Agoraphobic Werewolf

Agoraphobic Werewolf
Chp. 1

              Yuck. I could still taste the blood of the poor innocent rabbit from my dream. I shook off the sweat-soaked blankets that stuck uncomfortably close to my body and stumbled, still half-asleep, into my bathroom.
         I fumbled with the slats of the medicine cabinet in a clumsy attempt at opening it. Eventually, I succeeded, dragging out my toothbrush.
         Staring speculatively into the mirror at the dark circles beneath my bloodshot eyes, the scratches over my left cheekbone, and my split bottom lip, I determined that I must have had one heck of a dream. I brushed my teeth without a second thought.
         But when I leaned over to rinse out my mouth, the mixture of toothpaste and saliva washed the sink with crimson. 
         Considering that the toothpaste was Colgate Whitening Expressions Vanilla-flavored, that wasn’t a good sign. I may have raised an eyebrow, but everything was still numb from slumber and I wasn’t entirely sure.
Not long after I pondered this twist of events, the shower beckoned me. When I finished shampooing my hair and lathering the rest of my body with hypoallergenic cleanser and felt that I had sufficiently boiled myself awake, I brooded over my strange dream.
I was vegetarian for Christ’s sake! Why would I dream about hunting, killing, and thereafter eating a defenseless rabbit?
I was hallucinating. It was the only explanation.
Either that or I was completely nuts.
Looking back on it now, I guess I should have listened to my therapist and stayed in Washington State instead of moving to Alaska. I didn’t have to move to Alaska. Though when my dream of becoming a published author (finally) became realized, I imagined that relocating myself to a place with less people and fuss would help me finish the second novel in the series.
Big mistake. It took me almost two weeks to drive through Canada and the Yukon with a trailer latched behind my truck that housed all of my worldly possessions until I finally reached Fairbanks.
         That wasn’t the awful part. I already had severe social anxiety and a slight bout of agoraphobia, which I had been getting treatment for since the age of twelve. I couldn’t find another counselor, though I still keep in contact with Judith—my old one—via email.
         I had only been here for about a month, in a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the town, and I already feared the outside world. It wasn’t altogether unbearable yet; the panic attacks could be subdued with a few deep breaths and sharp mental reprimands. But I dreaded what could happen if it got worse.
         Rattling the bottle of prescription Zoloft as I combed stray knots out of my hair, I prepared myself for going to the grocery store. It was sad, really. Pathetic. I couldn’t even go to the freaking store without panicking.
         Stop thinking that. It defeats the purpose of the Zoloft. Two words: —or one if you want to get technical—anti-depressant!
         Yeah well, you’re just my subconscious. Why should I listen to you anyway?
         You got to quit blocking me out, you know. I am part of you.
          Well then why haven’t you helped me before? When I needed you most during those horrible adolescent situations?
         I, uhhh…
         I knew it. I’m talking to myself. I’m losing it. 
         My subconscious decided not to answer. It shamed me to admit that I paused during the act of dressing to see if it—I replied. With one last flick of the wrist, I buttoned my jeans and straightened the plain, black blouse. I always felt a little more comfortable wearing black. For some bizarre reason, it made me feel a little less conspicuous.
         If only there was something out there to make me invisible.
         I halted briefly when I gripped the knob of the front door with my left hand. My right held the house and truck’s keys. Breath in, breathe out. That’s it. You can do this. The people in the outside world’s purpose in life are not solely to judge you. Heck, they don’t even care about you. Somehow the thought that I was a meaningless speck of existence in a world of more than seven billion people was worse than being inspected by seven billion people. I decided to forget about that.
         Whoa. Wait a second. My subconscious was back! Yay! Oh. Darn it. My subconscious is me. I am such an idiot.
         Hey!
         Huh?
         Stop calling us an idiot.
         That makes no sense.
         Don’t make such a big deal about it. Okay, now twist the doorknob slowly…Yeah, just like that. Despite my mind’s encouraging words, my breath fluttered in my chest and the familiar roil of nausea invaded my stomach.
         I can’t do this.
         If you don’t, you’ll starve to death.
         Would that be such a bad thing?
         Stop acting like a suicidal teenager. Repeat after me: You. Are. Only. Nineteen… You. Have. Loyal. Fans. Awaiting. Your. New. Novel. I mouthed the words as fast as I thought them. Okay. Suicide was not an option. I closed my eyes tightly and opened the door and stepped out in one jerky, but continuous, motion. I shut it behind me, my chest heaving with each inhalation. I locked the door and refused to look back at it.
         Don’t even think about it. Move towards the truck…
         It was a dark-blue Dodge Ram. I glanced wearily at the ground beneath my feet, then at the houses beside and in front of my own. Can I make it? You better. At least one part of us is smart enough to realize that we’re hungry.
         I took a tentative step towards the truck; then a second, and a third and finally a fourth. A thunderous vroom startled me out of my accomplishment. The noisy vehicle shot past me and my truck and I dropped my keys during my haste to get back into the house.
         I was going to throw up, I realized. Not until I get inside please! Tears blurred my vision as I scrambled to find the keys to the house in the gravel of the driveway. Oh no. Please. If God has any mercy for me, don’t allow anyone to see me like this!
         “Miss? Excuse me, but, are you all right?” a passerby called out, concerned.
         I hate my life. With one hand shielding my face, the other sifted through the gravel and ultimately returned with the key ring. I sobbed in relief, pulling my knees to my face and simply rocking back and forth.
         Why me?
         The poor man who had been walking by as this took place stood in front of my truck awkwardly.  “Do you, uh, need help?”
         Oh sure. And have me committed perhaps? I shook my head quickly and grappled ineffectively to quiet my pathetic blubbering.
         ------------------_____________________------------------
To be continued soon.