A tale about a wolf, a girl, and the pretty red cape she wished she had.

The title of my blog is "The Wolf's Lunch" and It was recently brought to my attention that I have not ever explained this or the long story behind it. This has made me decide that for a while the next posts are going to be different chapters of the story of how I ended up here and why he is the subject matter so often in my blog and life scenarios.

Here goes...

A long long time ago it seems, I was a young, childish, yet mature woman. I spent all day pondering this and that, very little contact with reality any longer, I was dragged from my safety, (my room) and into the new years night by a "friend" to be named Angio, after three months of never stepping foot outside of my house.

It was that one seemingly small event that dashed me into a quick spiral of events, that led to the introduction of Mr. Wolfe a few months later.

Party after party, pill after pill, I jumped from one group of drug induced hallucinators, to another. Pills, alcohol, ciggerettes and occasionally cotton candy were my fuel, no real food, no real sleep, no sanity to be found. I felt pure and mighty, I was free, I was finally me. Pleasing myself with restriction and fun. I was high but not just from drugs, but from the thrill of briefly being alive after feeling so dead. I did not care that I was alone, that everyone around me had lovers or interests or even just one night stands. I was not bothered by there lives, I was me, and happy.

Then I met Mr. Wolfe. The events preceeding are hazy but, the moment of our first contact is still clear in my head. I had been in his house for almost a week partying, and had not yet met him, or realized that it was his house. My mate (Lei) who had led me to this house had followed him outside, I turned to see who all was surrounding me, and it seemed like in a flash she was back. Standing there akward and losing my high, I asked "what's up?" she said, "Wolfe says he likes you." My response. "Why?" There was no more to the conversation because he came inside, drunk and stumbling, he made his way into the living room where I sat on the couch. He laid down, and placed his head in my lap. Then he passed out.

So in a strangers home, losing my high, I akwardly sat up on the blue sunken couch for hours without moving. It was weird at first but then it was comforting. He smelled of patouchouli, beer, and ciggerettes. He snored so loud I swore he was going to bust my ears. I didnt move, I didnt want to wake him. This complete stranger I knew nothing about. I felt funny and all of a sudden insecure, I felt so alone and sad and pitiful.

I looked at his face slightly aged but still very young. I wanted to adjust myself and lay with him, and I didnt even know him. I spent the whole time imaging what kind of person he was. Tall dark and handsom with his leather hat and leather coat and his soft long dark hair.

I imagined he was amazing, sweet and gentle. I imagined he could move mountains if he had to. I envisioned his whole life, his whole family, his whole heart, and to me it was perfect.

All of this and it was only the first few hours of contact with him. I was building myself a quick fantasy, I was sure that when he woke I would leave and never know him again.

I woke and we left, and I went home, I did not think of him, I did not party, I stayed home and slept, and planned, and studied.

Until the day I dropped out of highschool...

To be continued.