I nod. “Tell me about it.”

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” She’s backing away from me, backing into the corner, sliding down the wall.

I’m beginning to regret my decision to share this information. “Perhaps I should have kept this to myself.”

“You just . . . I saw . . . How are you calm about this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I sit beside her on the floor. “It happened. I got bit. There’s not a ton of reliable information out there on what to do about it. If there is anything to do about it.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand,” she says. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Look, I know I really just laid it on you, but can we please skip to the part where you believe me and we can talk about it without it being as big of a deal as it actually is?”

It takes another hour for her to calm down. After that, I explain everything the best I can. She listens, then takes my hand and leads me downstairs, where she feeds me deli meat as we sit in silence. I watch her processing.

“Who was the werewolf?” she asks after a while.

“What do you mean?”

“Who bit you?”

“Wish I knew,” I say. “Would quite like to have a word.”

“Be serious. You don’t have any idea?”

“How would I? I only ever saw them as the wolf and just the one time. They were MIA during the last full moon. I don’t know how to go about finding them or if I even want to. Not sure it would accomplish anything. Doubt I could sue in monster court.”

She stares into space.

“What?” I ask.

“I believe you. I just can’t believe it. Do you know what I mean?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t stress out about it, please.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Yeah, like, just be chill about it.”

“Yeah, super chill,” she says.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have told you. Maybe that was a mistake,” I say, rolling up a piece of ham. “I guess I just couldn’t be alone with it anymore.”

She nods.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I tell her.

I feel compelled to reassure her. If I can convince her that everything’s fine, maybe I can believe it, too.

Even though I know.

Everything is not fine.

—

I sleep next to Scarlett in her bed, though I’m not sure how much sleep either of us really gets. We haven’t shared a bed since we were kids, and we’re both active sleepers. She’s constantly adjusting her five thousand pillows, and I retaliate by stealing all the blankets.

At some point, she whispers, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“I know a really good therapist,” she says. “I think you should go see her.”

I know what this means. I know her doubt. I’m painfully familiar.

“I think it’ll help. She’ll help you. And I can help you.”