She didn’t tell me why she’d begged to leave the previous two foster homes. All I knew was that she was content to remain with the third even though they hit her for no reason. I asked her why she stayed, and she said it was the best she would get. Even as a twelve-year-old I had an idea of what she’d been through and I wasn’t okay with any of it being true.
That night we had a sleepover at my house, not that my dad was home and not that her foster parents cared or knew where she was. It was nice to pretend it was a real playdate. To pretend like we had normal, loving parents who cared about us. I asked her why she’d left the last foster home, but she just shook her head and started to quietly cry. When I thought she was going to let up on the gentle tears that were falling down her face, I leaned in to hug her and she grabbed me fiercely, sobbing hysterically into my chest. Later that night she woke up screaming and I just held her until she fell back asleep. That was almost a decade ago.
Since then, we’ve been each other’s rock.
I grab my keys in the living room and get ready to lock the door to our place. While I wait for Lizzie to grab whatever the hell she’s getting, I smile at the sight of our secondhand sofa. Our apartment is finally starting to look like a home. We were able to get jobs at a bookstore after we turned sixteen and as soon as we could afford it, we moved in together. I shake my head, thinking about how we were constantly broke. Between the two of us, we finally had enough saved up just before high school graduation. It’s been about a year of us living together in our small one-bedroom studio. I’ve loved every single second. This is what family is supposed to feel like. Plus we have an amazing shoe collection.
Minutes and more minutes pass of Lizzie not getting her ass to the front door.
“We’re not going to be able to get coffee,” I yell down the hall, knowing the threat will get her attention.
She shrieks and runs into the room barefoot, shaking out her blond hair with a huge smile across her face as I laugh. That’s the thing I love most about Lizzie. She never lets anything get her down for too long; she refuses not to smile. Without that optimism and without her friendship, I don’t know how I would’ve survived.
She meets me at the front door with a pair of spiked black heels in hand. “Let’s do this shit.”
Grace
As we pull into the line at the drive-through for our favorite coffee shop, I can’t help but to feel anxious. So much so that my foot on the brake slips and the car jolts. “Shit, sorry.”
Lizzie only lets out a short laugh, the worry I feel slightly reflected in her expression.
“What if they take someone this year?” My nerves are getting the best of me now. My tried and true pink heels aren’t making me feel a damn bit confident. After we pulled away from our apartment, I could feel my hands growing hot and numb. My breath is coming in shallow and short, and it’s starting to give me a headache. Deep, deliberate breathing isn’t helping to calm me down; I just can’t get rid of this uneasiness. I shake out my hands again and unsuccessfully try to swallow the spiked lump in my throat while Lizzie fidgets next to me.
Not much is known about shifters, not even the werewolves who initially offered us the treaty. The different species stay to themselves, each in their own little group. Intermingling generally ends with a bloodbath and no one wants that. A few books have been published, but they’ve been proven to be unreliable. A recent news report even said one of the bestsellers on supernatural beings was put out by a vampire as a joke and that it was full of lies. Just thinking of vampires makes my skin crawl. The nonhumans have their own politics and territories, and we have ours.
All of us keep to ourselves … except for days like these.
These are the shit days, but we don’t have much choice. We’re weaker. It’s as simple as that. Humans have come to rely on treaties for protection. After all, we don’t have their natural-born strength and our weapons don’t do a thing to hurt them. I’ve even read about towns that have pacts with vampires, while others have allied with witches. Not in our town, though. Our treaty only applies to the werewolves of Shadow Falls. The other species know it and stay far away. Which I suppose I should be grateful for. I think I would be, if it weren’t for the offering they demand.