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What woke me?
It’s dark. I have no idea what time, but it doesn’t feel close to morning. Groggily, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check. It’s quarter after midnight.
The house is quiet, aside from the low hum of the heat running. I lay for a few minutes, trying to sort out why I’m awake. I feel as if something startled me awake, but I don’t know what.
Then, in the distance, I hear it: The howling of wolves. It starts out as a single wolf releasing a sharp, lamenting keen, and then more join in until it’s a chorus of wolf calls.
Suddenly, the dream I’d interrupted by waking comes back to me.
In the dream, I was a wolf. I was running through the forest with my pack, leading them, charging along the wooded path under bright moonlight.
Well, that makes sense. Hear wolf calls, dream about wolves.
Now that I’m awake, hunger gnaws a hole in my belly. I didn’t eat much dinner because it felt too early for the meal, and since the household staff removed the dinner tray, I was paying the price. While I was excited about this massive house and my personal suite of rooms at first, I now recognize the downfall.
Because all that house lay between me and a snack.
I try to go back to sleep for a while until I realize it’s no use. The hunger pang in my stomach grows more insistent, and I finally throw the covers back and stand.
Roxanne gave me a quick tour of my rooms before bed, so I knew where to find a thick fluffy robe and slippers. Using the flashlight on my camera, I exit my room and make my way down the hall toward the elevator.
It takes me a minute to realize I’m being excessively quiet, as though I’m attempting to be sneaky. My heart is racing and palms sweating, like I’m doing something wrong.
But this isn’t the foster house. There’s no lock on the fridge, and no one is going to beat me with a belt for being out of bed. At our apartment in LA, Roxanne let me eat whenever and whatever I wanted, provided I had three reasonable meals a day. She never forbade snacks or treats, which at first was too much for me to handle.
I hoarded stuff in my room for months, fearful that it would be taken away or I’d have to grab my stuff and run. Gradually I started putting it back in the cupboard, and if she noticed, she never said a word. By the end of our year, I had complete faith that no matter when I wanted it, food would be there for me to have. I got used to snacking, and lately it seems like I am always hungry.
After four years of foster care and street life, Roxanne tamed the feral beast I’d become into a reasonable approximation of a domesticated teenager. Even so, I make a mental note to ask her to put a small fridge and snack cupboard in my closet. There’s plenty of space, and then if I’m up late, I don’t need to traverse the Appalachian Trail to get a snack.
I take the little elevator downstairs, the light from my phone, all the illumination I have. Once out on the ground floor, the giant windows let in a decent amount of moonlight, and I have no problem finding my way to the kitchen.
I locate some cheese, bottled water, and crackers without turning on any lights. For some reason, it feels as though flipping a switch would trip an alarm that sent staff scurrying to find me, and I definitely don’t want to wake them. Although now that I think about it, the house feels empty. Of course it’s massive beyond all sense, and only twelve people live here. But even early this evening, I could feel the presence of other people. Right now, I feel like the only soul alive in this place.
The wolves continue their howling outside, sending a sudden shiver racing up my spine. I shove my pockets full of snacks, then head back the way I came and up the elevator. The second story hallway is deathly quiet, and I listen for any telltale signs of other humans like snoring or creaking floorboards, but none reach my ears before I close my suite door.
Once I’ve finished my snack and my tummy is happy, I slide back under the covers and lay back on my nest of pillows.
The wolf howls are far in the distance now, almost inaudible, and I drift off peacefully.
* * *
Layla
* * *
“Good morning, Layla!” A soft knock on my door wakes me, and Roxanne steps in, beaming. “Happy birthday!” She’s clearly already caffeinated and dressed for the day, her neat black braids woven into a thick plait down her back.
“Thank you,” I answer groggily, sitting up. “What time is it?”
“Just after nine. I’ve had the housekeeper bring up your breakfast so they can clean up the kitchen. Everything here runs on a schedule, but you’ll adapt quickly. Your uncle really wanted you to have the opportunity to explore and settle in, so we don’t have much of an agenda for the weekend. They usually served breakfast between seven and nine in the breakfast room, lunch is from noon to one, and dinner is at seven. If you want to request anything special, like having a meal brought to your room or a particular dish, just let me know. For now, enjoy your breakfast, and your day!”
“Wait, what are you going to do?” I sound like a whiny child, but I can’t help it. The bizarre idea that she was suddenly going to disappear for good sent anxiety racing through my chest.
“I work for your uncle, so I’ll be in his office most of the day, I’m sure. It’s been a while since I was here to organize and I have a feeling there’s a sea of chaos waiting for me.” She chuckles. “But I won’t be far, okay? If you need something, just text me. If the office door is open, you can come in any time. But if it’s closed, we’re probably in a meeting. Just text me.” She checks the phone in her hand as if to demonstrate how easy she is to reach.
“Oh, okay.” My earlier excitement for exploring sours. Somehow, the realization that I would be alone all day drains all the fun from the plan.
When did that happen? Before we left LA, all I wanted was to be alone. And now the idea is indescribably depressing.
