Your parents weren't really religious, but they caught the tail end of the Satanic Panic when they were kids back in the '90s, and they…just didn't like you. They never liked you, your aggression and arrogance, how easy lies came to you.
You didn't much like yourself, either. So when your parents threw you out—sent you to live with your grandmother, but you knew what they were doing—you walked away from everything. Grandma's jewelry got you over a grand at various pawn shops. You used that cash to get started.
You didn't know what you were doing at first, of course. You got arrested twice, but you were still a juvenile, so you were able to wiggle out of the mess. Then you got smart, focused your anger, learned to move fast and talk faster, learned who stayed bought. But when you closed your eyes, you saw teeth and blood.
And when that drifter found you one night, you thought you were dead, or worse. But Clay said he'd been watching you for a long time. He'd known your grandmother, he said. She was dead. You didn't care and neither did he, but he had to take you home. You knew that he had answers, knew it in your bones and your teeth, but he wouldn't say anything. Just took you back to your parents. He was stressed out, dirty, creepy, constantly looking over his shoulder, and your parents didn't even thank him.
Ungrateful. Unimpressed. Tried to get you ready for the funeral, even though, who cares? What did grandma ever do that was so important? And you just got…so angry.
Clay never really forgave you for what happened. As if it were your fault. As if he didn't have teeth on the inside, just like you.
Where is Clay now? He should be here with the others. With the pack. Where is everyone?
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