The first thing he noticed when he regained consciousness of his body was that he felt no pain. Of any kind, anywhere. In fact, he definitely felt good. He then wondered if he was still dreaming. He could have opened his eyes and found out what was there. If it had been a dream he would probably have seen something beautiful as the pain was no longer there. For a few minutes she lulled herself into that pleasant feeling of well-being, then decided to open her eyes. Michael was there, beside her. She smiled at him.
"Welcome back among us," he told her. But the smile was forced. His hand brushed her forehead and brought back a lock of hair.
Alex's skin felt that touch in an amplified way, as if every single cell sent the message of that contact to his brain. It was not unpleasant, but it was a strange sensation.
"How do you feel?"
Michael's voice was also full of new nuances. The tone, low; the feelings: anxiety, apprehension, sadness and joy all at once. "Good," he finally replied. "I wish I didn't have to wake up. I feel so good. But you said they hurt me, and when I wake up I won't feel as good." She smiled at him. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and the light from the lamp forced her to squint. She felt them burn and fill with tears. She blinked and frowned. That should not have been in the dream: it was quite annoying. She wondered what she would like to do. Perhaps a nice walk in the park, under a warm, summer sun. She liked that idea. A bit of peace in the big mess that had become her life.
"Alex?" Michael's hand brushed her arm and she felt the warmth of his fingers even after he had moved them. She turned back to him.
"This is not a dream," he told her. He looked fearful.
Was she then dead? And what the hell was Michael doing there? Was he dead too? She did not like the turn of events. She closed her eyes and sat up. She grabbed the sheet before it uncovered her chest, realising in time that she had no shirt on. Looking at herself she noticed instead the large number of blood-stained dressings. She ran her hand over one of them, then looked at Michael questioningly. How the hell had she slept to be practically healed from all those wounds? Michael must have rendered her unconscious the whole time so she wouldn't feel the pain. "When was I injured?"
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Alex tore off one of the plasters and saw that the wound had already begun to heal. He shook his head. "How is it possible..."
"Alex. Look at me." She lifted her gaze to meet his. Michael seemed to lose himself in those grey eyes like storm clouds. "I don't know what you remember. But a burst of machine gunfire hit you square in the face. You were losing a lot of blood... I had to."
"Do what?" He began to fidget.
"I transformed you. You are one of us now."
It seemed to Alex that time had frozen. That moment was prolonged and became infinite time. Frost penetrated right into the joints. He looked at himself and then back at Michael. "You should have asked me."
"You were dying. I couldn't let that happen. I know I had no right to do what I did." He did not lower his gaze, trying to convey to her everything he was feeling at that moment. "But I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."
"I would like you to leave me alone now."
He nodded, and after one last glance turned away and walked out.
Alex watched the door close, then his own hand dropped into his lap. She was no longer human. She was a werewolf. A werewolf. A monster, an aberration. She got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. She removed the dressings one by one, each time observing her healing skin. Then he turned on the water in the shower and stood under the hot stream. He stayed there for a long time, and when he stepped out of the shower stall, the room was flooded with steam.
Slowly she approached the mirror, then stretched out a hand and passed it over it. Her image appeared among myriads of water droplets. She stood looking at herself, wondering who she was now. She had lost the only thing she had ever counted on, the only certainty in her life. Herself. In all her existence she had never been able to count on anything or anyone. Everything changed too often around her, places, people, objects. The only constant was her. She knew who she was, how she would behave and how she would react. But now all that had been taken away from her. She had nothing left. If she could have, she would have fled from her own skin. With a scream in which all her anger and frustration was encapsulated, she punched the mirror. Then she began to cry. They were tears of anger and fear, but above all they were the tears of a lifetime.
She did not hear the door open behind her. And when Michael wrapped her in a towel and embraced her, she did not rebel. She felt drained and tired. She no longer even knew who she had to fight against.
He held her close to him and let her vent. In silence he led her to her room on the first floor. He dried her and helped her dress. Her bewildered eyes and silence weighed like a boulder on his chest. He would have preferred her to get angry, to punch him, to insult him, but seeing her in that state, so... helpless, was heartbreaking.
"Why did you do this to me?"
The immense pain contained in those few words made him feel even worse. "I didn't want you to die."
"So you turned me into a monster that will kill its own kind?"
"Is that what you think of us?"
"You were born this way. Some time ago you told me that he who transforms himself...." It was so hard to say! "...have trouble controlling their aggression."
"I will teach you." He walked over to her, sitting beside her on the bed. "You're still you Alex. You will not become a bloodthirsty monster. You will remain what you are."
But she could not believe it. She felt something inside her, something that wanted to come out, and she was afraid it would take over her soul as well as her body.
"You will learn to manage your feral part. And your life will not change. You will be able to do everything you did before... and something more."
It was that extra something that scared her. But now she didn't want to think about it. She curled up in the corner of the bed and closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would come and bring oblivion.