Lielit
Progress on making contact with the wolf was slow, mostly because he was attached to the dickhead.
I avoided him whenever I could. I tried to get into the kitchen before or after he’d been there.
I watched television while he worked and never in the evenings.
On the days he didn’t work, I usually went out for a run with Bouda, exploring the island.
Not a single day passed without me thinking about my family.
I knew they might be imagining the worst, and that hurt.
My company—less so. Yes, I’d built it brick by brick.
It was my baby. But material things came and went.
People didn’t. Once I made that comparison, it was easier to let go of the initial angst.
Your family is strong. They carried me in their bloodline, Bouda said.
I smiled, thinking of my grandparents. My mother’s parents still lived in Ethiopia. I didn’t see them as often, especially in recent years, but they were softer with me because of it. And yes—I could see exactly where I’d inherited my sass and my strength.
I sighed and pulled the drawer open.
I lifted out the rows of DVD cases and began swapping the discs around, then slid them neatly back into place.
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“We need to talk,” he said, stopping beside me—so close I could smell his aftershave.
There were no labels left to peel off the bottles, so I threw the fancy lids away instead. It made them all look plain and shabby.
I didn’t respond.
I bit into my toast.
“Midday. In my office.”
Even I want to take another swipe at him, Bouda muttered.
He was still looming, so I lifted my mug and slurped my tea—slow and deliberate.
That did it.
He stormed off like a toddler holding back a tantrum.
Why don’t we have a picnic at the beach today? I asked Bouda. We could have hours of fun there.
He could hold his meeting.
He couldn’t make me attend.
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What if we could swim to that island we saw? I asked Bouda.
Since she’d manifested, my body had grown stronger—and with it, my eyesight. From my bedroom window on a clear day, I could see the tip of another island on the horizon.
I am a strong swimmer, she said. The only problem might be the cold.
She was right. Maybe in summer it would be worth trying.
How about we swim daily and build up our strength?
Yes. I want to meet your people. Although I’m not sure about this city life you told me about.
I thought of Anji. Bouda would love her.
You get used to the city. This island is serene—except for the owner, I said as I stacked all the toilet paper rolls neatly on top of one another.
I glanced over my shoulder at the empty cardboard tube on the holder before slipping out of his bathroom.
You’re going to get caught one day, Bouda snickered.
He’s outside. I’m not stupid, I chuckled—then paused, doubled back, and grabbed a packet of wipes from the cabinet.
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A few days later, while I was eating dinner in the kitchen, he stormed in red-faced. I caught him in my peripheral vision and kept my eyes on my plate.
“This has to stop,” he hissed.
I set my knife and fork down and picked up the juicy chicken thigh instead. I bit into the jerk chicken, tearing off a strip of meat.
He seems upset, Bouda said, laughing.
“You keep your animal out of my closet and do not touch my books,” he snapped, beginning to pace. “In fact—stop touching anything that’s mine. If you don’t stop, I will—”
He broke off, a growl ripping out of him.
We both looked up.
It was the wolf.
Was it defending us?
Yes.
I’d laid his clothes out and had Bouda roll on them. No harm in a little fur, dead skin, and whatever dirt we’d picked up outside.
The books had taken longer—turning each one so the spine faced the back of the shelves.
I let him rant. Let him slam his fist against the table.
But he never threatened us again.
And, surprisingly, Bouda didn’t growl at him.
We ignored him until he left.
There was something deeply fulfilling about watching him fracture. When my dad had tried to research him, there’d been very little online. When he spoke to people directly, they clammed up. Aside from a handful of blogger theories, there was nothing of substance.
We’d concluded that people were afraid of him—ordinary people, high-ranking officials, all of them. And I did what I always did: dug my heels in. That decision had ended with my abduction.
Seeing this man crumble one tiny act of sabotage at a time was immensely satisfying.
Almost healing.
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The following morning, I heard the helicopter arrive—and leave.
It wasn’t supplies; those trips lasted longer. Hopefully, it was him leaving again.
If he fled the island, what would I do to keep myself amused?
I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Because—fuck him.