Page 387 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Ivy says she's open to it one day, by the way," Whiskey adds, because he can't not talk. "I'd be a shitty dad, probably, but I'd at least be a cool one. Although your bro would ruin it. He'd be the boring responsible fun sucker who says no to all the cool shit I'd wanna do. Valek would help me cover my tracks. Plague would snitch on us both." He grins at me. "You'd be the best."

I stiffen up, killing the weird twinge I just felt in my chest before it becomes a problem.

I would not be the best, I sign flatly to him. I'd be the worst.

"Why?"

I'd scare the shit out of them.

"The hospital kids that think you're a fuckin' badass would disagree."

Only some. And they're old enough to process that I'm not a literal fucking monster.

"Bro, it'd be your own kid. It would probably think we're the weird ones."

I go back to ignoring him.

Because the cat is poking her nose out from under the dumpster again. I hold out my scarred hand, keeping it low and perfectly still.

She leans forward.

Whiskey freezes, his mouth falling open. “Holy shit, bro.”

I shoot him a glare.

He mimes zipping his lips.

The cat sniffs the air. Her nose twitches. One paw slides forward across the dead grass, then another. She creeps out from beneath the dumpster, her narrow bony shoulders rolling beneath dirty black fur.

She stretches her neck toward my hand.

Whiskey’s knee pops.

The cat launches backward with a spitting hiss, claws scrabbling against concrete and swiping at me. She knocks the tuna can over, sends fish water spraying all over Whiskey’s combat boots, and tears off into the woods surrounding the pack house.

Whiskey stares at the empty space.

“Fuck.”

I straighten slowly, rubbing my hands against my knees.

Tomorrow.

"Yeah." He picks up the overturned can and grimaces at his boots. "Tomorrow we use caviar."

I thought you said all cats like tuna.

“Maybe she’s fancy.”

I look toward the front of the pack house.

A delivery truck rolls by on the street. The driver glances in without slowing, but his eyes don’t catch on me.

My chest stays tight anyway.

I can handle the pack house. Inside, everything has gotten easier. I don’t cover my face anymore because I can't. I ate breakfast with the others today, with Ivy sitting in my lap and everyone trying to give me space by not watching.

Almost everyone.