Page 6 of Bite Back

DELILAH

“Today’s the day,” Kirby announces. Acid rises in my throat, tinging my mouth with its bitter taste.

I’ve spent the last week holed up in Sarah’s shoebox-sized apartment, hiding from the sun and the ruins of my life.

I’ve just finished bringing Kirby up to speed.

Her ghostly form flickers slightly, growing more transparent.

“Can I go tomorrow?” I groan. I worry that I’m overstepping. I’ve been taking advantage of Sarah’s hospitality. But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Nope.” Sarah pops the p as she crashes down on the couch next to me, jostling her shoulder against mine. “We’re going together. Today,” she adds firmly.

“We’re?” Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them down.

“Yes.” There’s a firmness to Sarah’s tone, one that shuts down my instinct to protest. To insist I don’t need them to help.

“Just because you can do it alone, doesn’t mean you should have to,” Sarah tacks on.

The two of them shoo me out of the apartment and practically push me down the sidewalk that leads to my old apartment. Our old apartment.

I crane my head up at the brick building towering overhead.

“We’re really doing this.”

Sarah grabs my hand. “We’re really doing this.” We march up the steps together. The air smells stale when I push open the door, and I cringe at the red patch staining the wood floor.

“Nope, nope, not looking at that.” Sarah pushes me further in, driving us into the bedroom. She shoves the suitcase we brought into my hands. “Fill her up.”

Trying my best to shut out my thoughts, I riffle through my drawers, picking out the clothes I need the most. Jeans?

Check. Underwear? Check. Socks? Check. T-shirts?

Check. My favorite leather jacket? Check.

When the bag’s brimming with clothes, Sarah takes it from me and zips it shut, clucking approvingly.

“Can we go now?” I beg. Invisible spiders crawl up my arms and run down my spine. I glance towards the door, still promisingly, invitingly cracked open.

Sarah and Kirby exchange a glance, and Sarah fiddles with her phone. Music starts blaring, metal clangs and loud beats shaking the floor of the apartment. “We can go…” Kirby trails off. “Or?” She glides over to the flatscreen and points a finger at it. “His or yours?”

“His.” I wrinkle my brow.

Kirby’s form flickers, her glow growing stronger and more solid. A wicked grin rips across her face as she reaches out and pushes the TV over.

“You knocked that over?” Sarah gasps.

“I knocked that over,” she preens, brushing through her dark fringe. “I’ve been learning some new tricks.”

“You knocked that over.” Sarah dashes forward, running to hug her. And then Kirby drifts over to me and flings her arms around me. It’s not like a normal hug, not exactly. But it’s real and she’s solid and she’s there in my arms until she flickers back and floats through me.

Giddy laughter escapes Kirby’s lips. I’m not an expert in ghosts, but I know ghosts have to learn how to corporealize, a process that can take years. I can’t imagine how trapped she’s felt, not being able to properly interact with the world. Her laughter mingles with my own.

Exhilarated, I follow suit, smashing Luka’s record player. The metal music nearly drowns out the sparkle of the shattering glass.

I let out a wild whoop. Sarah and Kirby laugh more, and I join in. The laughter that leaves me isn’t happy. No. There’s something dark and unhinged about it. It feels like a release. Like permission. Or maybe like finding out we never needed permission at all.

We unleash our anger and laughter. We waltz around the apartment, wreaking destruction.

Items and objects smash and clatter to the ground in a cacophony.

We dance wildly, arms windmilling and toes hopping around the debris we’ve created.

Sarah grabs my arms, and we spin. I stumble towards the wreckage of the TV.

Bits of broken glass slice into my feet, a sharp punctuation to the lightness I feel.

Tiny droplets of blood scatter across the floor before my skin knits back together.

Unlike before, looking at the red splatters doesn’t leave me with the same sick feeling in my stomach.

For a brief, hysterical moment, the blood dotting the floor calls to mind confetti. Something celebratory.

I’ve spent a lot of time mourning what I’ve lost. But this is the first time I’ve celebrated what I’ve escaped.

When we finish, the apartment looks unrecognizable. Shattered glass and bent wood sprawls out across the floor. There’s something liberating about the destruction and chaos. About knowing Luka isn’t the only one who can wreck things. And if I can ruin this, maybe I can ruin him.

I swing my suitcase up the stoop of Sarah’s apartment building’s back entrance. Before my transformation, I would have been drenched with sweat from lugging the bulging bag up the subway stairs. But my newfound strength makes the task easy.

Sarah rattles her key in the lock, and the door swings open revealing a narrow entryway and a small service elevator. It’s tiny and rickety, but apparently the only other option is dragging the bags up four flights of stairs.

She maneuvers my other suitcase through the entryway and turns back to me. “We’re definitely going to have to take them up one at a time.”

I wince internally. I already feel like I’m imposing by taking her up on her offer to crash here.

Her eyebrows rise and she clucks, extending a finger towards me. “No.” My grip on the door tightens. “I’m a wolf. I’m a pack animal. I want to help. Besides, kindness isn’t something you earn.”

She swings the suitcase into the elevator with her and slides the grate shut. Its thud punctuates her words.

I lean up against the door and wipe my hair from my forehead with the back of my wrist. I want to believe Sarah. But I’m not there yet.

I lean my head back against the open door. The sounds of the city wash over me—the pounding of feet on the sidewalk, the rustle of pigeon wings, the distant blare of a siren, the jarring honk of a horn, a high-pitched…meow?

My head spins towards the source of the noise. A fluffy cat crouches at the mouth of the alleyway. Her chocolatey brown hair stands on end, and her tail’s tucked between her legs as she regards me with wide eyes.

“Hey there, little one.” I ease my way off the door, gently tucking it shut. I step towards her, and her ears swivel back. “Okay, okay.” I raise my hands. “It’s okay.” I crouch down, hoping she’ll find me less intimidating on her level. She remains stock still, green eyes trained on me intently.

The ground rumbles beneath my feet, a subway passing under us. She gives a tiny jump. My heart melts. From her reaction and the smooth gleam of her coat, she’s no street cat.

She’s not equipped to be out here on her own. What should I do? I could use my newfound speed to dart forward, try to catch her? But, she’s already skittish, primed to run. I can’t risk scaring her more than she already is.

Which means I have to convince her to trust me. Slowly, I extend my hand as I softly click my tongue. Nothing. Then, hesitatingly, she moves one paw forward. Then another, until she’s in front of me, her damp nose sniffing my outstretched palm.

A sunbeam hits her fur, painting the chocolate brown a rainbow of reds and greens.

My hand reaches out to stroke her, softly at first and then with more pressure as she leans into the contact, a low purr emanating from her chest. Her fur’s silky under my palm, although I detect a few spots where it’s become matted.

“Oh you’re such a good girl,” I coo. She looks up at me, like she understands and appreciates my praise.

The door swings open, a loud squeal filling the alley. The cat stiffens underneath my hand and scampers away.

“Fuck.” I turn my head to find Sarah standing there, eyes wide as she no doubt pieces together her accidental interruption.

She gives me a rueful grimace. “Fuck, indeed.”

I jog toward the mouth of the alley. I strain my newfound senses, trying to pick through the sights, sounds, and smells.

A leaf swirls through the air. Pedestrians weave around each other, footfalls pounding against the sidewalk.

Fingers tap softly on phone screens. Car motors rumble and horns blare.

Conversations overlap. The savory scent of pizza from the corner shop melds with the bitter aroma of coffee from the cafe. A million details.

Just not the ones I’m looking for.

I groan and head back up to Sarah’s apartment.