Page 2 of Wolf Trial

I shrugged off the thought, stabbed it with a sword like all my other negative thoughts, and helped myself to a seat at the table just as Gran brought over a steaming bowl of moussaka. I didn’t even like moussaka, but I couldn’t care less as I picked up utensils and got to work devouring it. Hot, savoury, a little spicy. I could overlook the slimy aubergines if I tried really hard.

“This is good,” I remarked, unable to hide my surprise.

Gran speared me with a look as she cut apart a squishy slice of aubergine.2 “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“Sorry,” I said with a laugh that told her I wasn’t sorry at all. “Congrats on your holiday,” I said, covering it. “I hope you’ve packed a bikini. You’ll need one if you’re going to pull a hot millionaire.”

Her smile turned devious. “Oh, I’m not going after millionaires, they’re all too old.3 I’ll be too busy giving the cabana boys the old Blackhouse charm.”

Ah, the old Blackhouse charm. In my experience, that charm was obliviousness, irreverent humour, and an unwavering delusion that the world revolved around yourself. Mum definitely had that before the crash took her from us. Gran had it in spades. I’d inherited the humour part, but I was hoping to iron out the other traits into something less toxic.

“So, cabana boys,” I said after another few bites. “Sandy beaches? Tequila sunrises?”

“I’m going to show those men tricks with tequila they never imagined were possible.”

Lovely. Just what I wanted to picture of my gran.

“Oh, don’t be a prude, Sadie,” she quipped, pointing her fork at me. “Older women have a full and rigorous sex drive so—”

“Nope,” I blurted. “No, thank you, I don’t need details of my own gran’s sex life.”

She went back to cutting her moussaka, but I didn’t miss the quietly snipped, “Prude.”

If only she knew the things I’d done with my ex. That piece of shit got the best of me, and stomped all over it with his stupid Timberland boots before leaving me for a woman with worse self-esteem who wouldn’t—and I quote—be such a bitch about taking care of me, Sades.

I hated that name. I hated his stupid sneer as he said those words to me. It wasn’t enough to imply I was a shit girlfriend because I refused to be his cook, cleaner, and maid—I did plenty of that shit at home, thank you very much. Then, he had to sink his words deep, leaving scars I still hadn’t entirely recovered from, even if I’d never admit the effect that piece of shit had on me.

You’re too needy, Sades. Too insecure. I can’t be telling you how I feel every two seconds. I can’t be texting you every day. You’re so desperate for love, I feel bad for you. Sure, the sex is amazing, but no man will ever put up with the rest of your shit. We don’t even go out; all we do is stay in and game or watch TV so you can get your physical affection cuddle shit, and I need more than that. I need to go out, I need my own space, my freedom, and you’re suffocating me, Sades.

Turns out the freedom Derek needed was balls deep in another woman. Funny, that.

But what he said about me being desperate for love? Probably true. Needing touch and reassurance? Definitely true, even if I resented it. Could you blame a girl for doubting, when everyone she’d ever loved had walked out?

But I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about… what was I thinking about? Sandy beaches…? Why was I thinking about the beach…?

“I don’t feel too good,” I said. Slurred. My tongue was two sizes too big, and hard to work. Like I’d suddenly forgotten how to talk at twenty two years old.

“About time,” Gran muttered, and got up from the table to clear the plates and cutlery away. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill you. It’ll just knock you out for a little while.”

“What…?” I had to catch my hands on the edge of the table when I swayed.

“I’m sorry, Sadie—really, I mean it.” Her voice floated over from the kitchen, comforting in its familiarity even if it was rarely warm. “But the money from this will change my life. The Maldives, Sadie. Just think about it—a brand new start on the other side of the world.”

What… the fuck….? My brain was soup. That was the only explanation for how long it took me to piece together my slurring dizziness and Gran’s words.

“You drugged me,” I grunted.

“Only a bit.” Gran was as irreverent as ever. “And you’ll be right as rain in no time. No lasting damage, that’s what they told me.”

She drugged me. My own grandmother laced my food. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Even as sensitive to rejection as I was, even as experienced as I was with no one wanting me around, I didn’t expect her to fucking drug me.

With my defences down, my bottom lip started to wobble. Even Gran didn’t want me. I’d known that, but knowing and being drugged so she could dump my body at the bottom of the ocean was a different thing entirely. I sniffled, hating the tear that slid from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Sadie,” she huffed, seeing the tears. That was one of her favourite phrases, as if having human emotions were theatrics. “Everything’ll work out. I’ve always known you were meant for more than this. Didn’t I tell you that on your graduation day?”

What she said was, stay out of my way, I’m going to get some headteacher dick. But sure, I was meant for more than this.

“Killing me,” I slurred, my head getting closer to the table.