’s habit that gets me through the routine. Measure leaves. Test temperature of water. Pour water into infuser. Set timer for three minutes.
It’s the blood rushing in my ears that stops me from hearing her detransformation.
“Marcus?” Tia’s voice is soft. She’s standing behind me. I hand feel the warmth of her hand, but she’s not touching me. She’s hovering like she always does when she’s nervous. “You didn’t scream like I asked. I, uh, I appreciate it.
Scream? I’d have to have air in my lungs to scream.
It’s silent in the kitchen until the timer goes off. It’s a small egg timer that’s been here for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t ring anymore from how many times it’s been dropped. Instead, it gives a dull cl-, cl-, cl-, when it’s done.
I remove the leaves and set them aside. Tia slides milk across the counter. Lactose free. I spare a glance at her hand. It’s human again.
Milk. Sugar. Stir.
I take a sip.
“Okay.” My voice is shaky as I finally meet her gaze. It’s Tia. Just Tia. “Tell me again.”