Rob Wonderland

She is a prostitute. I am a werewolf. Neither of us are in love with each other; we’re just friends. Her profession makes that very clear to me. Lycanthropy also raises some pertinent issues; issues that easily compromise a relationship. Unlike most…werewolves, I lose consciousness when I am not in a lycanthropic state. Meaning, when people mistake me as being an ordinary human, I am actually intemperate with rage, intractable and unruly, inimical.
And so my love believes that I abhor her. After the abuse I have subjected her to, she cannot stand the sight of me. I, obviously, cannot approach her in a lycanthropic state; she would not be able to comprehend, as I have never met a human that has. I barely even get a chance to speak before they begin screeching, tripping over themselves as they sprint in the opposite direction.
I live in the woods, robbing banks for money. I am impervious to gunfire and the majority of human firearms. I try to avoid confrontation as much as possible, usually never having to engage in any at all. As a human, I usually find myself locked behind bars when I return to my senses. Fortunately, cells pose no threat of incarceration to a werewolf.
I am a voyeur, gazing at her in her scantily-clad corset and tattered fishnet stockings, seducing the local high school students in front of the movie theater. When someone bites, I follow her and her clientele to make sure…that she is safe. To my disappointment, she often is.

Danks was a conventional werewolf; he became deranged during lycanthropic states. As such, we would mingle with each other while I was a werewolf and he was human. We’d met at a bar one night around seven years ago; I felt the inclination to follow him down a labyrinth of back alleys, and assuaging my suspicions, I witnessed him make the bloodcurdling transformation from human to wolf. We were both in vile, unconscious states of senseless apoplexy, thrashing at one another until we reluctantly concluded we were akin. I was severely wounded, as I’d quarreled with him in my human form, but he carried my limp body off into the woods to nurse me back to health. It took me weeks to recover.
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” I pace in circles, restless with passion. Danks gives me an incredulous look. He’s leaning against a tree, resting his elbows on his knees, his forearms hanging over them. He’s grown weary of my antics, having pragmatically let go of the prospect of love long ago.
“Brooding isn’t going to help,” he sighs. “Rob a bank, give some kids the heebie-jeebies; you’re infatuated.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t understand, that it was beyond the scope of his emotions; but the fact she was a whore only further rendered my predicament an absurdity.
“She’s not even beautiful,” I console myself.
“You don’t have to convince me of that.”
“She’s beautiful,” I sulk. “She’s heavenly; not of this world.”
“Neither are you,” he smirks, sliding his back up against the tree.
And she was beautiful, with her pale blue and black blotched, smudged face paint; she donned it haphazardly, often missing her eyes entirely in her constant state of agitation. I saw her gaudiness as a mere guise; I couldn’t believe there wasn’t something ulterior, something paradisiacally redeeming.
There wasn’t. Nevertheless, I remained undeterred. One day I’d approach her; a werewolf at the door. And as the months passed by, as she became increasingly jaded and blasé, I knew that my intervention was now imperative, if only for her sake. It was an almost believable excuse for me to abide by.
Danks remains skeptical—I tell him not to be, something’s bound to go wrong. To someone as logical as Danks, indulging in emotion is self-sabotage. I daren’t think of approaching her…he was my only true hope of gaining her attention. However, it’s difficult to convince someone that werewolves exist, let alone friendly ones. Having tried to ingratiate myself with her in my human form in the past…has proved unsuccessful.
Sprawled in a vandalized alcove beneath the George Washington bridge, tossing rocks into the Hudson river.
It is easier to cope with being ostracized because of what you are than alone because of who you are.

Rob Wonderland was a psychiatrist and cunning philanthropist. His vehement enthusiasm and supererogatory optimism caused his patients to feel guilty about their troubles. He was gratuitous in dispensing medication. He had impeccable posture and was a man of great stature. At the moment he was standing next to the railing on a bridge that overlooked Ward’s Island, nearby the mental institute he sometimes visited ; he had no patients there, but the inmates dazzled his incomprehension. His patients were not so much treatable to him as they were subjects of amusement, tickling his unsubstantiated curiosity. He regarded himself as superior to them, and their incapacitation further instilled in him a sense of supremacy .Like most humans, he compared himself to others to derive his self-presentation. He lived his life with a blinding spotlight glaring over him, changing the bulb as needed.
His only son was in a state of disrepair, addicted to painkillers, of which is own father prescribed. He’d leave home for weeks, returning only in hopes to reconcile his relationships with his father, but his father always managed to remain nonchalantly oblivious to his son’s blight. “Ethan! Why aren’t you married yet?” and so forth.
Rob Wonderland was notorious for sleeping with his own patients, including Ethan’s secret love, Morrel, of whom Ethan has referred to his father. Rob Wonderland believed sexual deprivation and tensions were the stem of all psychological disorders in women and exploited them during states of needy vulnerability. Men were simple in comparison; there was no disorder that couldn’t be cured with enough medication, even if it involved drugging them into total stupor. Rob Wonderland’s unorthodox methods had become world renown. He had never encountered a single human anomaly.
Except for Morrel.

Unbeknownst to Ethan, Morrel was the love of my life. She loved neither of us, yet Ethan had the glaring advantage of being human, and he too looked after her, constantly cajoling her to abandon her vocation and pursue her aspirations and ambitions. However Morrel, airy and inured, had no complaints concerning her life. As she was so detached, soliciting her body came naturally. She always had an aloof, innocuous smile on her face, unsettling to those who loved her, charming to strangers.
Morrel visited Rob Wonderland weekly .Though Ethan hated his father, he trusted his ability to aid others during times of turmoil; Ethan could not accept that Morrel did not in fact view herself as experiencing any turmoil whatsoever. Rob Wonderland and Morrel would have staring contests before either of them spoke; Morrel usually won. It had become some sort of ritual. Then Rob Wonderland would offer Morrel a joint he’d rolled before their appointment, and then together they would get high. Unable to diagnose her as anything other than a prostitute, he scrawled off a few prescriptions that would make anyone enjoy being a prostitute.
“So, Morrel,” Rob Wonderland would say, folding his hands together and leaning back into his swivel chair; the one that he’d spin in circles in when no one was around. “How are you.”
“Better than I’ve ever felt in my life,” she’d smile diaphanously. Her aerial remoteness dazzled Rob Wonderland. Morrel couldn’t afford her appointments so she compensated by sleeping with him, but the sex was more Rob Wonderland desperately trying to elicit any response from Morrel whatsoever; she seemed impervious to sexual, romantic, and emotional stimuli.
I felt now was the time for my intervention. As much as I loved Morrel I couldn’t bring myself to be charmed by her dreamy aloofness. My desire for her was dwindling entirely.

One night I followed Ethan while he was walking home and when I was sure that he was alone I ambushed him, biting into his bicep before he had the chance to react. He fell unconscious immediately and I lugged him off into the woods. I figured that having squandered his human life already, I was doing him a favor.
The morning after, and a few more following the first, Ethan fainted at the sight of Danks and I. Danks continued to find the situation ludicrous, often resembling a hyena in his amusement. He reminded me incessantly that this was a preposterous idea, and seemed reluctant to involve himself.
Danks was indolent, cynical, and unreliable. He was a loyal companion, but flaky and afflicted by sloth. He never seemed to be thinking anything at all. He also never seemed to be able to keep still; he was constantly fidgeting or pacing. He’d stare in a manner in which suggested he saw things others didn’t when in reality he was staring at nothing in particular at all. He wrapped titanium chains around him, binding himself to tree, whenever he felt a metamorphosis coming on. As a werewolf, sometimes he’d uproot the trees he tied himself to right out of the ground.
Ethan had his first experience as a werewolf a week or so later. Unlike most lore dictates, the transmogrification of human into werewolf has nothing to do with the full moon; it’s incidental and spontaneous; there are no symptoms. There is no way to predict an oncoming attack.
The first thing Ethan did after seizing into a werewolf was mangle a deer, biting off its head after it was already dead for no apparent reason. Danks immediately lunged at Ethan, as he was in a werewolf state, too. They fought viciously but due to Danks’ restraint and experience the fight was soon over. I use the word restraint to indicate that with time, a werewolf can retain some of his human qualities upon transformation.
When he returned to his human state, severely injured from his altercation with Danks, he ogled at me for a while, then I began to speak. I explained to him what I had done, why I had done it, about our kind, and so forth. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to be overwhelmed or shocked, digesting everything I said with a sense of wonder.

Rob Wonderland was on eighty milligrams of amphetamines. He was having a therapy session with Morrel; he rested one of his legs on his knee and leaned back in his leather chair, smiling licentiously. Morrel stared at him blankly, unreadable and emaciated. She sat eerily still, her gaze fixated and absent. Rob Wonderland got up and sat next to the girl, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“Are you alright, honey? You look pretty spooked.”
Morrel didn’t respond. Rob Wonderland had never known someone so delicately pale. She seemed to be in a comatose trance.
“I’m fine,” she whispered breathily. Rob Wonderland nudged himself closer to Morrel, who showed no signs of objection. He placed his hand on her knee, sliding it furtively down her thigh. He continued to glare at her with the same lewd smile. He stroked her hair, fondling the nape of her neck, cupping his hands around her breasts
She had shared her occupation to Rob Wonderland years ago, something she’d come to long regret. Rob Wonderland wasn’t only her psychiatrist but her client as well. He was one of her most lucrative consumers.
Rob Wonderland was relishing a mouthwatering succulent burger lathered with blue cheese. He had an uncanny knack for charming first dates, usually falling through before the second date due to his clinginess and obsession with drugs. He’s drinking, an activity he can’t stop. During these moments of drugged, besotted stupor, the fleeting dread of morality creeps over his shoulder, tapping on it lightly. He pops a speed and Xanax cocktail, washing it back with some gruny vodka; he lies down on the couch. He could be mistake for being in pensive, deep though. Instead, he flicks on the TV, laughing along with the background premeditated laughter. His emergency pager was on sient.
“I’m not going to sleep with you.” She glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, and sighed. “Sex’s become so prosaic; everyone the has same, identical fetish.
“I’m not going to fuck you.” Flabbergasted at her abrupt decision not to make love to him of all people. He poured himself a glass of scotch.
And another, in disbelief. In the past he’d had to goad and seduce his patients, Morrel however, was completely unaffected and and uncharacteristically obediently compliant; composed, even.
“Why not?” Rob Wonderland blurted out.
“You disgust me and your therapeutic methodology is fraudulent.”
Taken back, Rob Wonderland desperately pleaded and rationalized her disinterest in him. Finally he said, “but you don’t have a choice, it’s your chosen vocation!”
“Darling, I choose my clients, my clients don’t choose me.”
Refusing to comprehend or perhaps entirely incomprehensible to him, he stood completely rigid, in a state of shock, his mouth shaped like a blowfish. He got up and began to pace furiously, clenching his jaw. Finally in a fit of panic he locked the door to his office.
“I don’t accept your answer,” he said firmly. Morrel laughed, and laughed, until she was in hysterics. To Rob Wonderland’s chagrin, he felt himself falling in love with her, an emotion he believed he was incapable of feeling.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Morrel giggled, all of a sudden lively, her skin flushed with dominion.
“Don’t.” Rob Wonderland’s lewd smile faded from his face into a grotesque contortion of disgust. Morrel remained unperturbed. She swankily glided towards him, subtlety teasing him, propping her lusciously pale knee up onto his chair and kicking over the foot rest.
“I’m not sure you have much of a choice, doctor,” she cooed. Rob Wonderland had never had a patient that…beguiled him? He felt subordinated and apologetic. He didn’t want to sleep with her.
“Do you need any refills?” he blurted out, failing to change the subject.
“Only you,” she lurched forwards him, exposing her gratuitous cleavage.
“Alright, you need to stop,” he flinches. “Please.” She begins to unbutton his shirt sultrily. Something triggers inside of him and his docile tentativeness exacerbates into ireless rage. He pushes her away, causing her to tumble into the chair. She…laughs? “Exploit me,” she says. “Fuck me.”
“If you don’t get out of here…I’m…I’m calling the police.” She lunges towards him, lifting her shirt over her head; Rob Wonderland begins to choke her. At first she believes he’s role-playing but when she begins to suffocate she futility tries to struggle free, her face turning blue.
“Alright. That’s enough for today,” Rob Wonderland abruptly loosens his grip, once again lewdly smiling her.
Morrel returns the smile meekly, rummaging through her duffle bag in search of rubbers.

Ethan has lost control of himself. He’s become clingy, obsessed, romantically attached to strangers, and volatile. He cannot tolerate loss, and because of his delusional infatuations with strangers he often enrages impulsively, indicative of oncoming lycanthropy. He seemed to no longer care whatsoever about Morrel, ostracizing himself from his old friends and I. I figured he was just having an abject time adjusting…
Rob Wonderland was wandering throughout Central Park for no apparent reason. He had a gun license. He was feeling rather dejected and was hoping to terrify late night lovebirds He’d fire, outside of sight, and they’d panic, meanwhile desperately trying not to crack up.
He can’t shake his mind off of Morrel’s actions during their session. Most of his victims are nerve-jangled, reluctant. More so he was thinking about Morrel in general. Did she enjoy her profession? Thought didn’t come to Rob Wonderland very often and he’d soon forgotten questioning Morrel’s bizarre behavior.
He sees something lurking in the distance, rustling the shrubbery.
“What the fuck,” he shouts mindlessly, quite drunk now. “Do you feel the need to hide from me are you scared because I’m wielding this here shotgun?”
The figure, which appears rather large, doesn’t respond. It snarls.
“What the…” Rob Wonderland begins to slowly retrace his steps but trips over himself because he’s too drunk.
And then Ethan is standing before him, looking down on him, his claws sheathed and beer, foaming at the mouth. Rob Wonderland rolls his eyes, assuming it’s someone in a costume...except its penis looks strikingly inhuman. Ethan continues to snarl, having dropped his grudge against Rob Wonderland when he forgot about Morrel.
“Go home kid, and hock a new dildo. That is the most grisly cock I’ve ever seen,” Rob Wonderland slurs, barely able to stand up, using Ethan’s arm as support. He trails off, muttering to himself; Ethan admires his brazenness, returning to the shrubbery.

The gossip of Rob Wonderland confronting Ethan that spread soon after riled Danks. He was ready to take the matter into his own hands, as humans are not allowed to confront humans in lycanthropic states, until Ethan skinned his face off while he was sleeping and plunging his claws into it.
I knew I was the next target. When I heard the news of Danks’ murder I had the feeling he wouldn’t have minded anyway, yet I still felt immense sorrow over his loss. Rob Wonderland recently published a book; can you believe that? It’s one off those self-help memoirs most likely fiction and written to shock its viewers of his supposedly demented childhood. The public, gobbled it up, of course.
Danks and I had a very sketchy relationship. He was heavily addicted to gambling, as werewolves don’t have to worry about the sharks. He’d been loveless for years and the dates he had went very well but he’d always say something the next day that’d scare his date away from a second coming, no pun intended. Ethan had no right to kill him; I must sound as if killing is casual to us, let me explain: we’ve become desensitized over hundreds of years. Werewolves, unfortunately, never age. Vampires are similar in that as long as they regulate and sustain a healthy amount of blood in their system…they could potentially live forever.
Danks had become rather forlorn and abject during his final days. He talked to everyone with reluctance, even me, and when he did it was often concerning the necessary restrictions to survive as a werewolf. I loved him like a brother; he never failed to make a single social encounter awkward, was an intellectual, witty cynic but far from a pessimistic existentialist. He somehow had the capacity to view life as temporary and acted accordingly, knowing death was inevitable. Such acceptance of death often accidentally expressed temerariousness.
His own belief that everything was inevitably would have eventually but then demise of him; he felt had had no control over his life. I almost feel better knowing that he died the way he did.
Not longer after we first squabbled we became a mischievous tag-team, converting the dregs of humanity into werewolves. We were utterly irresponsible and could have caused an epidemic, but we were too busy goofing off to realize this.
I began to dig his grave, anguished over the death of my only friend.

Rob Wonderland played golf and found it despicable. It was as as hebetative as competitive bass fishing. Rob Wonderland hadn’t thought once about encountering the creature that sprung out of the shrubbery. In this day and age, superfluous with technology, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was a robot.
Rob Wonderland flushed heroin and cocaine down the toilet when he’d had enough of it. He often showed up high to his therapy sessions, hence subscribing medication so recklessly, sometimes confusing the medications.
Morrel didn’t take her medications; she didn’t believe they did anything, and she was more interested in natural remedies, which so far had proved useless but she persuaded herself that they worked anyway. She was so beautiful in high school that no one dared trespass her holiness. It was incredibly lonely and sexually frustrating. She wanted to take a couple years off to experience life and degenerated into a prostitute, a sought after one at that.
Rob Wonderland made sure his office was tidy, then plopped down into his chair, leaning back with a sense of pride and relief. He glanced at his list of patients today, Morrel being the first.
He leaned back in his chair again, folding his hands and doing his best to look like a professional.
She showed up punctually, her posture gallant, her paleness glimmering. She immediately rushed up and hugged him, then fell back on the patient’s couch. Rob Wonderland stared at her, baffled. She smiled at him toothily. He didn’t have any inclination to sleep with her today. They sat in silence for forty-five minute then he asked her to excuse him for a moment. In the bathroom, he shot up amphetamines and heroin while sitting on the toilet seat, belt strapped around his arm. He then walked out, appearing sober as possible, plopping back down into his chair. She was still sitting there.
“Here, take this pill. It’ll help.” He rummaged In his drawer for Dialudid.
“Help what?” she asked.
“Stress.”
The effect seemed to hit her immediately; both leaning back into their couch and chairs, eyes fluttering until his next patient knocked on the door. Fumbling like a newborn deer, he helped Morrel to her feet and out the door. His next patient looked at the two of them suspiciously, slitting her eyes with envy. Rob Wonderland ushered her in; once the door closed she jumped on him.
“Not today, ma’am. I think it’s time we started dealing with real issues.”
“Like sex?”
“No, sex is not important.”
“It is to me…” she rolled her eyes, akimbo.
“Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get the fuck out my office.”

Ethan’s love for Morrel had withered into hatred. He stalked and loathed her, calling her twenty times in thirty minutes and somehow leaving more than twenty voicemails. I stalked him, slouching down and watching him from behind the dashboard of my convertible; he was voyeuristic, but the look in his eyes was of carnage.
I thought about confronting him, killing him even. I had made a mistake converting him; he was too young and unruly to abide by the rules. I decided to approach him, prepared for an altercation. Being a werewolf obviously rose problems, so I made guttural noises until I gained his attention and beckoned him.
“What are you doing here,” he snarled, having intruded on his territory.
“I want you to stop obsessing over Morrel. Leave her behind; they’ll be another.”
He glared at me with indignation, belligerent.
“Calm down,” I sigh.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shove that woman’s head up her cunt.”
I muse over my answer with apprehension. “Because I love her.
“You too?” He laughs obnoxiously, slapping his knee. “Then let us rid of our torment. Together.” He lugs his shoulder around mine convivially. Knowing that I’ll never have her makes his suggestion plausible. The blaring con was that I’d obviously just fall in love with someone else.
I jabbed my claw into Ethan’s neck, his blood spurting onto my neck.

“No,” Morrel asserted firmly.
“I have a patient soon; you can’t just schedule an appointment whenever you want,” Rob Wonderland was sweating profusely.
“This is not an appointment.” She smirked promiscuously, reaching out for his hands.
“Now it is,” she purrs, sauntering to the door and locking it.
“Look this isn’t right I’d rather you leave right now—right, now.”
“And who’s going to stop me?”
“Alright,” Rob Wonderland yells, “you want to play games? You fucking whore?”
Morrel laughs, “’You fucking whore’.
Rob Wonderland reclines into his chair. He doesn’t lean back.
“How much do you want.”
“Free of charge,” she murmurs.
“I was referring to you leaving.”

I finally came face to face with Morrel in Central park. It was in the middle of the night and she was with an obese, bald client shaded by a canopy of trees. His stomach reminded me of a beached whale, jiggling nauseatingly. I waited until they were finished; it didn’t take very long.
“Are you a cop,” she inquired, sucking on a lollipop. Most would regard this as a sexual innuendo.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me,” I ask, incredulous.
”I always believed in werewolves,” she shrugs.
The same feeling came over me when I attempted suicide; serene, utter peace. Lightheadedness. She wasn’t afraid of me; she believed in me. She didn’t so much as flinch.
“Hey chump I’ve got another customer in fifteen minutes you want to…”
“Sit down?”
She laughs haughtily. “Sure thing chief.”
I have no idea what to say to her when we sit down. She’s chewing bubble-gum, blowing bubbles and tapping her foot.
“So…” she says, indicative that she’s unenthused.
And then I sink my fangs into her neck.

Rob Wonderland was dumbstruck by Morrel’s dour change in mood. She didn’t even so much as talk. And most peculiarly, she seemed to be growing…fangs. When she did speak, she claimed that she’d left prostitution behind (a lie, to cover up her victims), and could use a couple refills. Not even Rob Wonderland’s lewd smile had any effect on her, even a negative one. Rob Wonderland, though piqued, had the edacious desire to watch a horror movie. He wasn’t aware that he was sitting right in front of one.
Morrel had much more disparate intentions during this session. She could feel the lycanthropy commencing, writhing inside of her, a choleric wrath.
“Morrel…are you alright? You seem somewhat…out of sorts,” he was being euphemistic.
“Yes,” she panted, her heartbeat accelerating, rife with palpitations. “Just…a bit…flustered.” Thin hairs were beginning to sprout from her ankles.
“I have to go to the bathroom, please excuse me,” Rob Wonderland winked, chipper as ever as he hopped out of his seat and jaunted to the restroom. While buckling his belt he had heard an excruciating scream come from his room. He rushed out of the bathroom and upon opening the door and witnessing the…the werewolf hulking in his room—taking a moment to awe at it in disbelief—he sat back in his chair, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. The werewolf barked at him, snarling furiously. It took one step forwards, the sole of its foot landing first then the rest of it rolling down. Rob Wonderland continued to smile.
“My only son is dead you know,” he smiled. “I feel no sorrow over his death; I know he is in a better place.”
The werewolf gave him a baffled look.
“I know such things because there are werewolves, vampire, gargoyles; terrors of our imagination. I know that if we believe in something enough that it becomes reality whether or not it’s real.”
Rob Wonderland was a daydreamer as a child. During his teenage years he didn’t engage in the amateur vices that his peers did. Come college, he locked himself in his dorm room to study, only to the dismay of the drunk girls on his floor. He was an orphan; when he we eight years old his parents made a suicide pact that they believed would bind them together forever and made love in a Jacuzzi with their wrists slit.
Meanwhile he hasn’t stopped smiling, there’s even a glint of desire in his eye as he regards her. Morrel, unconscious with rage, advances. Rob Wonderland knows he has mere moments left before his death. He begins to think about what he just said; what if what we believed in was already real to begin with? What if the human mind’s capacity for information was limited to what already existed?
Before he could continue brooding, Morrel thrashed his neck open. Blood splattered the entire room. One might have mistaken it for a Jackson Pollock painting. Unlike most people’s facial expressions when they die, Rob Wonderland didn’t seem to have a candid gush of everything they couldn’t and weren’t able to say during their lives. Though his head lolled to the right like a slinky, the same lewd smile covered his face, as if he had come to a revelation that could only be recognized in death.

Before becoming lycanthropic, I was Rob Wonderland’s first patient. He always had proclivity for medicinal experimentation; he believed all disorders were corporeal and could be solved biologically. If nothing worked he’d often dose the patient with everything possible without killing them, though if life were disposable legally, he would’ve. If asked, there was nothing he wouldn’t prescribe. He never spoke much during his sessions, and if he did, it was irrelevant. We’d sometimes sit in silence for hours having staring contests. Back then, his smile wasn’t as frequent or ludicrous.
The lycanthropic serum he machinated was accidental. Unfortunately, I was his guinea pig, and when I agreed to his proposition to test a new drug he’d created (he warned me it was illegal do so beforehand but that he found complete aplomb in me), I wasn’t aware of the ramifications.
I’d watch his son, Ethan, flirting with writers, having only read so many books and like most people, claiming that he should read more. I almost saw more of Ethan than I did of his father. He was always roaming around the empty hallways, waiting rooms, and offices. He was shy towards me and always greeted me with his head hung, gazing at his shoes. He was a notoriously horrid gambler and lived off of his father, soggy with denial that he couldn’t bring himself to apply to college.
When Morrel began to visit Rob Wonderland, Ethan lost his mind. To ‘lose one’s mind’ is such a silly idiom; where and how does one lose a mind? Do they leave it somewhere by mistake; do they give it away like they do their hearts? Nevertheless, Ethan lost his mind, and his heart along with it. Morrel thought he was cute and constantly made fun of him; she believed herself to be more wise because of the seedy places she’d lived and her degenerate profession. She’d tease him and he’d fawn over her. Because he was the son of the psychiatrist who prescribed her medication (which she usually sold), she refused to sleep with Ethan, even when he offered absurd amounts.
When I swallowed the pill that cursed me for life I immediately realized something had gone direly wrong. My whole body pulsated; each artery and vein was a rivulet of bloodcurdling, palpable hatred. I transformed into a wolf right in front of Rob Wonderland’s eyes; it was the first time he ever smiled that lewd, perverse smile. He then jabbed a syringe into my jugular before I knew what was going on. He denied that he knew what the medication’s effects were beyond death. I was never certain whether or not Danks and I were his only patients that he infected.
I fell in love with Morrel simply walking out of my appointments with Rob Wonderland, as hers was right after mine. Eventually we began to have conversations before she entered his office, I offered to take her out to dinner, etc. Ethan was too young to notice that Morrel and I were dating but his father certainly did, and not surprisingly, became increasingly mad, spreading the disease to Danks.

As of right now, I don’t know where Morrel has fled to, nor do I have any more background information on Rob Wonderland. There is much more to tell of my life as a werewolf, but that is for another story, for this one ends here.