Anaesthetic Heart

The early morning air pouring in through my cracked window was cold, as it bite at my face and exposed skin. I groaned, and rolled from my bed. It was early, still before sunrise, maybe somewhere around five o'clock. I couldn't lay in bed anymore, my thoughts were too demanding and my conscious was unrelenting. My sleep had been restless, and as I stretched, I was feeling the tossing and turning I had done sink down into my joints and settle there. My body was exhausted, my mind even more so.

The room was chilly, gooseflesh rising on my arms as I groggily slammed the window shut. I instantly regretted the shorts I had worn to bed the previous night, as I pulled on the fabric and felt the gooseflesh spread to my thighs. I grabbed my cell phone off my window sill, and made my way out of the room and down the hall. I stopped outside of each door as I passed, listening for sounds of life.

Behind each door there was nothing but the soft grumblings of sleep, the gentle hum reminding me that I should still be in my bed, fast asleep and dreaming. The hallway was dark and as I reached the end of the hall I paused at my father’s door, listening for any noises. His deep snore that usually filled the room until late morning was gone, and the silence beyond the wooden door made me pause a moment longer. I looked down to my feet and the crack beneath the door, only to see the soft flicker of light underneath it. Sighing, I raised my hand and gently knocked.

Without waiting for a response, I placed my hand on the knob and slowly opened the door. When I peaked in, I could see my father sitting in a large armchair scribbling in a small notebook, his hair mussed from sleep and still in his flannel pajamas. I pushed the door open more, and he craned his neck around at me, “Danielle, what are you doing up?”

"I couldn't sleep," I mumbled, shutting the door behind me as I fully entered the room. The fireplace was blazing warm, and light up the room as I sat in the armchair across from my father. I pulled my feet up, tucking them under myself as I watched my father finish scribbling in his book, “You couldn’t sleep, either?” My words were gentle, trying not to disrupt him as he finished his line.

“No, seems not. I had a few ideas I needed to get to the council immediately, and I knew if I didn’t right them down I’d forget them. My mind has been scattered, lately.” His usually smooth voice was a little choppier than normal, but I ignored it as I watched him tiredly rub his eyes.

“I understand,” I mumbled, planting my chin on my knees as I watched my father close his notebook and place it aside. He sighed heavily, and rubbed his eyes again.

“How have you been Danielle?” He asked, his voice low and hand hovering over his eyes. I could hear the underlying tension, and the stress from the past weeks hanging on his words, “I mean, how have you really been?” He emphasized the word really, as he raised his eyes and met mine, looking deeper.

I cast my eyes to the fire place, and watched the flames licking at the grate. The fire was tall, and I could feel the heat radiating off it. The large tendrils grabbed at the air greedily, like desperate fingers grasping for the last remains of food on the table, poverty stricken and savage. The fire was dying for oxygen to fuel its depths, as it lit up the air in its tormented dance for survival. The coals burned, changing colours as it flickered, suffocating underneath the logs. I feel like that fire, I thought as I chewed my lip, I feel like I’m reaching for something out of my grasp, I feel like I’m suffocating, I feel like I’m being crushed. I looked up, and plastered a smile on my face, “I’m fine, Daddy.”

“Danielle,” My Dad’s tone was firm, as he closed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. I could see by the way he moved that he was tired, most likely from not being used to being awake so early. That and everything has been hard on him too, he’s always been so strong, “Sweetheart, it’s okay not to be okay. You’ve had a lot going on, all I ask is that you talk to me. I understand, I’m here for you. I love you, baby girl.”

Before I realized what I was doing, I was across the room and in my father’s arms, hugging him tightly as his strong arms wrapped around me. I felt tears well in my eyes, of happiness and frustration, and suddenly I was hit by how exhausted I was. I buried my face into his chest as he squeezed me tight, “I love you too, Daddy.” I swallowed hard, pushing back my tears. I am not weak, I will not cry anymore. I just won’t. I stood there, hugging my father as his even breathing helped me concentrate on not crying. Eventually, I pulled back and let him look me in the face.
“Come on, baby girl. Tell me the truth, how are you?” He smiled softly, his hands holding my shoulders.

I sighed, and watched the fire over his shoulder, “I’m frustrated, Daddy.” The grey stone around the fire place made the flames look brighter, as they danced along the grate. “I know that a lot has changed, and that it’s okay for me to be confused and upset, but Dad, I am so emotional. For no reason, at all. I find myself all over the place emotionally, and things right now just aren’t helping.”

Dad took a heavy breath, “That’s not you, Danielle. That’s the wolf part of you. As it gets closer to your birthday, your dormant genes will start to act up and parts of you that you never knew you had will appear. It happens to all wolf kids around your age.” His hand found mine, squeezing it gently, "I know it makes no sense right now, but it is perfectly normal. When it happens, just do what I used to do."

I looked into his dark blue eyes, seeing the strength that he had in them, the same eyes that I had grown up around. They used to watch me as I grew and as I made mistakes; the very same eyes that used to crinkle as he’d laugh, and crease as he pulled me up into his warm arms. A smile pulled at my lips, "What's that?" I asked, eager for what he had done in my situation, for the possible knowledge of how to deal with everything, for something that’s make me understand my father that little bit more.

"You need to get grounded, literally. Sit down on the ground and breath. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Wanna try it?" He asked, his eyes lighting up in excitement, maybe from his memories of his youth, or the idea of sharing that with his own daughter.

The smile on my lips tugged a little stronger. I raised my eyebrows at him, sitting on the floor is my breakthrough information that'll let me think again? Are you kidding me?

"Oh come on," He stood up quickly, bringing me with him and over to the hearth of the fireplace. "Sit," He commanded, pushing down on my shoulders and forcing me to my knees.

"This is stupid." I grumbled in mock expression, folding my arms across my chest as he sat down cross legged beside me.

"Trust me, okay?" He smiled broadly, closing his eyes. "Just, think of it like meditation. Close your eyes, and breathe. For the first few times you do it, counting will help center you. After that, you'll be able to just do it all on your own."

"Counting?" I asked incredulously, as I looked over at my dad. His eyes were gently shut, his large hands resting on his knees as he sat openly on the floor, his back slouched and his face relaxed. "Okay, whatever. I can count." I mumbled, watching as his face light up in victory.

"That's my girl!" He chuckled, as I closed my eyes tightly. "Together now," He said calmly as we both breathed in deeply through our noses, him gently, me not as much. "One," he said slowly and evenly, as he breathed out.

"One," I repeated, my voice a little wobbly as I tried to control my breath and words at the same time. We breathed in again, and I felt my shoulders relax as I did so, this time breathing out in unison, "Two."

By the time we had reached six, my breathing was even and the numbers came out as easily as the breathe I expelled from my chest. It felt weird; to be counting as if the slow mantra would fix everything. But I could feel it, deep into my chest with every new breathe, and even deeper inside myself with every exhale. It was strange, how easily something like breathing could change everything.

I felt like I could do this for hours, my built up tension and stress melting off me like ice cream left out in the scorching mid-July sun. I was in bliss, breathing more evenly than I ever had. “Okay, baby girl. You better run off and get ready for your lunch date, it’s already nine o’clock.” My dad’s voice broke through my bubble of calm, his voice lucid and amused.

“What?” I asked, feeling fuzzy as I opened my eyes. Dad was sitting on his bed, hand on his chin the other holding the morning paper. I stretched, feeling my bones crack. I registered his words and looked around the room, realizing that the sun had already risen and I could hear voices downstairs, “What happened?”

“You zoned out,” My dad laughed, his voice heavy with his own enjoyment, “I got up after you hit about a hundred and six. Left you sitting there when I went to go get the paper from Gran and ate some breakfast. By the time I came back up you were around six hundred.” He smiled, a toothy grin that lit up his face, “I let you keep going for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Oh my God, Dad!” I yelled in shock, standing up quickly and feeling the room tilt. I grabbed the sill of the fireplace as I steadied myself, hearing my Dad’s laughter double in intensity.

“Hey! You did better than me! I was out of it for a good five hours my first time!” His smile was infectious, and I had to smirk a little as I thought of my seventeen year old father sitting on the floor for five hours counting to himself.

“Why?” I asked with scrutiny, as I stretched again and yawned, “Did I do it for so long, I mean.”

“Because your body needed it, of course.” He smiled, and stood up, tossing the paper onto his bed. He came over and wrapped his large arms around me, making me feel warm and loved as every father should. “I wouldn’t worry about it, you’ll learn not to zone out, but to get rid of your stress. It’s about striking a balance between the two. “ He kissed the top of my head, then let go of me. He spun me around by the shoulders and walked me to his bedroom door, “Now go get ready for your date!”

“Yeah, okay.” I mumbled, rubbing my neck as I walked down the hall.

“And check your phone too! It has been buzzing like crazy!” He called after me. I smiled and pulled my phone out my screen, bringing myself to my inbox and scrolling through.

There was a text from my friend Lilly back in Brookes, where I had lived before coming back to Graghat. She informed me that life was boring in Brookes, and that we were long overdue for a visit, and that of course, she missed me. I also had a text from Mack, telling me he was out with Wish for the day, and not to expect him home for dinner. Then, I had about three texts from Zhen, one telling me he was excited for our date, the second that I should wear something warm, and the third that he’d pick me up at eleven o’clock, sharp. Which made me stop outside my bedroom door, heart suddenly in my throat. Two hours… to get ready. Be right back! Girl world currently imploding.

I pushed into my bedroom quickly, and raced to my wardrobe. In that ten minutes that I looked indecisively for something to wear, clothes learnt to fly. If anyone had walked in on me in that moment, it would have looked like I was going manic, fabric zooming over my head, kneeling on my floor exasperated at my overwhelming amount of clothes and yet nothing to wear. Finally, thinking of my text from Lilly, I decided to channel my old school friend for my date attire.

I daftly pulled on a tight pair of black skinny jeans, with a higher waistline and seams that hugged my hips. I dug through the mess of clothes on my floor until I found a skin tight black tank top. Then, for my own sanity and to remind me that not everything had to be dull in winter I threw on a dark coral zip up sweatshirt. Feeling satisfied, I went to my mirror and began to mess with my hair.

I decided to leave it down, as it was knotted and wavy giving me a more carefree representation. I put on some coral lipstick the same colour as my sweatshirt, and applied some mascara. I felt like I looked okay for a casual lunch date, and headed downstairs to gather everything else I’d need.

Gran was in the kitchen, and smiled at me as I went by her and into the boot room. After nearly thirty minutes of searching, I managed to find my winter jacket, and pulled it on over my sweater. By the time I had found my boots and a pair of gloves, it was ten minutes to eleven.

I walked out to wait in the living room, and as I went to pass through the doorway, somebody else tried to pass out. I bumped into their chest hard, stumbling back a few steps as static electricity shocked me. And suddenly, right there on the corner of my elbow, was Faron’s hand. I looked up, as he stopped me from falling on my butt, and saw that his cheeks were a very pink shade of embarrassed. “Sorry,” He grumbled, as he politely but quickly removed his hand from my arm.

“It’s okay,” I tried to smile at him, to show him that he didn’t need to be embarrassed, but I couldn’t. After last night, I couldn’t even bare to look at him. I was so confused about my emotions, that every time I thought of trying to make a choice between him and Zhen and awful lump would form in my throat. And just like that, the painful ball of guilt and frustration lodged itself in there, making it impossible to keep talking.

Faron looked at me for a brief second, passing his eyes over my sultry hair and deep coral lips. He looked down again, “You, look really… nice.” He struggled to find and appropriate word that would neither insult me nor excite me.

I just nodded, the lump firmly placed in my throat. Then, just as he was about to say more, the doorbell rang. He quickly excused himself, and ran upstairs. A few seconds later, his bedroom door slammed. I took a few deep breaths, and walked to the door. My hand hesitated, almost wishing I could run after Faron. But I twisted the knob, and revealed a very bright and smiling Zhen.

He pecked me softly on the cheek, “Hello, Gorgeous!” He smiled, as he stood in my doorway holding tWo red roses in his hands, and the sun reflected off the brilliant white snow behind him. I stepped into the blinding winter light.