Accidental Surrogate for Alpha

Ella

I’ve never really done drugs. I experimented in college like most people, and I’ve partaken at a few parties over the years, but nothing in my limited experience prepared me for the ether. As soon as Leon injects it, I immediately feel it taking control.

The room around me becomes sharper and more blurred, the walls seeming to vibrate with energy. I close my eyes against the strange visual stimuli, and a kaleidoscope of color explodes to life against my eyelids, filling the black void with light. I feel lighter than air, oddly euphoric, and my already sharp wolf senses become even more vivid. In some ways my body feels very far away, yet in others, I can’t help but revel in the feeling of the sofa’s cloth against my skin, or the new notes I detect in the distant chime of bells in the city.

“How are you feeling, Ella?” Leon inquires, and even his voice sounds different, deeper and more complex.

“High.” I admit honestly, peeking my eyes open again and marveling at the way the painting on the wall in front of me seems to be moving.

“That’s normal.” Leon says, nodding. “Is it a relaxed high or an overwhelming one?”

I pause before answering, feeling as though my brain is on a delay. “It’s a little overwhelming.” I admit, checking in on the corner of my mind inhabited by my wolf. She’s sprawling peacefully, free of the aggression and anxiety that consumed her a few minutes ago. Instead her tongue rolls from her mouth as she stretches and enjoys the sensations flowing through us, even rolling over and rubbing herself against the ground.

I don’t need any explanation for my wolf’s behavior, because I feel the same languid comfort and ease. My thoughts are quiet, but my body is buzzing with sensation. I snuggle deeper into the cushions, wishing I was in my nest. I consider asking to move – everything there is so much softer and nicer – but somewhere in the back of my head I’m aware that this wondrous state of mind is probably going to be undone by the therapy ahead. I don’t want to ruin my safe space by letting something bad happen there. Still, I’m so busy thinking about my lovely nest that I forget I was supposed to be answering a question.

Wracking my brain to recall what Leon had asked, I say, “But I feel a lot calmer than I did a minute ago.”

“Good. Let’s go ahead and get started.” Leon proposes, leaning back in his seat. “Think back for me Ella, what’s the first thing you can remember of your life?”

preoccupying myself by running my hand

kind of a blur, small flashes and an understanding of things that

words come forth much more easily than I can ever remember happening in the past. Normally talking about my childhood is like pulling teeth, dragging the thoughts out of my mind to form stilted words and incomplete sentences. I don’t mention that the scenesI do recall in high definition are the ones I want to remember least, the things that scarred me so badly a single sound smell can take me right back to that place. “The earliest thing was probably hunger. My sister crying because of how badly her stomach and head hurt, and me trying to sneak into

you then?”

out how to sneak out

plan fell apart because it was locked, and then I

caught?” Leon presses, taking me deeper into

way that I don’t understand. I’m not used to feeling emotions – normally I just think them, aware that/they exist, but unable to manifest them completely. It’s almost as if they’re trapped in a glass display case.. or they were. Now the glass is shattered around my feet and a lifetime of wants and hurts come teetering out. I try to clench my hands into fists, but I only succeed with one, the other squeezes Henry’s hand in a death grip. He moves his free hand to envelop

slightly. I was about to say that I don’t remember, but I realize that isn’t true. For the first time, I’m able to follow this memory past being caught. “He reported me, and the next day I was put

box?”

young children who misbehaved: this tiny room in the bas.ement, with no lights and no windows. They’d lock us inside and leave us in the cramped darkness

outside of the

the a.buse I suffered with him – like

with people from the outside. Sometimes parents would come to see if there were children they wanted to adopt, but we were always

though. We were afraid of being separated.” I

never met anyone from the

the emotion from his voice, I sense a hint of disappointment, as if this fact means