Red by Kait Nolan

parent?
Because we both know I can protect myself.”
    “ We both know that doesn’t
necessarily mean jack shit. You have to see the threat to defend
against it.”
    The stab of pain hit just below my
breastbone. Mom. If she’d been attacked directly, she probably
would have survived.
    “ I can’t take it if
something happens to you too,” said Dad quietly. “So please,
promise me you’ll be careful.”
    “ I promise.”
     
    ~*~
     
    Elodie
     
    By some miracle I held it together through
dinner. Dad didn’t seem to catch on to all the lies I was spouting,
so clearly I deserved an Oscar for my performance. Bully for me. I
even managed to scarf down three slices of pizza, though the meaty,
cheesy goodness sat like lead in my stomach. He’d have noticed if
my appetite had changed. And while I could have blamed it on Rich
and what I’d seen, I knew he’d pay more attention if I did. So I
stuck to the everything’s fine, everything’s normal routine
until I got upstairs to my room. Then I promptly shut and locked
the door, went into the bathroom, turned on the shower to mask the
noise, and lost my dinner.
    The shakes started then. Full body tremors.
I wanted to fight them, to tense up my muscles and simply refuse to give in to my body. But after the day I’d put in,
I just couldn’t. I stripped out of my clothes and crawled in the
shower, sinking down to sit beneath the steaming spray. Jesus, I
was cold. And achy. Like that time I’d had the flu when I was
twelve. The last time I’d been really sick.
    I’d forgotten how much it sucked.
    As long as I was wrapped in the cocoon of
steam, my senses focused on the drumming spray, I didn’t have to
think, didn’t have to consider what I’d done today. But eventually
the hot water ran out. My skin was all pruney and sensitized from
the beating as I stepped out, still freezing. Quick as I could, I
toweled off and bundled up in my flannel pjs, buried deep in the
drawer from winter. Then I practically hurled myself beneath a
mound of blankets on my bed and lay there, shaking.
    Oh this was not good. This was so not
good.
    If the fevers were starting, there was no
denying that I’d pushed the envelope today.
    Who was I kidding? I’d been pushing the
envelope for days, ever since I woke up smelling that bacon. The
change was coming. After all the years of being so careful, of
doing everything right, it was happening anyway. All I’d managed to
do was delay the inevitable.
    My mother had been right.
    I’d never really believed it. That I
was cursed. I mean, seriously, who honestly believes in curses? That’s the stuff of fiction and fairy tales.
    Which is fitting, I suppose, since my family
spawned a fairy tale. You know the story of Red Riding Hood? Yeah,
that’s my great, great, many times over great grandmother. The
original version, before it got diluted and Disneyfied, was a
morality tale, meant to keep good young women chaste and
obedient.
    According to the story I’d parsed out from
the journal—which had been a slow process, as I’d had to translate
some pretty archaic French—this all started with a girl named
Sabine. Sabine was a good girl, pious, devout, submissive. A real
testament to her family. Then she fell in love with some guy. They
met on the road outside her village. She was on her way to visit
her grandmother, who was ill. He was, well, I couldn’t quite figure
out the translation. It was something like “wanderer.” I’d always
romanticized it to him being some sort of Gypsy. But whatever he
was, her family didn’t approve. So they forbade her from seeing
him. Of course. Because that always stops headstrong women
from doing whatever they want. She had an affair. I don’t know how
long it went on, but eventually, Sabine’s wanderer convinced her to
run away with him.
    Her family found out and intercepted them,
killing the wanderer for besmirching their daughter’s virtue.
Sabine got shipped off to relatives in some other part of