Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted - Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Ava: Her Name’s Selene
Chapters 11-17 have been rewritten to improve story flow and pacing. [June 27, 2024]

—–

The dream clings to me, leaving my heart pounding.

But it’s not real.

Just a nightmare.

Rolling over, I curl into a ball to fight the shivers wracking my body. The fleece throw is both too hot and too cold, and I can’t take it off. When I do, I’m dying like I’ve been thrown straight into a snowbank, naked. With it on, I feel like I’m going to drown in sweat, but at least it’s less uncomfortable.

The unsettling dream lingers in my head, the sensation of dirty feet and crunchy leaves echoing against my feet.

Unease crawls down my spine, anxiety doing its damnedest to take over.

I ignore it as best as I can in my current state.

Sleep, I need sleep. Maybe if I can just drift off again, I’ll wake up feeling better. Renewed.

But no matter how determined I am, my body rebels, keeping me awake.

I can’t get comfortable. The couch, all cozy comfort, now feels lumpy and unwelcoming beneath me.

Minutes crawl by.

Still awake.

With a groan of defeat, I force myself off the couch. The room spins for a moment, and I grip the armrest hold myself up.

Bathroom first. Then medicine.

The trek to the toilet is a monumental effort, a full exercise routine.

My heart pounds and sweat pours down my back by the time I’m done. I should get a badge for not peeing myself when I feel like this.

Maybe a trophy acknowledging my survival of the common cold will help me feel better.

The kitchen is next as I hunt down the Tylenol I’d left on the counter somewhere. Even pulling the cotton balls out of the brand new jar makes me want to quit and lay back down, but I persevere.

Congratulations, Ava. You did it.

Popping two pills into my mouth, I fill a glass of water at the sink and swallow them with a sip of calcium and other minerals.

Gross.

The bitter taste of the tablets remains on my tongue and I wash it down with more tap water.

I have bottles of water. They’re in the fridge, five feet behind me.

Too far.

Suffering is easier.

Leaning against the counter as I try to hype myself up for the walk back to the living room, the hair on my arms prickle into standing, my anxiety on full flare-up mode.

It’s that feeling again, like something—someone—is watching me.

I’ve relied on my senses in the past to avoid beatings at the hands of Todd and his cronies, but there’s nothing here to be afraid of.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

Still, I drag myself to the windows, pulling the curtains closed.

Light still filters through the thin fabric, but it helps me feel a little better.

The clouds outside are heavy and dark, promising rain to come. It feels later than it is, the gloom making it seem like evening instead of early afternoon.

I’ve probably been suffering for a solid five hours, and it feels like it’s been a week.

Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I squint at the bright screen as I type out a quick message to Mrs. Elkins.

[AVA: Not feeling well today. Might not make it in tomorrow. Will keep you updated.]

I hate leaving her short-staffed, but I know I’m in no shape to work right now.

I sway on my feet. Maybe the bedroom would be a better idea. The bed is more comfortable than the couch, and the darker room might help me sleep.

I’m about to head that way when a sound stops me in my tracks.

A scratch. A scrabble of claws against wood.

It’s coming from the front door.

Panic bolts my feet to the floor and yanks my heart into my throat. The dream and its effects return in full force.

It’s just my imagination. It has to be.

But then I hear it again. Louder this time.

Slowly, I force myself to move. One step. Two. I creep down the hall, my heart pounding in my ears. By the time I reach the door, my palms are slick with sweat, and my breath comes in shallow gasps.

Steeling myself, I reach for the knob. My hand shakes as I turn it, the click of the latch sounding unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

I crack the door open, just an inch. Enough to see, but not enough to be seen.

Nothing. The hallway is empty.

I’m about to close the door, relief flooding through me, when a flash of silver catches my eye.

And then, before I can react, something shoves the door open with surprising force.

I stumble back, a yelp of surprise and fear escaping my lips as I lose my balance and fall.

But it’s not some shadowy monster that comes barreling into my apartment.

It’s a dog.

A very familiar dog.

The silver husky who’s been escaping Animal Control every day has shoved her way into my apartment, sniffing around like she belongs here.

The feeling of being watched eases a little between my shoulder blades, and I lean against the door to close it, coughing at the dose of fresh air.

“Hey, doggy. You don’t live here.”

My voice is barely there, as scratchy as my throat is. I could rival a bullfrog in the evening.

Still, the dog’s ears flick toward me.

But she ignores me.

Instead she beelines for a window, sniffing at it like there’s chocolate hidden in the pane.

“Come on, puppy. I’ll call animal control.”

But first, I need to sit down. I used up too much energy with my fear and paranoia, and now my legs shake too much to hold me up.

The wall and my coffee table help keep my balance as I stagger my way to the couch, flopping into it in relief. My phone is… somewhere.

I texted Mrs. Elkins, so it should be around here.

But finding it just seems like too much work.

“If you pee in here, you’re going back outside,” I warn her, watching her tail wag.

She’s a nice dog. It shouldn’t be hard to find a home. They might need a twenty-foot fence to keep her Houdini self contained, though.

I’ll send her back to the shelter in the morning. For now, I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself. It’s not like I brought her here; she just waltzed in.

Maybe she wants shelter from the rain.

Can’t blame a dog for not wanting to be in the rain.

Fully aware that I’m making excuses and that my soft heart wants to keep her forever, I settle into the couch as comfortably as I can manage, hoping the Tylenol kicks in soon, and watch her.

I’m not keeping her, of course, but I’ve kind of decided on her name already.

Selene.

It sounds right.

The now-named dog I’m definitely not keeping continues her sniffing adventure, her nails clicking against hardwood in a loud and somewhat comforting rhythm. She makes her way to each window, her inhales hard and rapid, like she’s found some chocolate or something.

Her ears twitch, alert and focused, as she investigates.

Is she looking for a way out?

But she eventually turns away from the windows, heading toward the bedroom. She pauses at the threshold, her nose twitching as she takes in the scents. For a moment, I think she might venture inside, but then she seems to lose interest.

With a soft huff, she turns and pads back to where I’m sprawled on the couch.

Reaching out a hand, I smile as she nuzzles into it, her fur soft, tickling my skin. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?” I murmur, scratching behind her ears. She leans into the touch, her tail thumping gently against the floor in appreciation.