After much contemplation, I've continued on the story of Mates for Life. A bit less subtle in this story since it's in the girl's perspective.

Enjoy!

Chapters:
1) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2764870
2) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2801051/
3) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2804963
4) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2810590/
5) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2821802/
6) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2823835/
7) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2829436/
8) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2837954
9) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2849509/
10) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2852713/
11) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2859205/
12) http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2859219/

* * *

That scratching. That constant scratching at my door, like a pet who desperately wants in. It was probably that mangy cat again, wanting scraps from Dad’s last dinner. Trekking to the door came slowly on wheels these days, since losing the ability to walk on my legs. Oh, that scratching! Just stop, and I’ll come over there! Blasted cat. The next time I speak to Mrs. Geldson, I’m going to tell her to keep a closer eye on that tabby of hers.

I grabbed the doorknob but jumped back, a slight gasp. Cold! I grab my jacket off the rack and open the creaking door. I check left and right, roll out a little, look out into my barren, boring front yard(not even weeds grew in that field) out into the boring street out into the decrepit, dull boring neighborhood. Nothing. Not a single person in sight. No cat, no Mrs. Geldson, not even that annoying kid who leaves flaming bags on my porch. Even his company would be welcome out here in this part of Vermont. I miss everyone, especially him.

Why did he have to die?

Something crunches underneath my wheel. Pulling back, I have a closer look at it. I can’t believe my eyes. Yellow Begonias! Those were always my favorite flowers, even the wild ones. I hope I didn’t ruin them. Picking them and checking the stems, I can see very well that they weren’t harmed. What a relief.

Rolling myself inside, I go on and put them into my growing collection of Begonias, still in bloom and in perfect health. Not a single wilting petal in sight. The vivid color of yellow glowed in the lamplight, making me think of many things as yellow and golden as these. The sun, the maple leaves in autumn, my favorite church dress. Yellow has always been my favorite color, which was probably why I liked them so much. And he knew me so well like the back of his hand.

But he’s dead now, isn’t he?

It’s been well over six months since the accident outside of Burlington. What happened that night felt like a bad dream. I look back on it, and I remember as the car rumbled and tumbled down the hill, crash and burned in the woods, I was screaming in pain and agony, crying for help. I can’t remember how much it hurt anymore. I only remember that the nightmare was broken when a local passerby stopped and saw the accident. He delved deep into the birch and maple, searching for anyone who could have possibly survived that crash. How could anyone survive that crash, I wonder. Maybe I was just lucky then.

I was taken to the nearest hospital, whatever it was called, and treated as soon as possible. My father was contacted on my emergency phone list, where a doctor broke the news to him and I. My heart sank when I found out I was paralyzed to the waist down. I would never walk again. I would never run, never dance, never ski or sprint, lope, gait, jump or even stride. All of it, gone. Like the car as it rumbled and tumbled down that hill. All for what?

Mother would be so ashamed of me.

I can hear my father’s voice as he calls out to me now. He’s telling me dinner is ready. I shut the lamp off and roll into the small, dusty kitchen, where a plate of pot roast lie on the finest china we had in the house. Mother had never let us use her china before.

“Dad…?” I frown at him as he scrapes away the grit on his prized crockpot, the sink faucet dripping softly.

He gapes over his shoulder at me, and smiled assuredly. “The dishwasher’s broken again. I didn’t have anything else. Come on. Dig in, Champ.”

I flinch at the sound of that. Champ. Ever since the accident, that’s what he’s been calling me. A champ. What have I ever done that was every considered worthy of “championess”? Well, I suppose I was still alive. Even with that, I was ashamed of myself. It should’ve been me that was left to the wolves, not him.

I roll over to the table, take a stained fork and dull steak knife, and slowly cut into the meat. The smell of potatoes and carrots is strong with a hint of salt. He had always liked my Dad’s cooking. I would normally have just stared at it like every day and Dad would force feed me like he always did, but I feel different today. It might be the begonias sitting on the lamplight. Someone out there’s trying to cheer me up.

My dad’s expression is humorous as he sees me wolfing down the pot roast. “Whoa, Champ, slow down. You’ll get sick if you eat that too fast, don’t you know?”

I inhale a little, swallowing the meat, and then drinking a little of the milk from Farmer Mordecai’s. It was thick and rich with taste. My dad clears his throat and points to my lips. Taking my napkin, I clean the mustache right off. I don’t know why I got so hungry all of a sudden.

“So, I see you got your appetite again. I never knew my cooking is that good.”

I smile thinly. I’m sure how to say it. Most of these nights nowadays were really quiet, and me and Dad only spoke for so long. Tonight was different, just like my appetite, the china on the table, and the pot roast we could never afford to eat. Everything tonight just seemed more interesting. I just had to say something. “I think I’m in love, Dad.”

He raises an eyebrow and the peaks outside. “Oh, I see.” He starts to eat a little of his pot roast, much happier than before. “Well, I’m sure when he does come around to meeting you again, that it’ll be the best thing to happen to you since…”

He stopped himself right then. I just gape at him, expecting him to say something like, “since the time your old boyfriend died in that horrible car accident that was entirely your fault,” or “since when your mother died of that cancer thing, remember?” He and I both knew what he was about to say, and it was going to be something that ruined my appetite once again.

Instead he changed the subject. He said with a broad grin. “My boss at the plant says I can have some time off since I’ve already put in more hours this week than he can afford to pay. So I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie sometime tomorrow, and then maybe walk around Lake Shaftsbury later that night.”

I think about it for a few seconds, and seconds turned to minutes. I didn’t really know what to think about it. Stuff like that doesn’t matter much to me. Nothing really did. But Dad looked excited to do this. Normally after this, he quietly heads to his room. Sometimes I hear him cry a little from my own bed. I hate it when that happens. It’s not his fault this happened to me, right?

I nod. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

Dad beamed. I knew it was exactly what he wanted to hear. “Thank you. It’ll be down in Burlington. I’ll let you pick the movie to watch.”

“Thanks.”

And that is all we said that night. After that, we just ate dinner quietly, enjoying the roast. I wound up putting my leftovers into our old family fridge. I really wasn’t that hungry, after all. Like usual, he would carry me up the stairs into my room, the images of wolves welcoming me back home. He tucks me in with the quilt my grandmother made for me, soft as a rabbit, then kisses me on my head and closes the door. Do these routines even matter anymore? I’m not ten anymore.
Never mind.

It takes me a while to go back asleep. Sometimes I usually read a book to help me sleep, and even rarely will I pick up my cobalt DS my Dad bought for me a while back. Some of my escapes for reality. Not even Alice Borchadt or Anne Rice or even my favorite author, Kate Elliot, can help me tonight. I am just too excited to sleep. My heart is racing with the idea that Someone out there is looking for me. Someone who knows me very well. A secret admirer? I can’t say. I just know that it must be someone I know.

As the night dragged, and my energy drain, I stared into the posters of the wolves, gleaming in the moonlight. Their eyes gaze through my eyes and pierce my soul. I can swear that when the wolves from outside my window howl, the posters almost come to life. Maybe that’s just my imagination running wild. Slowly, ever slowly, the world darkens and I sleep and dream.

I can’t remember much of the dream because of what happened after, but from what I can remember, it was happy. I was walking again. My clothes, shimmering like lake champlain on a sunny day, rustled against a meadow covered with begonias of sunshine yellow. And I can see him. I can see him perfectly, exactly as he was before the accident. He and I ran for what felt like hours, pollen shooting up into the air with every footstep. Then we embraced and the flowers shot up into the sky.

But then everything went dark and quiet. It was night and the wind howled so loudly. Then I realized it wasn’t the wind I was hearing. I gazed at the arms that were holding me and I saw they were covered in fur. Dark coarse, fur. Then I looked up and saw a drooling, snarling muzzle looming over my face. What was happening? He let loose a howl again in the air, the clouds creaking and snapping like a person coming through a door.
And now I find myself gasping for breath, my heart pounding. I can never tell what exactly what I was feeling, terrified or excited. But the strangest thing about that dream was I actually liked it.

Then I hear it now so carefully, realizing the creaking and snapping wasn’t part of the dream. Only there is no creaking and rapping now. Only a rapping. The rapping of the stairs, slowly and carefully. The footsteps of a man who doesn’t want anyone to know he’s up. Not even Dad walk this quietly. A light shines underneath my door. And slowly, so slowly, the door knob began to turn.

I swallow hard, not willing to let my fear get the best of me. “D-Daddy?”

What flies into the door is not my Dad. It’s a man dressed in shoddy black clothes, a knife in one hand, and a flashlight in another. I can’t see his face, shrouded in a hood, but he strides over like a giant, grabbing my hair and bearing his knife against my throat. It hurts so much! Daddy, help me!

“Hey, baby. Make a sound and I’ll slit your throat.” I nod in understanding. “Where’s your strongbox? Get up!”

I look at him, confused. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I—“

“Shut up.” I’m suddenly flying as I’m dragged across the wooden floor, screaming briefly as he takes me out into the hallway and down the stairs.

"Get up, you stupid bimbo! Are you freaking handicapped or something?!”

It’s so hard to think right now. What was I trying to tell him? Right! I point to the wheelchair, and then he shakes his head and presses the knife deeper into my neck. I can feel its edge digging into my skin, hungry for blood. “Where’s the strongbox?”

I have an idea. I point to the little box on the wall next to the front door, just a plain white box, and tell him to enter four-five-five-three. He thinks he’s so clever as he glides over to the box, stealthy as a cat, and dials in the numbers and pressing enter soon after. I beam broadly as my ears yell in pain. The whole house blares out

“Security breach! Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!”

He growls in frustration, knowing he’s lost. But he’s not finished yet.

“You bitch!”

He drags me by the hair into the kitchen. Doesn’t he know how much that hurts! Stop it! He throws me down and gets ready to slip my throat. I can already see my life passing by. He is going to kill me right now for lying to him. Was I such an idiot for lying to him? Does it even matter?

But something strange happens. As he sinks down to kill me, a larger menacing shadow rises behind him. From the look on my eyes, he knows something strange and menacing is looming over him, his eyes shining a pale blue in the moonlight. Taking his knife he slowly stands up and then swiftly slashes at the shadow. His arm is crushed by the monster’s furry arm, twisting and cracking. It almost looks like something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

The shadow then steps into the moonlight, and his body takes dimension. Eight feet of white fur covers him from head to toe, a bushy tail hanging behind him. He stands on meaty hind paws, his body rippling with muscles, and atop a thick neck and mane of white fur, his lupine muzzle drooled with his fangs bared, his pointed ears flattened back in anger.

“You,” I say quietly, visualizing again the werewolf in my dream. It came true!

The werewolf lets out a terrible snarl, a snarl so terrible that the burglar lets out a scream, the bravado and intimidation leaving him as something far more bigger and menacing bullies the smaller bully. With a swing of just one arm, he throws him out the kitchen window above the sink, the glass shattering and wolves barking as they run towards his screams. Eventually the burglar quiets down. Good. I couldn’t put up with him much longer, anyway.

For the longest time, the werewolf and I just stare at each other. We watch each other quietly. It’s so strange how he whines, how the way his tail wags and his eyes shine look at me. I can almost swear those eyes are familiar. And then a feeling of warmth passes through my body. Deep down, I somehow know this creature. More than I do than the wolf in the dream. And my thoughts start to come up with one of the strangest ideas, knowing full well the impossibility of it. But it can’t be.

Then his ears prick up. Something’s pounding down the stairs as the siren dies away.

“Sylvia!”, my father shouts out.

In a flash, the creature runs out again, disappearing into the shadow. I move to cry out, “Wait! Don’t go!” but he’s already gone, passed into the shadow. Maybe he can't understand me. The wolves have quieted down as well. My father rushes into the kitchen, turning the kitchen lights on with his prized bat raised. Seeing me lying on the floor, he rushes over and comes to check over me.

“Are you all right?” He says, gasping for breath. He hasn’t been exercising as much as he used to.

I look up at him, just glad to see someone I know. “Oh, daddy.”He cups my face in his arms, rocking me back and forth. “It’s all right. He’s gone now. It’s all over.”

Something bright catches my attention. I look over his shoulder and I’m surprised at what I see. A lonely yellow begonia, freshly picked is resting on the floor where my rescuer was. It was as fresh and fragrant as all the other ones before.

My secret admirer. At last I’ve found you.