Ripped Apart

The evening breeze off the lake makes it difficult not to curl into Luke. Drowsily, I wonder if that's the reason he only brought the two blankets. Definitely not enough for any given night in October, least of all one spent by the lake. But when I go to curl into him, Luke isn't there. My body is the only warmth available in our nest of two blankets.

"Kind of defeats the purpose," I mumble to myself. I try to think of where he might have gone and decide the only plausible option is the bathroom. Staying awake and waiting for him to come back won't be too much trouble.

That is until what feels like ten minutes has passed and Luke still hasn't returned. He wouldn't have taken his phone. There's no way to charge it until the morning, and he'd consider that a travel risk. Besides, scrolling while his pants are around his ankles in the middle of nature didn't seem like Luke's ideal way to pass the time.

I check my phone and the light from my screen confirms that Luke left his phone in the tent. It's 2:30. The combination of everything about this scenario boils into an anxiety that has me darting out from under the blankets and putting my shoes on.

I grab the flashlight from Luke's bag, slide my phone in the deep pocket of my pajama pants, and zip the tent up behind me. The full moon and clear sky make the flashlight obsolete immediately, but its a comfort to have its weight in my hands. Feels like it's going to keep me safe.

The idea of needing to be kept safe makes my stomach drop, but I push on and away from the tent anyways. If I need to be kept safe, then so does Luke. I'm his boyfriend. That's my job.

When I shine the flashlight up and down the beach as I walk and it hits the water, the darkness of the lake almost seems to want to swallow the beam entirely. For much too long, the light doesn't catch on anything. Then there's a cracking of underbrush to my left, from the forested hill that leads down to the beach.

Luke comes tumbling out of the trees toward me, falling onto the sand before he picks himself back up and starts running again. I'm sure if he had landed at even a slighter wrong angle, something would have broken. I meet him halfway, rushing over. His face is tear-stained, his clothes are shredding, and there's a massive amount of blood coming from his shoulder. He crashes into my arms, his normally cool composure torn in two.

"Luke, what happened? What did this to you?"

He ignores my question and uses the force of the crash into me to start pulling us toward the tent. Though its a vice grip on my own, I can feel that his hand is trembling. He lets me into the tent first, then zips it as quietly as he can behind him.

"Luke?" There's a quiver in my voice now. Luke presses a finger to my lips as gently as he can, shaking his head.

"Whatever questions you have can wait. Please, James, be quiet. For me."

I nod, and curl into his side. He's never this scared. The thing that attacked him must have been trying to kill him, not just defending its territory. I wish the terror of it all had been enough to keep me awake, but all that adrenaline with no where to go knocks me right out.

When I wake up, Luke isn't in the tent with me anymore. I know this because the hot breath of a monster on my face is what causes me to open my eyes.

Werewolf is the only thought that registers before I'm crying and screaming, kicking at the underbelly of the beast as I try and scramble away. It does nothing to dissuade it. It pins me down with one monstrous paw, the weight of it on my chest knocking the air from my lungs. I'm surprised I haven't heard my sternum shatter.

The creature leans in and sniffs. Moonlight filtering in through the nylon of the tent allows me to see the blood dripping from its shoulder down onto me. Its fur is matted, and I see the pain and desperation in his face, now.

I soften under the weight of the creature as I realize its Luke. He's hungry, and he's hurt. I'm an easy meal.

I bite back the urge to cry out as his claws eviscerate me, instead gripping onto the fur of his back for some sort of comfort. He tears me apart, piece by piece, but its harder to feel, then impossible, as this somehow loving hell goes on. Gratitude fills me for the way he doesn't spare any part of my body. The less he leaves of me, I think, the easier it'll be for Luke to convince himself that he wasn't the one who did this. He can tell himself that it was the other creature, that it had its fill, and that's why he's alive.

Somehow, there's a peace to be found in the way he mauls me. I think it's because in some horrific way, I'm still being held.