Wolf's Cry

Okay here's the next chapter, its shorter than I wanted to be, but i'm going on vaction for a week so I can't add more to it right now, sorry. Anyway, hope you like and hopefully it will change some point of views for some of you. Thanks.
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It took a bit for Lasha to locate Fang, and when she did, Lasha could tell the boy was in a bad mood.
Good grief, what is it this time, thought Lasha tiredly. Dealing with Fang’s and his fluctuating emotions proved tiring to the girl. In attempt not to exacerbate the volatile boy, Lasha approached and gave a weak “Hey”
Fang who was brooding while leaning on a Kip’s truck raised his eyes to Lasha. He was mad, and wanting more then to take out his frustration on someone (preferably Gray), but anger wouldn’t solve anything, he knew that. With a heavy heart, he swallowed his anger and offered Lasha a small smile.
“Hey” he responded calmly shocking Lasha.
What the heck, okay…well…I guess he’s not mad, thought Lasha, even though she had a felling that he was fronting.
“So…you like the show?” asked Fang.
“Oh…Yeah it was great…you got a great voice” replied Lasha, blushing. Great, probably inflated his ego some more, thought the girl half heartedly.
“Thanks, glad you think so” smiled Fang. At least she likes my singing, thought Fang, his mood steadily rising. “So about the well…”
“Yeah, so how do you want to go about doing this?” asked Lasha.
“I think we need to do some research on the play and maybe some town history” stated Fang.
“That makes sense. So we go to the library then” said the girl pulling her coat closer to her body.
“You cold?” asked Fang.
“I’m fine” said Lasha giving a Fang a small smile.
“Lasha! Lasha!” came a female voice.

“Great, it’s my friends” said Lasha dully, recognizing the voice of Kathy.
“You got to go, I assume?” asked Fang, annoyed as well.
Damn, can’t a guy get moment alone with a girl, thought Fang.
“Yeah, I’d better go. So when do you want to meet? I’m free Monday” said Lasha, toning out the shrill calls from Kathy.
“Monday’s cool, I work so stop by around four at the library, okay”
“Alright, um…thanks…for you know inviting me to see your band. It’s awesome” said Lasha, looking anywhere except Fang. However, her eyes widened when a hand raised her chin. Lasha found herself looking into the eyes of Fang, she felt like she was drowning in his intense gaze.
“Feel free to come see us anytime we play” stated Fang, his voice deep and alluring. Lasha’s primitive teenaged mind, was starting to go on auto-pilot, before a loud gasped ruined the moment.
Lasha turned to find her friends staring at her with wide eyes, and Kathy with a wide mouth. Lasha was painfully aware that Fang’s hand was still of her face, and they were rather close to one another.
Dear god! I’m never going to hear the end of this, thought Lasha dismally.
While Lasha was trapped in her thoughts, Fang decided to have a little fun with the situation.
Might as well give them something to talk about, thought Fang with mischief.
Flashing the group of girls a dazzling smirk, the boy preceded to cup Lasha’s cheek (much to her horror) lean down to her ear, and whispered loud enough for the girls (obviously straining their ears to hear every word)
“I guess I’ll see you later, Kitten” said Fang, before pulling away and walking off the scene, sadistically leaving Lasha with a red face and a group of girls starving for information.
Damn you Fang! You did that on purpose! Wait till I see you, you’ll get yours. This is war, thought the outrage Lasha. No sooner was the thought complete; we’re the vultures pecking at her.


The street was dead silent, completely devoid of life. A cold mist crept along the street, moving in and out of the light from the streetlamps. Nothing stirred on the lonely road, though, it is to be expected when living in a small town; it seems every living thing in town had an early bedtime. This dead silence is what Kyle Brightenson came home to. His mustang came a stop in the driveway.
The Brightenson home wasn’t terrible big, but nice enough, a blue, two –story house, with a white picket fence. It was a corner house on Mead St. so it had a nice size yard that turned into a small ravine going towards the back of the house. The house was also old, so it had some of the classic, lived-in charm. It looked so warm and cozy on the outside, but the inside was a different story.
Kyle stepped out of his car, and took a deep breath of the night air. How strange it felt to be more at home outside in the cold and dark, then in his home. With effort, the teen made his way to his front door. Kyle entered his nice and warm home, but all he felt was cold. Not a physical cold like outside, but an emotional cold. He felt it every time he came home.
Everyone believed that Kyle was perfect; smart, talented, good looking, and popular. Everything a guy could wish for in his teenaged years, yet Kyle felt far from perfect. More or less, he felt like a puppet on strings, his actions not his own but someone else’s.
His forlorn thoughts were broken when two furry bodies rub themselves on his sides. Looking down, Kyle was greeted by two of his three dogs their tails happily wagging at the return of their young master. Kyle bent down to pet his dogs who happily received him.
The only ones that love me no matter what, thought Kyle, allowing the animals to lick his face.
Kyle pulled away from his pets to announce his arrival home. He was met with a rough “in here”
Kyle begrudgingly made his way through the hallway and into the den. The small room was dimly lit, with a lamp and the TV giving off the only light. The dark wood panels of the walls were decorated with multiple deer heads that Kyle and his dad had killed. Kyle wasn’t big on hunting, which was strange since his family lived for hunting (part of their nature). Kyle enjoyed the thrill of stalking and the chase, he fondly remembered being in the dead on of winter in Canada; his breath coming out in visible puffs as he stalked his prey among the skeleton like trees of the forest. Sometimes the prey would sense his presence and run, and he would follow. Years of practice made running on snow natural, he would get his prey. However, when it came to killing the prey, well… killing never seated well with Kyle. He always hesitated to strike.
“Have fun?” came a male voice, shaking Kyle from his memories. His gaze refocused and took in the image of the man on the couch, his father, Matt Brightenson.
Matt Brightenson was in his mid-forty’s, but didn’t look it. He still looked very young with a smooth face accompanied with high cheek bones and few wrinkles. Dark hair covered his upper lip and chin for a five o’clock shadow. While sitting down you couldn’t tell that the man towered over his son at six foot – six with a strong built. Golden-brown hair cut short, sat atop his head in a messy fashion; similar to Kyle’s. However, the most striking feature about Matt were his dark green eyes that held a cold fierceness to them, like an animal’s eyes. Those predator eyes were currently staring at Kyle. Kyle felt a shiver go down his spine as he addressed his father… his master, his puppeteer.
“Yes, sir I had fun” stated Kyle. Matt demanded utmost respect when being spoken too. It is expected when you are head of the family, and the Brightenson clan was a very big family. Everyone respected and looked up to his father, and it was Matt’s wish for his son to follow in his foot-steps. This was exactly why Kyle was not perfect, because Kyle wasn’t perfect in his father’s eyes. Kyle knew it and Matt knew it, not like he ever hid his disappointment. No matter how smart, athletic, or popular Kyle was, he would never be good enough.
“You’re late” stated Matt turning back to the TV, looking as though he had lost interest in his only son. “Punctuality is very important, Kyle. You should know this by now” continued his father, his voice calm and cold.
Great, another screw up of the day; beg your pardon, your majesty, thought Kyle annoyed.
“I’m sorry” replied Kyle. I always say sorry, thought the boy.
“Sorry doesn’t change anything, action does” stated Matt
“Yes sir” said Kyle, the familiar feeling of worthlessness washing over him.
“You should go to bed, Kyle. You looked tired” stated Matt, not even glancing at his son.
In other words, go away; you’ve wasted enough of my time, thought Kyle bitterly.
“Okay, goodnight” Why do I never fight back, why do I take it, thought Kyle.
“Goodnight” came chipped reply.
Kyle ignored the gesture of acknowledgment, it was all empty words. Kyle turned to go upstairs. Reaching the landed a door opened to reveal Kyle’s mother, Mary.
She was about as old as her husband, but didn’t share his youthful looks. She stood at five-seven with a petite frame, with short blond hair currently hanging loose. Crow’s feet decorated her tired brown eyes, sullen cheeks had no trace of a rosy glow as they once did, and frown lines appeared around her mouth, no doubt the product of many nights spent crying.
Her eyes briefly lit up at the appearance of her son. She offered a warm smile to Kyle.
“You’re home” she said softy.
“Yeah” Kyle had hoped to avoid her, not to say he didn’t love his mother. Kyle loved her to death, but the way she acted made Kyle keep her at arms distance.
Once upon a time, Mary was a lively young woman, loved by all. She was very pretty, and had her pick of any guy; however, her heart was dead set of the strong and handsome, Matt; Matt, the prince of school, heir to the Brightenson clan, and the apple of her eye. Oh what joy she felt when she was picked to marry him. Mary believed her life would end up a happy ever after fairy tale (funny how things work out in the end). However, the cold, indifferent attitude that made Matt so desirable was not so appealing when married to him.
Mary would do everything and anything to make Matt happy. She tried to be the perfect wife, completely devoted to her husband. Nothing seemed to impress Matt. Sure, he would say he loved her and show some affection, but it was all empty. Mary became desperate to win her love’s heart. She thought things would change when she bore her husband a son, an heir, a legacy. In truth, he spoiled her during the pregnancy, but then the coldness returned after the child was born. Matt’s attention diverted completely to the child.
Once again, Mary was shut out from Matt’s world. As Kyle got older, Mary clung to her son, because he gave her un-judgmental affection, but as soon as Matt stepped into the room, her affection shifted to Matt (in other words, she played both sides of the card).
It had taken Kyle to the age of four-teen to understand his place in his mother’s heart.
“Mom will always be in love with father, and I will always be second in her heart”
Kyle didn’t know if his mother realized this, mostly likely not. It hurt to see her bend over backwards for his father and received nothing for her work. Year by year, the light in her eyes slowly faded as hope gradually died within her. Kyle hated to think this, but he knew his mother would die a broken woman. So, he would solemnly prolong the enviable as long as he could. He would smile at his mother, hold her, and say he loved her, if it meant he gave her some peace of mind. He’d ignored his own pain, after-all he was a Brightenson, he was not weak.
His mother walked from behind the door to embrace her son, and Kyle hugged back.
“Glad you came back safely” his mother said.
“Always do, I’m kind of tired, mom” replied Kyle.
Mary released her son, giving a warm smile. “Sure, sweetheart. You head to bed, see you in the morning” she said.
Kyle gave her a warm smile before heading to his room.
Kyle entered his room, with its dark blue walls and light –colored wooded furniture. He glanced around and noticed how clean his room was. Everything had a proper place, nothing littered the floor, and there was probably not a speck of dust anywhere within the room. Kyle’s room was in perfect order, it made his skin crawl. His father demanded a perfect home and Kyle was forcefully encouraged to clean up after himself. Over the years, it had become compulsion, he cleaned his room everyday, and he hated it.
This is not me, this is him, thought the boy and he made his way to the bed. I need to stop thinking about this, something else, something else…Lasha…
Indeed, the bright point of his day was, Lasha. The teen was happy that he asked Lasha to Homecoming. Usually, he was just polite to the girls in school, none them interested him. They were all fan-girls after him for the mask he wore (not to mention they all reminded of his mother, poor blind women). However, Lasha seemed different. True she did hold the same blind admiration in her eyes like the rest of the girls, but she treated him normally. She didn’t cling, flaw over him, and praise him like the rest.
I think she could understand me that would be nice, thought the boy as he lay on his bed, not bothering to undress. Maybe, she can help me cut my strings…
Lasha’s face floated in Kyle’s mind as his mind slipped into sleep. Tomorrow would bring another day; another day of living in his father’s shadow, another day of being a security blanket for his mother, another day of living behind a mask, but for now, Kyle Brightenson could sleep in peace. Lasha would keep his demons at bay for now.
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