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I turned on the shower. I was dirty, I was sweaty, and my ass hurt.
Why did my ass hurt? Because of the hallucination?
Sure. Why not? I got under the water, and everything stung. My feet stung from running on the ground without shoes, my inner thigh had fingernail scratches on it, and my ass hurt even more as soon as water streamed over the welt marks made by a belt from the werewolf president of my university.
“Ha!” I laughed aloud. It was ridiculous. I was almost proud of myself. If I was going to hallucinate, then at least I was creative about it. This hallucination was a masterpiece among all hallucinations.
This hallucination even gave me an orgasm. Because of course it did.
I took a deep breath and got soap to wash the hallucination dirt off of my feet and legs, and the hallucination leaves out of my hair. And the hallucination muck out from under my nails.
What the shit was this? A hallucination splinter in my palm? Fuck this hallucination. Fuck it right in its stupid pretend eye.
I had to remember to calm down; I had to pace myself in this weird fucked-up dream of my own making. There should be no more running without shoes on. I had to make sure that next time my clothes stayed on. After all, reality was probably still out there, and I was probably running naked around a psych ward right now. In reality, I was probably showering in some hospital’s supply closet.
I got out and dried, then stepped over the door again to get at my luggage. It was dark, or at least I imagined it as dark, so I grabbed out my pajamas.
I was getting hungry, so I made my way down to the kitchen and started to rummage through the large pantry and then the large fridge, trying to figure out what I wanted the most.
I heard the front door of the mansion open and shut beyond the large door of the kitchen. I straightened and looked in that direction, alert.
Dr. Grumpy Pants walked in, his expression exactly the same now as when I’d seen him last. He looked exhausted, angry, and even a little confused. He looked at me, and after glaring for a second, said, “Where’s Caelum?”
“I haven’t seen him today. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, because I wasn’t going to assure him that the president of Newsome University had turned into a werewolf, gotten into a fight with another wolf, and was probably dead now. In fact, whocouldsay that sentence?
He blinked at me and then stepped towards me, his large body seeming to get even larger until it was hanging over me. “Are you bleeding?” he asked, looking at a scratch on my neck.
“No,” I said, not looking at where he was looking.
He blinked at me like I was nuts. Well, buddy, this was me really trying to pretend I wasn’t. He should be thanking me. It could get a lot weirder if I wanted it to.
“You’re definitely bleeding,” he told me, reaching for my neck.
I was certain that he was large enough that if he so much as touched my neck, he could do irreparable damage, and so I winced away from his hands and stepped backwards. “I’m fine.”
I still had a pretend splinter in my hand and pretend cuts on my feet, but I began to doubt myself, and as I was walking back into the pantry, he said, “Your feet are bleeding too!” He sounded annoyed. I would be too if someone was actually walking across the floor with blood on their feet.
But I didn’t know how to explain blood on my feet without saying things like, “werewolf” and “spanked me” and “ripped off my clothes” all coming into the same story. So, I was just going to deny it as a reality, and I would hope that reality bent to my desires.
“No, they’re fine,” I assured, but he actually picked me up until my butt pressed against the top of the counter.
My butt was fucking killing me, I thought for a moment, but I didn’t know why. Couldn’t have been because I was spanked by a werewolf. I winced as he picked up my foot and looked at it. Whatever he saw there, he didn’t like.
“Fuck, hold on. I’ll get the first aid kit,” he groaned, then skulked out of the kitchen.
I looked around the floor and saw that my foot had made a whole trail of quarter-sized red stains.
He came back with a case that was way over-the-top large for use outside of an actual hospital. He plopped it onto the countertop next to me and started rifling through it.
“You’ve got a weird expression on your face,” he told me as he picked my foot back up.
“You’ve got a weird face,” I retorted. Sure, I was going crazy, but I wasn’t going to let my delusions say whatever they wanted to me. “So, I guess that makes us even.”
“Mature,” he grunted skeptically, then put something on my foot that stung like a motherfucker. “What happened to you?” he asked while I was trying to yank my foot away from him. He seemed very intent on putting Band-Aids on my cuts that didn’t really exist.
“Nothing,” I said, and I don’t know why my voice came out as defensive, because it was the truth. Nothing had happened, I was just having some sort of psychotic episode. I’d probably spent the whole day in bed and didn’t know it.
Because it seemed real. His large, warm, calloused hands sure as hell felt real. Sure, earlier felt real, too, but nothing that was happening now went against the laws of nature, and so I was more willing to trust it.
