14 #2
“Yeah. She’s just sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong,” I grumble, twisting the keys in the ignition. My truck groans as the engine turns over, and I pull out of the parking lot a little less gracefully than I normally drive, hitting the curb just after Laura gives me one last pleading look.
The drive is quiet and brief; at least, until the universe throws another hurdle in front of me.
I pull up to the chain-link fence and a locked gate barring the service road to the spot in the woods I usually use.
It would be just my luck, I think as I grumble and reverse back out onto the main road, going to the next best and nearest place; the Aconite Ales parking lot.
It’s an extra middle finger to the asshole who broke my heart after all that careful effort to make sure he wouldn’t.
Not that he would know. Whatever, the brewery is closed, no one’s there. The whole place is dark except for a dim light in a basement window well, but that’s all.
I throw the gearshift into park and hop out, waving Maybe-John to follow me around back, where I lower the tailgate.
The sun is bleeding pink out from below the horizon, the night ushering in, on the edge of too chilly to keep doing this.
The moon sits nearly full and taunting in the sky, and I wish it would just hurry up and stop reminding me of the dumb kind-of-actually-a-date that I had suggested to Logan. I want to be over him, already.
Maybe it’s just all the endorphins from all the great sex we had, but I miss Logan. I miss just talking to him, even. I thought we were really starting to get to know each other. I don’t know what happened.
No, I do. He lost interest in me. I am the one who said don’t wait for me.
Maybe he got tired of it. And I have to be fine with that.
I can’t keep tearing up at every little thing that makes me think about him.
It sucks, and it’s uncomfortable, but I just have to sit with my feelings until they’re done.
Whatever. There’s no better way to get over a guy than under a different one.
Except, this guy isn’t doing all that excellent a job.
Maybe-John kisses my shoulder, and I shrug him off, instead tugging my jeans down enough for access and leaning over the tailgate.
No offense to this guy, but I’m not really looking for foreplay.
I just want to get railed hard enough to forget my misery, and I hate that every fumbled, unfamiliar touch reminds me that Logan would have succeeded at that.
Maybe-John’s not doing what I want him to, really is what it is, as he drags his fingers through my pussy and manages to mistake my labia for my clit, spending too much time rubbing it. I feel ridiculous, trying to hint to him with a loud moan when he actually finds it.
There’s that distant, tortured howl I’ve heard in the woods before. I don’t think much of it, except the last time I thought about it, telling Logan all my theories about what it could have been.
Maybe-John stills. “Do you hear that?”
Before I can tell him that it’s fine, I’ve heard that sound a dozen times at least, there’s something quiet, like shattering glass nearby, followed by the screech and groan of metal.
I push up on my elbows, craning my neck to look around. It’s dark, the tree line a black silhouette against the sky. I don’t really know what I’m looking for, but then John lets go of me, taking a step back.
“Is that a fucking coyote?”
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s huge. It’s gotta be,” Possibly-John says.
I stand up, tugging my pants up again, looking around. When I turn back around, John is jogging halfway across the parking lot, before I spot the coyote he’s talking about.
That’s not a coyote.
I don’t know what the hell else it could be, but I duck behind the rim of my truck, fumbling to get in as a loud, low snarl fills the air.
I slam the door behind me, immediately finding the keys still in the ignition.
I can’t help but let out a whimper as I try to start my truck, but the engine stalls.
At first, I’m terrified for John as he clutches his pants up at his hip and runs for the brewery’s doors, yanking on them uselessly when they’re locked. I’m sure I’m about to see him get eaten alive.
My heart is in my throat, horrified to watch and yet unable to tear my eyes away, when my truck shakes, something colliding with the side.
Claws scratch against metal, and I lock eyes with the thing through my rearview mirror as it climbs over the side of my truck, into the bed.
“Fuck, fuck, shit, crap,” I hiss, twisting the keys in the ignition again, pressing as hard as I can on the brake, while the creature’s breath fogs up the back window. The engine struggles loudly, spitting out tired, wheezy complaints.
The engine finally comes alive, and I yank the gearshift back.
There’s a satisfying screech of its claws against the truck bed as the vehicle jerks out from under the creature, and it tumbles onto the pavement.
Turning much harder than I should, I start to head for where John’s still fighting with the brewery doors.
I have a half-baked thought to get over to him and throw the passenger side door open, when I spot the monster in my rearview mirror again, chasing me on all fours.
I take as sharp a turn away from John as my steering wheel will go, the tires screeching against the pavement as I veer away from him and directly through a line of manicured bushes that frame the entrance to the Aconite Ales parking lot.
Branches scrape and clatter against the truck’s body, the bumps in the path throwing me around without my seatbelt. A cluster of leaves flies past my windshield. As soon as the road smooths out beneath me, I glance behind me again, and curse.
The wolfish creature is just about as into John as I was, leaping the hedges easily, and taking off down the road just barely behind me.
Holy shit.
My foot slams on the accelerator before I even finish turning back to face the road. I drive way over the speed limit, finally putting a bit of distance between me and it. I don’t care; a cop can try to pull me and this beast over.
I try to keep my eyes on the road ahead, twisting through the woods in the dark.
My singular working headlight is utterly insufficient.
After a couple of miles, I think I lose it, unable to spot the beast’s silhouette in pursuit.
Still, I can’t stop glancing back in the rearview mirror, wondering if it’s still there.
As much as I hope the creature didn’t go back to devour my unfortunate hookup, I don’t think I could go back there without passing it again, whatever it was. I pull up at my cabin, finally, and cut the engine.
It’s utterly silent here, but my heart won’t stop pounding enough to hear it. I’m listening hard for the creature’s panting or growls, anything that would let me know it was here, watching me.
Finally, I find my house key on my cluttered key ring, gripping it tight before I pop the truck door and slide out.
My knees almost fail me, my legs wobbly with adrenaline. My fucking pants are still unzipped and sinking downward. I hurry up to the door, shakily unlocking it and spilling inside the moment it gives way.
That’s when I hear the creature’s snarl.
I try to slam the door closed, my hand landing prematurely over the deadbolt to throw it in place, but the doormat snags just under the corner as it always fucking does, and the door remains a couple inches shy of closed when the beast bursts in. I fall back, landing hard on my ass.
The wolfish creature crouches on all fours, pausing to sniff a shirt I left on the floor, taking measure of the space with an eerie calm before it turns around on me.
I’m scrambling in an instant to recover, thinking I’ll head for the bathroom and lock myself in there as if the flimsy particleboard door could do anything to protect me.
I leap up onto the large metal dog crate covered in piles of junk mail and old laundry to get out of the way, but as soon as I get on top of it, the thing jerks out from under me, sliding several feet back. I land painfully on my side, crying out on the floor.
The crate continues to lurch across the linoleum as the beast growls and snaps, trying to right itself within the small space.
I sit up and slam the crate’s door shut, throwing the little lock bar in place. I don’t believe for a second that it will be enough to hold the monster, so I grab my key chain and thread the old carabiner through the thin metal bars of the crate, where the door meets the frame.
The monster lunges headfirst at the crate’s door, denting it outwards as the carabiner clips into place, snagging some of my skin with it. I fall back onto the floor with a terrified scream, but the cage holds.
Its cubic shape is quickly beaten out of recognition from the inside as the monster thrashes within, but it holds.
I have the wolfish creature trapped, contained in the extra-large dog crate.
I can’t believe I’m actually a little bit grateful I had it around, though still not terribly sorry about bitching about it, loudly and often.
I’m mostly just glad I never found the opportunity to throw it away, only ever piling my unorganized junk on top of it.
I pant heavily, unable to do anything for several moments but watch the beast that chased me here. It reminds me so much of the dog that bit me the night of the wedding.
And the longer I look, the more I think that’s not a dog.