Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby

My apartment is dark when I finally get home tonight. It still smells faintly of

fresh paint from the new coat that my landlord put on, but I can still sense the

lingering scent of smoke, too.

I decide to avoid the harsh glow of the kitchen lights as I plop the wine glass

that’s been tucked under my arm onto the counter island, followed by the bag of

takeout food that I picked up on my way home.

It’s still warm, the grease beginning to seep through the bag as the faint smell of

garlic and onions permeates through the air. On any other night, I might be

delighted to dig in; but honestly, I have no appetite tonight. Even the thought of

Enter title…

food makes me sick after everything, after all of the failed dishes. But I know I

need to eat, and if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it later.

For a moment, I dig through my cupboard for a plate and some silverware, but

eventually decide to opt out of the plate.

The cork gives a subtle pop as I open the wine. No glass, I decide. Not tonight. I

take a swig straight from the bottle, the sharp taste of alcohol momentarily

cutting through the numbness. It’s a start.

I crash onto the couch, the plush cushions a welcome comfort after being on my

feet all day. The TV flickers to life with a soft buzz a moment later, and I navigate

drown myself in a world away

sure how much time passes. Hours, maybe.

cheap wine, and even cheaper

today—the truffle dish, the disdainful look in

kiss with Karl—keep playing in front of

movies on the screen.

whisper to myself as I take

was so sure that I would win. And

lost, either; it’s that I was humiliated on

swapped, tussles were had, insults were thrown,

were ignored.

a culinary laughingstock.

of

go there tonight. I can’t even bear to

a chorus of

I just want to hide my head

the bottle of wine finally empties. I don’t

fuzziness in my head is enough proof. Groaning, I push my

couch and shuffle into the kitchen, where another bottle

that open, too, and make my way back to the living

then, as I’m standing in the doorway with the second wine

TV, that I hear it:

back of

to wallow in misery, or are

forward?”

the face, or a rush of cold wind on a

takes me completely by surprise in my

slips from my grasp, wine

loud and

into the kitchen for

have warned me,” I say out loud as I grab the towel off of the

return, falling to my knees and dabbing it into the carpet

spread. “Now I’ve spilt

really your main concern, Abby?” My wolf’s voice