“You never listen to me anymore, you don’t love me and you don’t care about me. I thought you’d agreed last week to talk about our problems, I…”

“Well, I’d say anything to shut you up.”

“You…Damnit, get off that chair. Say that to my face. Tell me you don’t care.”

“No, and I don’t.” I hear a slap, skin on skin, and then glass shattering.

 “You, stupid cow. I was drinking that.” I never like it when Dad’s voice is that low. “Get me another one.” It feels like I’m hearing it in my bones and not my ears. 

“No.”

“You’re so bloody selfish. Just leave me be then. Go tell him about it. Thought he had all the answers anyway.”

“Bastard.” He snorted at this. I could hear more glass clinking, Dad was probably filling another, with that horrible amber liquid. Once, he gave me a glass and when I choked he said, ‘swallow it, boy,’ in that low voice, so I fought the burn of it all the way down my throat till it settled in heavily in the bottom of my stomach. And when he sat back in his chair and looked away from me I put the glass on the floor and ran all the way back up to my room. I don’t know why he drinks it.

“How can you say that to me?” I can hear the tears in her voice. “Who do you think you are, do you know even what he would say if I told him about this?”

“Yes, yes, I know. Are you going to leave now?”

She huffs. “I am, but I’m taking the boy with me.”

Dad chuckles. “No, you’re not.”

“Fine, whatever. You keep him then.”

“Well, you’re not going to take him, are you?”

“I could. I’m a better parent than you.”

I’m in my bedroom. I can hear them all the time. Her yelling and screaming and him in the chair drinking the amber liquid. My pillow can barely block them out at night.

But tonight is different. I’m not hiding in my bed waiting for it to finally be quiet. Holding the pillow down over my head. I am packing. I have decided to leave, although I don’t know where I am going, I have saved some money. The money she forgets to take out of my birthday and Christmas cards, I could buy a bus ticket or a train ticket, I’ve never walked to either before but I can’t imagine it would be that far. Not for someone who really wants to get there.

I have pulled down my old, but only, bag. It is Thomas the tank engine. I think my grandma gave it to me seven years ago for my third birthday. I would bring it whenever I went to stay with her. Now the faded plastic of the bag has started to peel off. I pick at it a little. I accidentally tear off a rather large piece, and now Thomas’ face is gone, I hide it under my bed.

     I wonder if I should try to get to grandma’s house, only I don’t know where it is, just that it’s near a lake. I used to try and catch fish in it, but I only had a toy net, the fish was so big that if they got between my legs they could trip you and you’d end up under the water with them. It wasn’t so bad if you stayed under, they came right up to your face. In the sun the scales shone like seashells and they all swam in big groups. I didn’t really think I wanted to eat them after that.

     I stumbled over to my bedroom window dragging my bag with me. Gazing down at the unused backyard, I see the forest at the back. The trees looked dark, yet almost inviting. I never played down there anymore though. The living room windows looked out at it, Dad always told me to get back inside because I ought to have something better to do then ruin his view.

     I decided it was time to go. Since this was a special occasion, I grabbed my favourite jacket from my door. As I put it on I realized it was getting a bit small. It was very thin and only just reached past my elbows. I took it back off.

I walked down the stairs carefully, but I wasn’t worried about being caught. Mum was probably in her room and Dad was drinking on his chair and staring at something in front of him I never could see. The back door wasn't locked, and I pushed through without a sound. The cold bite of the evening air stung my cheeks and arms. Passing through my t-shirt and bringing up goosebumps. Dew clung to the little grass that had survived the beginning of winter and the ground looked soft and damp. I pulled on my father's boots He never wore them, and I didn’t want my white socks to get any mud stains (I only had room for one other pair). The boots were much too large and heavy. I had to drag each foot forward to move. I trudged slowly down the yard. We had no back fence, just some old pine-tree stumps that marked the boundary between wild wood and the houses.

     I found my old favourite stump. It was closest to the trees and was slightly darker in colour than the rest. It was cool and solid, a perfect place to sit and watch the animals. There was supposed to be wolves out here, Dad had once said, I used to sit here hoping to spot one until Mum had told he was just lying anyway. I looked out at the darkening trees. I wonder what wolves are like? There is some light mist gathering around the bases of the trees, and I think I should have felt cold, sitting out in the late June evening. But instead, I felt strangely warm.

     I don't know how long I stayed sitting outside in the silence, but it must have been a while because now I was curled in a ball on the ground and as I looked slowly around, I realized how much darker it had gotten. I got up quickly, shuffling towards the house.

I pulled at the back door, but it wouldn't budge, it was locked. I called into the door, "Mum?" I tried calling, she’d be annoyed if I woke her, but I’d left my bag by the door, I couldn't leave without it.

 I just wanted to say goodbye to the woods. But there was no answer and the house remained dark. I went around to the front to try there but it was locked as well, and the car was gone. They must have gone out; Mum usually goes to see some doctor man when's she's upset and tries to bring Dad sometimes too. Did she take him again tonight?   

     But now I'm locked out and I don't know how to get back in, I don’t know what to do, so I just decide to go back to my stump.

     As I sat there, I start to feel a bit warm again, my eyelids are heavy, and I wonder if I should just sleep for a bit? But I think I should be awake for when they come back. I tried to think of a way to keep myself awake but my eyes are already starting to blur. I tried to think of something else, but I can't. What if I practised whistling? I'm actually getting quite good now. However, my first attempt contradicts that when no sound comes out, my second is a little better but I cut off far too early and it sounds more like a half whistle. Finally, on my third attempt, I manage a perfect whistle. A wolf-whistle. I learnt it from my Dad.

     I kept whistling, the sounds being swallowed by the unusual heaviness of the night. Soon the edges of my vision darkened, and I found that there was no breath left in my chest; I had to stop. I put my hands on my knees and let my head fall between them, trying to catch my breath, trying to will the hollow space. When I feel like I might be breathing normally again I open my eyes, but they blur, and I can’t even focus on the very large boots on my feet. But then I hear a strange, snorting sort of breath in front of me. I look up slowly and my watery eyes met those of a wolf.

     She was an ethereal shade of white and her hazel eyes seemed to glow. Staring hauntingly down at me with a very otherworldly gaze. I found that I was unable to stare directly into her eyes and I realised that didn’t matter so much anyway when my eyes continued to darken. I don’t know whether I actually closed them or not, or if I could now only see darkness.

     I also don’t recall whether I fell to the ground or just curled myself into a ball at the feet of her. But that’s where I am now, there is dirt in my nose and burning through my throat. I couldn't breathe. I was stuck somewhere between wanting to wrap myself in the warmest blanket I could find and tearing off my clothes to soothe this itching heat on my skin.

     To be honest, I thought it would be like a great build-up of pain and regret and fear before a climax, and then relief. But it wasn’t at all like that. It really was just like falling asleep; not quite sure if it was coming, or if you’d reached it yet until suddenly you were gone. That’s what it was like.

     Now at least I could look into her eyes. Run my hands through her pelt. I look back over at this strange shape on the ground, over by my favourite stump. I suppose that doesn’t really matter anymore. I turned to gaze once again at the wolf and she looked back at me before tossing her great head back towards the forest. I’d never gone past the boundary before. I can’t remember why. But I think I might have been running away.

 So, I turned and stepped into the trees with a wolf.