Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters within the book.

Author's Note: I saw the previews for the movie and I'm reading the book. What more inspiration do I need? This takes place in the book world. Kyle looks like he does in the movie, not the book's image.
Please review if you like it. I don't care if it's a simple smile or a long paragraph on why. Any review is welcome. Well... except any negatives.
Chapters will be short. Sorry but it's easier to keep the story going. I can't procrastonate the best part of my stories well so making the chapters short will help that.



You think you know what it's like to be a monster? A beast? You don't. You aren't a beast or a monster because you look stupid or don't fit in. Not at all. You're a beast because you're an actual animal. Unable to control random bursts. It's something you can't ever imagine being.

Kyle can.

This is the story of how he heals himself and everyone he's hurt.

1 week before turning.

Kylie's point of view.

I had on my black spaghetti shirt under my black jean jacket that went perfect with my blank skinny jeans and black combat boots. My hair was in pigtails and my make up was black and white: my normal attire.

Mom smiled up from the newspaper as I sat down at the table across from her. "Hi, sweetie."

"Still looking for work?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "Unfortunately, yes. Most everything in here requires a college degree."

Once, I asked my mom why she didn't get a degree for a job. She said she couldn't aford the pay for books and intuition. I simply thought, when I was little, that it was only a piece of paper you had to get. Something simple that didn't require effort to get. I was wrong.

Mom wants to work and take care of me and my little brother but she can't do those together. Some jobs require long work hours my mom hates to work. School means she can't be with us when we get home from school and the homework would prevent her from spending time with us.

Sometimes I wonder why she didn't go to school and get a good job. Her life would be much better. She'd be proud of herself for being able to help us out more. It doesn't bother me though. The fact that she hasn't run off, leaving my brother and I alone, proves she loves us more than anything.

"Mom, I can work extra hours if I have to-"

She rubbed my hand. "Kylie, I wouldn't ask you to do that. We'll be ok."

I found a job close by school that helps us out. It's a small take out pizza store. Every other night I bring home pizza for dinner, saving my mom from cooking. Every Friday I bring home my small pay check of only $27.50 to help pay bills. Mom tried to get me to spend it on myself once but I refuse every time, only taking five dollars for my small make up expense. I don't pamper myself; I have no boyfriend to look pretty for and I generally don't think I look pretty.

I looked at mom for a short second before sighing and getting up. I grabbed my back pack from behind the couch and slid my arms through the straps. "I'll be back at 5."

She nodded and kissed my forehead. "I love you, Kylie."

"Love you too, mom." I said as I walked out the door. I smiled to myself, the fresh, spring air feeling good against my caked face. We lived in Brooklyn, though nobody gets shot. Strange? Maybe. It's the… better part, I guess you could call it that, of town. We don't have to worry about playing on the streets or even walking around with friends. Mainly since people around here are white. Racist, I know. My walk to school took five minutes every day. I never complained since I don't really mind though sometimes it sucks. Mainly when stupid, popular boys walk past me and make rude comments. Like now.

"Were'd you get those boots? The army?" Laugh. Next boy. "I bet you could get into the dog park free with that hair." Laugh.

Kyle Darcy. The most popular kid in school. My first boy friend(didn't date, btw) when I started school. Who knew he'd end up as a low life asshole? I thought we'd be friends forever. Forever doesn't last. He smirked as he saw my jacket. "What, couldn't afford anything better?" Yeah, he knew I was poor. He knew I couldn't afford nice things like some kids at school. He knew how hard it was for me. Yet he tossed it into my face, making me endure everything. All the time.

I shoved past them and walked down the nearest alley, none of them following. I slid down the brick to the ground, wrapped my arms around my knees, and cried, thank goodness for waterproof. No one would ever know. They wouldn't know me. Wouldn't know how many times I've cried over immaturity. Wouldn't know how much I wanted my life to get better, knowing it wouldn't.

That had to change, right?