Anaesthetic Heart

“I’m going out.” My voice was firm as I looked Declan dead on, his face full of apprehension. He crossed his arms across his chest, nodding once. I squared my shoulders, “That’s it? I’m allowed to go out?” I was full of confusion as to how this arrangement between the two of us was supposed to work to begin with, and as much as I wanted to go out, I wasn't sure at what cost my freedom would come.

“Yes, Miss Danielle. You’re allowed to go out,” He paused, watching me suspiciously before a smile crescent curved the corner of his lips, “But I’m coming with you.” I rolled my eyes, groaning as I spun on my heel and stalked back inside my bedroom.

He seemed too happy, to complacent. In the less that twenty-four hours I had known him, he had gone from this stoic robot warrior droid, basically, to a new complex person that I had yet to balance on my already over-flowing plate. I felt like my life was dynamic enough, adding more people with more baggage just stressed me out. As I was standing in the middle of my room contemplating the complexities of teenage life, and teenage clothes, I heard a knock on my door. “Yeah,” I grunted.

Declan poked his head in, “Where exactly are we going today?” His voice was both utilitarian patience, and what I’d come to know as Elfish curiosity. I sighed.

“I need to get a hair trial, and find some god damn shoes for this stupid ball thing.” A t-shirt went flying over my head as I dug through a clean laundry basket on the floor, “That,” I paused, my hands stilling as I looked at Declan over my shoulder, “and I think I am going certifiably crazy being cooped up here for weeks on end.”

Declan nodded once, his face business-like although I could see him trying not to enjoy the sassy torture in my voice. He ducked back out, and I quickly set to getting out of there. He didn't object much, and I wanted to run with that before it was taken away. I slipped on practical black jeans and a t-shirt with a sort-of humorous saying on the front, to match my sort-of mischievous mood. I also threw on a plaid scarf for warmth, and a beanie to cover up my bed head. Grabbing my keys and phone, I went to rush out the door, when I stopped.

Wish’s name flashed along the top of my phone, followed by New Message. I swallowed heavily, and leaned slowly on my desk. I hadn't talk to Wish since before school ended to, but oh god, did I want to. I missed her like crazy, and it wasn't for my lack of trying that I hadn't heard from her. I sent her messages, phone calls, even the occasional email but they always went ignored. I never heard from her, and the only thing that had stopped my panic was Mack insisting that she was alright; she just had some personal things going on and needed some space. I really hoped she was done needing space now. I slid the page open, and swallowed my own heart.

’Leave me alone. Stop trying to talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you.’ Her message burned my eyes, or at least I thought it was her message. I refused to acknowledge it could be the ball that burned the back of my throat or the tears that seeped from my eyes. I brushed my hand quickly across my cheek, trying to catch the traitorous tears.

I typed back furiously, ’What the hell is going on with you?’ I felt like a bitter orange peel had been shoved in the back of my throat, and the citrus burn was both rotten and intense.

My phone buzzed again, ’I want nothing to do with you.’

And although it was just a text message sent from an estranged friend, it felt like there was an atomic bomb set off in my chest. I felt like suddenly, there was no justification that could explain her being so distant when I had needed her, and now even if she needed me she had just made it painfully clear, that she didn't want me. I swallowed back, tears freely falling now. Fuck them, I thought bitterly, blinking past the saltiness, they’re going to come whether or not I want them to. I sat down on the ground, and set to typing a response to the only girl friend I had truly befriended since moving to Graghat. I hit send, and rested my head in my arms balanced precariously on my knees.

’I don’t know what I did to you, to make you hate me so fucking much, but it really stings. I questioned why I hadn't been able to talk to you after my awakening, and I questioned it even more when you let Mack come and go without so much as a glance my way. My best friend, your boyfriend, has been stuck playing middle between us, and although I swallowed it down it tore me apart that you turned a cold shoulder my way. Not anymore, now it’s my turn to be cold. You hurt me, Wish. And I’ve no idea why. I tried to be there for you, I thought we were symbiotic. Turns out I was wrong; so you can keep your rejections and isolation. I don’t want them, and I certainly don’t want you. You get your wish, Wish. I’ll leave you alone, forever. Xo Danny.’

I don’t know how long I sat there, breathing slowly to stop my emotional self from sobbing, but letting silent torrents tear down my face. I must have sat quite a while, because a gentle knock came from my door. “Go away,” I said hoarsely.

Instantly the door swung open and Declan stood there, his brows knit as he scanned the room for danger, his chest puffed and his fists clenched. I hate to give it to him, as far as personal body guards went, he was an alert one. When he saw me kneeling on the floor crying, his shoulders relaxed, but his fists remained clenched. “What’s wrong?” his voice was calm, but guarded like he was talking to a caged animal.

And then I realized, for all he knew he probably was. Wasn't that why he’d been assigned to me? I was dangerous. I furiously wiped my hands across my cheeks and stood up, fumbling for my things as I forced my head to be clear. “Nothing,” I said, my voice betraying me, so I forced myself to clear it and straighten my shoulders, “Nothing is wrong, just some childish girl drama I’d rather not discuss. Can we go, now?” I tried to look tall, I tried to look proud, I tried to look brave; but I wasn't.

Declan obviously knew, but he nodded as he let me past and down the stairs to the door. As I pulled my shoes on with as much grace as my battered pride could muster, I heard Declan clear his throat behind me. He was barely a foot away, but he spoke with a gentle authority, “I informed everyone you were going out, and not be bothered. Consider me your liaison, today.”

I felt a softness wash through me, the same one I had felt when I’d first softened to Declan. It was gratitude, and as I turned to glance at him over my shoulder I made sure it showed in my smile, “Thank you.” It was the release I needed, as I was sure that when I got home the news of my blow-up on Wish would spread like wild fire, and I just wanted to escape. I wanted to do a lot of escaping, lately. “Let’s go.”

_ _ _

Declan had insisted on driving, it was a condition that my father had with him that I was not allowed to drive myself, seeing as I was prone to head-splitting headaches that incapacitated me. And I suppose as far as that went, I had no ground to argue on, but it definitely made me feel incompetent as I sat beside Declan in his huge, blacked out truck. I felt like it was ridiculous, this poor man stuck being my bodyguard, therapist, receptionist and now chauffeur.

When we got to the hair salon, he hopped out of the truck and before I even had a chance to turn he had my door open. His face was serious, “We have to talk.”

“What’s wrong, now?” I scanned the parking lot of the tiny hair salon and saw nothing out of place. The salon was small, and the lady who owned it used to cut my hair as a child. It just struck me now that she was something mythical. I sighed, leaning back in my chair and readying for Declan to continue. I’d forgotten in the rush of getting ready for the Yule Ball that there was a whole world I didn't know, and being hit with it could be both unsettling and traumatic. But at this point, I just wanted to move on. I was tired of being stuck and afraid, I wanted to keep going forward.

Declan cleared his throat, but kept a stern look on his face, “What happened in your room? Back at the house, you were crying. And I need to know why if I’m about to take you into a potentially triggering domain.” He had his fist clenching on the truck door frame, and his other tucked into his pants pocket. He looked both severe, and completely comfortable with threat and danger.

“It was nothing, just stupid girl bullshit between friends, and there is nothing I can do about it now. I can’t take anything back, and even if I could she wouldn't want me to.” I was intently picking at the fraying hem of my t-shirt, “And y’know it was just great timing, as always. Because I feel like everything lately is out to get me and no matter how hard I try to get ahead I will never be able to get there without life tearing me back. And it’s unfair because she doesn't even have a clue what she’s doing to me, and why would she? She has no obligation to me, just what I thought was one of the only friendships I had bonded since being here. I mean, I set her up with my best friend for God’s sake and now I’m losing him too, because whatever is going on with her is obviously more important.”

Declan remained silent, but reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief which he gently pressed into my palm. It was then that I realized I was crying again, “And god damn it! Why am I crying again?! I’m so fucking emotional over everything and I hate it.” I bit back a sob, and met Declan’s eyes, “Did you know when I was seven I fell on the ice during a skating recital and broke my wrist? I snapped it like a twig and didn't shed a single tear! I stood up like nothing happened, finished my piece and went to the emergency room. It was broken in two places, and nothing! Not a tear or a whimper! And now look at me; I’m balling like a baby because a girl hurt my feelings!” I hiccuped loudly, trying to control myself and failing miserably.

“It’s not you,” Declan was very quiet, watching me with guarded eyes, “It’s your werewolf trait. Remember, whether you develop it or not, you are still going to go through the emotional changes that any other Pup would get. As well as some of the physical changes that make you dangerous, the emotional changes make you unstable and hormonal. Think of it like going through puberty,” He smiled then, sort of mischievously, “Only times it by a hundred and it still can’t touch your hormone fluctuations. It’s like being a preteen on acid with super powers and the attention span of a three year old.”

And then I was laughing, in big guffawing chuckles that tore through my chest and made my lungs burn. I didn't know Declan, and he didn't know me. And somehow hearing his blunt comparison of the melodramatics in my life with a total third party detachment and a genuine sense of humour made my heart feel lighter. He didn't know me, and that was nice. Because he didn't know who I was, or how I had acted in the past to make a mess of my social life and create dependency in my loved ones. No, he knew me as a subject to observe, literally. Out of that, I knew I could trust him. He wasn't judging me, and he wasn't going to. He was going to do his job, and I liked that.

I wiped my eyes, glad I hadn't worn makeup. I took a deep breath, steadied my shoulders, and offered out my hand to Declan, “Friends?”

His face cracked the tiniest of smiles, and he shook my hand firmly. It almost hurt, and was very solid in a military way. And as he drew back and readied himself, I could see the soldier in him. “Friends,” He said tight lipped, trying to be professional as he gestured me from the truck.

The short walk to the salon from the truck was bitingly cold as it pinched at my cheeks and tore at my hair in large gusts of wind. Declan trailed a few feet behind me, trying not to make it obvious he was following me as he cast his eyes around; he failed miserably. Little bells chimed as I pulled open the heavy door passing it to Declan as he took it with ease, his eyes focusing on the business ahead of him. I followed his focused gaze, and had to swallow my breath.

Standing in the middle of the salon was a very tall woman, with greased black hair that was slicked to her head and shone in the bright salon light. She was facing the door, her voice deep as she spoke with an animated stout woman. Or at least, that’s what I thought she was. She was very plump, ample bosom and ample hips with very tiny hands that moved quickly as she spoke. The most peculiar part was her hair, a bright acid green and standing in a very controlled swoop above her head. The swirled and combed mass resembled a twisting tree, and at nearly two feet tall it was as tall as the other woman who looked down to her.

As the door slammed behind Declan, the bells chimed again, and both women turned towards us. Then I really had to swallow my breath; the short stout woman had a greasy olive green skin colour, and shone with oil under the harsh lights. She had small black eyes, and very large round features: A button nose, more like a fat mushroom, and big pudgy cheeks. When she flashed a large yellow-brown smile at me, I was somehow reminded of a fuzzy picture I couldn't place.

The other woman, smiled a grin as slick as her hair, and caught my eyes with her deep set orange eyes. Her long hooked nose and high, high cheekbones made her look menacing as she said her parting words to the short lady. Declan put his hand on my back and pushed me slightly aside, and out of the way of the tall woman shrouded in black who stared me down with a grin. The bells chimed behind her as she left, and I was left with a hollow feeling in my chest and slight twang in my head.

“You just met the High Witch Lucelle,” Declan whispered harshly in my ear, as he watched the stout woman busying her hands as she began to waddle our way, “You should feel honoured. Now here comes your hairdresser…”

The stout woman smiled, extending a tiny fat hand as she padded right into my face, “Groma,” Her voice was gravelly and full of something more robust and as I took her warm hand I felt a wave of something familiar past through me. It was like drinking in a richly spiced wine as she spoke, “Yer Gra’ rang, says we ought ‘ta get ya fixed fer da ball with a trial, now. Sometin about yer hair and gettin’ ‘er fixed, eh?” And as she flashed me her dirty smiled, a memory swam through my head, the fuzzy picture becoming clear.

I was about five, sitting on a phone book in the bright salon because even with the chair pumped up I was too short to be easily accessed. My mother sat beside me, her long blonde hair sitting gently upon her shoulders and her light blue eyes sparkling as she read from a magazine, casting me gentle encouraging glances.

My long black hair had never been cut, and as I sat twisting the dressing gown around my little hands terrified that my hair would be ruined, a plump hand patted my head gently. “Don’t yer fret, now! Groma’s got yer.” I looked in the mirror at the plump lady smiling at me with yellow brown teeth and a lot of warmth. She had a towering messy bun on top of her hair, that was a light white and I swore if I squinted it looked green. I shook it off as a play of light and watched as she combed through my long black tendrils, her fingers deftly picking apart knots and separating curled chunks from heavier waves.

“Yer ready?” Her voice was deep and thick, and I felt like it would be perfect for reading stories. I nodded, and swallowed heavily as she brought the scissors to my hair.

I tried my best to smile at her, as I followed her to a chair and took a seat. I let her drape a dressing gown over my shoulders and gently pull my hair untangled from an elastic band. The long black waves fell around my shoulders, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Declan seat himself in the empty salon chair nearest me, picking up a magazine but not really reading it. A pang of memory flashed through me, as I remembered my mother sitting near me in this exact salon.

“Tell me about yer dress, we better try ‘ta get yer hair ter match, eh?”

And then I felt a real small smile play across my lips, “It’s different, to say the least. It’s not a typical ball gown, and I already kind of know what I want my hair to look like. How are you with vintage curls?” I smiled mischievously at her.

Groma smiled her greasy smile her black eyes glinting, and patted her own pouffe and spiraled mass, “Yer thinkin’ I canna handle it?”

“Definitely,” came my response, as her deft hands combed through my long obsidian locks, and I closed my eyes drifting back into memory.

When I opened them again to Groma’s prodding nearly forty minutes later, I let a giddy smile spread along my cheeks. Groma patted my shoulder, “Whatcha think?”

“It’s – I mean I look so – “ I had a hard time matching my words to the image I saw before me.

“Beautiful,” Came Declan’s patient voice, “My friend looks beautiful.” I cast my eyes to him, to be met with his bright green eyes looking at me thoughtfully. I scanned his face for sarcasm or insincerity, and finding none I nodded once and returned to my reflection.

“I love it Groma, thank you!” I beamed at her, as she pulled off the dressing gown and gestured me up so I could take a closer look. When I finally pulled away from the mirror, I turned to pay for her services but she waved me off.

“Yer Gra’ worked ter out. We gots ourselves a deal, I like me a deal.” Groma smiled, and I made a mental note to ask Gran what deal she has made with the woman. And as I thanked her again and turned to leave, I saw something flash across her features over my shoulder.

Declan held the door for me, and at the last minute I turned and called, “I remember you, y’know!” her face lit up and I smiled, “You gave me my first haircut, and had very gentle hands. Still do.”
She thanked me as we left, and as I entered the truck Declan smiled at me. “What?” I asked half curious and half indignant.

“Even though your grandmother worked something out with her, that was probably the best payment you could have given her,” Declan could see the confusion knitting my eyebrows, and grinned as he pulled out of the lot, “Trolls love compliments.”