2. The Curse

I found Mom in the kitchen slumped over the table, an empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. She kept mumbling to herself and stared glassy-eyed at the space in front of her. It was apparent she had more than just whiskey this time.

A lump grew inside my throat, and I wondered how she would react to what I was about to tell her.

That was if she even would react.

I used to think my life was terrible. Uncaring parents, no friends, and I went day by day clinging to the hope that when I turned eighteen, I’d get to start a new, better life for myself, away from all this unfairness.

It was all that kept me going. I clung firmly to my optimism, writing down my daily gratitude and convincing myself that there were people out there living off worse than I did.

My perks were: I get to go to school. We had a roof over our heads, even if the atmosphere beneath it was dead as a graveyard. My parents never fought, even as broken as their relationship was. I had good grades. Good enough to get a scholarship to build a vibrant future for myself.

None of those ups meant a thing now. No university would take in someone like me.

There was no longer a way out, no bright future—only my doom.

I would soon become a monster. I would never escape hell.

“Hailey waily boo,” Mom croaked from the table. She had turned her head, facing me, her cheek pressed to the table. “Be a good girl and go to the liquor store for mommy.”

I didn’t move, waiting for her to notice my red puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It was all wishful thinking on my behalf.

“Come on now, Hailey, it’s getting late. I’ve got cash stashed in my purse. I think I left it on the couch in the living room. You can keep the change. Buy some makeup or whatever you’re into.” Mom straightened up. “Your dad went to get us some Wendy’s. I can’t eat if I haven't had a drink.”

My eyes fell pointedly on the bottle in her hand. I wanted to out her for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.

“Mommy?” My voice croaked. I hadn’t called her that in years, but I felt scared and craved nothing more but her comfort right now. Somewhere, in those drunken bones of hers, there had to be some maternal instinct left in her, right?

“Hurry up now, can’t keep me waiting.” She shrugged me off. “You should really think about getting some makeup honey, you’re looking like crap.”

I pushed down the stinging sensation expanding inside my chest. “Mom, I need to talk to you,” I tried again.

She picked up the empty bottle and pressed it to her lips, tilting back her head and tried to get out the last few drops. When she slammed the bottle down onto the table, she sighed. “Come on, the clock is ticking.”

I crossed my arms, staring at her in disbelief. “I said I need you.”

“I’m right here, so I’m not sure what you're on about.” Her lips thinned when I still didn’t move, and she tipped over the bottle. “Fine then.” Mom got up, cursed, and fell back into the chair. She tried a second time again, almost falling over the chair in the process. “I’ll just get it myself since my own daughter refuses to help me.”

“Can you, for just for five seconds, not make it about yourself and listen to me?” I asked, pointing to my face. “Have you considered that maybe I look like crap because I’ve had a bad day? That I actually need my mom?”

“Stop being a baby. You’re not two anymore,” she snipped airily. “Aren’t you what, almost twenty now?”

“Yeah? Great to know you don’t even know how old I am. Or that I still go to school.” I could feel fresh tears threatening to come. “I should have known by now you wouldn’t know what day it is today.”

Mom’s head snapped up, and she pointed with the bottle in her hand at me. “Honestly, Hailey, what are you going on about? I know what day it is. It’s Thursday.”

“The fifth? My birthday?” I quipped. “I don’t expect to get anything, but wow, it'd sure be nice to hear a happy birthday at the least. Or a hug. No, wait—you don’t do those either.”

Mom stiffened. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, and by the way, I’m sixteen today. Not twenty, Mom,” I bit out.

“So I forgot. I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? Happy?”

“Wow, Mom. Just wow.” I shook my head, my vision swimming.

“You started by being catty,” Mom snapped. “Don’t expect me to be all warm and fuzzy when you act like a brat.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll be happy to hear I’m moving soon,” I announced. “I’ll be out of your way. Permanently.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me with your ‘I’m going to run away’ crap, you hear me?”

“I’m not running away.” I muffled a sob with my hand before I continued. “I got marked.”

Mom’s head tilted to the side. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I pushed back my hair to reveal the ugly, dark veins running across my neck, and the crescent moon pulsing with light. Then, I pointed to my face. It surprised me that she hadn’t noticed how different it looked. “I’m turning into a werewolf.”

The bottle Mom held slid from her hand and shattered on the floor. She didn’t move, but it seemed like my words had shocked the alcohol right out of her. “W...What?” her voice shook as she spoke. “Oh no, no, no.”

Mom pressed her palms to her forehead.

“I know, Mom,” my lips quivered. “They’re going to take me away to that place.”

As in where all the werewolves stayed and got trained and did other horrid things.

Mom dropped her hands, and her wide eyes settled on me. “What is everyone going to say?”

“That I’m a freak?” I supplied.

“You can’t be seen here.” Mom rushed past me into the hallway. She ripped open our storage closet and pulled out duffel bags. “Goodness forbid, how can you be so inconsiderate to risk our lives by coming into this house? Here, take these. Start packing quickly. We need to get you out of here.”

My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Mom paused, glancing up at me. “Of course, I’m serious. We can’t be associated with a werewolf.” She spat out the last word like something foul. “And what if you turn and eat us?”

I sighed, grabbing two empty duffels. “As my mom, I thought you’d try and figure out how to get rid of the mark. Not throw me to the wolves.”

Literally.