Waking up is always the worst part.

Yeah, I'm a werewolf. It totally sucks balls, but hey, life's not fair. So, here I was, waking up from another agonizing night under the full moon. It was the same as always. As a wolf, I always seemed calm, like I'd finally released anger growing inside of me. At the end of every night, I'd curl up at the base of a tree. Unfortunately, in the morning, I'd be naked, practically lost in the woods. I'd have to find my way back and pretend like I hadn't just burst out of my skin and into a wolf. I couldn't lie; the woods around Boston were nice, private, and mostly free of large wild animals (excluding myself). But after a transformation my joints were robotic, my muscles screaming. It made me really hungry, but also really weak. After picking up my pathetic self off of the forest floor, I wandered back to where I'd ditched my clothes and started getting dressed. Of course, since life obviously fucking hates me, it started to sprinkle slightly, making me shiver and sneeze once or twice. Getting sick was exactly what I needed on top of everything else.

I was a scrawny, sixteen year old homeless girl with a foul mouth, living on the streets of Boston. To top it all off, I was a murderous evil werewolf, and it was impossible for me to live safely with other humans. Therefore, I was alone in this sick world we were living in, and falling ill would just be the icing on the cake. If it would kill me, that would be fantastic, but I'd tried suicide before. Werewolves, however, healed faster than Jesus Christ. I'd jumped off of two seven story buildings and a cliff, but I'd always healed back up perfectly in a week or two. Disease and illness were just a bother; only making me feel bad, not doing any actual damage.

Once I had all my shit together, I limped out of the woods. The only bone that hadn't healed properly from my suicide attempts was my left hip- permanently giving me a limp. It made me look like I had swagger, which was helpful on the streets when other homeless souls tried to fuck you up. As I approached the bus stop, as usual, I was surprised to see someone waiting for the 4:30 am bus. Usually, only the crack addicts and the truly insane were out at this hour (hence why I was out). Suddenly, I felt wildly embarrassed about what I was wearing: some kid's pajama top that fit me like a glove and showed half of my stomach, a men's pair of sweat pants with the elastic cut out of the bottoms that sat so low my hip bones showed, and bare feet. I looked like a hooker on a casual Friday. I was also covered in dirt, scratches and lots of blood from being all wolfy in the woods, so I looked like a zombie hooker.

Arriving at the bus stop, I stuck my hands deep in my pockets, looking straight ahead, as if kids my age were always out this early looking as such. The guy next to me was young, and had the whole 'dark and mysterious' thing going for him. He was incredibly pale and looked very…thoughtful. Maybe he was thinking about how much crack he could sell; he looked just like some of the dealers on the street. But then, I started to notice how he stared at me, as if he was seeing right into my head. I didn't like it. He couldn't have been a drug dealer, not with the way he was looking at me. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Fed up, I finally turned to look at him, raising my eyebrows dangerously. "What the fuck are you looking at?" I snapped, and he looked swiftly away. I usually had that affect on people; a young looking girl with a mouth like mine was certainly unforgettable. "That's what I thought." I muttered, satisfied that he'd looked away. I turned to face the front again, impatiently tapping my foot for the bus. My body was screaming, and all I wanted to do was find a place to sleep. As I tapped, I suddenly coughed heavily, the sound wet and raw. Great, so I had gotten sick from the rain shower. Perfect, just fucking perfect.

"I know what you are," The man said suddenly and firmly, leaning over his knees and looking fixedly at the ground. Chills went up my spine as he continued effortlessly. "I know that you're a werewolf." I gasped as he uttered the word, turning to look at him. How the fuck did he know? No one knew except for other werewolves and vampires, and, hell, I'd met only a few of them, and none were very happy to see me. I turned, looking at him with a hard stare. Even if he did know (which meant he was a vampire, a very comforting thought), I wasn't going to let him fuck with me, no sir. I barked a hard laugh, putting a hand on my hip. My language had scared him away before, I could do it again.

"Ok, why don't you fuck off and go back to the mental institution you escaped from, alright? Go back to your fairytales." I said roughly, but it came out sounding the tiniest bit unsure, something I hated. I leaned against the pole holding the bus stop sign, ignoring him as much as possible. With a tiny flicking noise, the vampire's fangs suddenly slid out. I turned fast and leapt back a step, almost reaching for the switchblade knife I kept on me. "What, you want a go? Go ahead, you'd be doing me a goddamn favor," I growled without a second thought, hands clenching into fists. If he wanted a fucking fight, he'd get one. I'd fought vampires before. It wasn't pretty, but I'd certainly kicked some ass before they totally annihilated me. Before either of us could say another word, the 4:30 am bus rumbled around the corner and stopped. I didn't look away from the vampire's eyes as the doors opened.

"Getting on?" The driver asked in a bored voice. Shooting the bloodsucker one last look of pure hatred, I boarded the bus with a scowl. The bus ride was long but quiet, something I appreciated. I was getting a headache, as usual. It came with the territory of being a monster.


About three weeks later, I found myself playing a game of poker for some weed and some cash. I always needed something to take away all the goddamn pain. Whether it was crack, weed, stolen pain meds, alcohol, I didn't care. I'd always needed something hardcore to take the pain away. As we played, I noticed a hulking shape standing deep in the corner a few feet away, leaning against some boxes. It took a puff of its cigarette and flicked the ash onto its shoe and then kicked it, letting me know instantly who it was. The person was Ray, a fucking perverted werewolf who thought I should 'mate' with him to start a race of werewolves. The guy was nuts, and he wouldn't leave me the fuck alone, no matter where I went or how hard I beat the shit out of him. Suddenly furious, I stood up. "Get the fuck out of here!" I yelled, and the poker game broke up. On the street, if you didn't have to be in a fight you wouldn't get in one. "I told you to stay the hell away, Ray!"

"Don't act like that," Ray growled in what he probably thought was a 'seductive' way, stepping out of the dark. Sensing a fight, the people playing poker with me quickly started to pack up. I didn't blame them; this was going to get ugly. If I had to kill Ray this time I was going to do it. I was sixteen, and he was, like, sixty five. That was forty nine goddamn years that he had on me.

"Why don't you come over here, you fucking jackwagon, and tell me how to act. Yeah, get your pussy ass over here so I can beat the shit out of it." I challenged, and spat on the ground when he came forward. The moon was almost out, and I could feel my wolf get as close to the surface as possible, as if it was right under my skin. Suddenly, Ray went in for a punch. With a quick flick, I pulled out my switchblade and held it right under his chin, not at all remorseful, the wolf buzzing in my ears. "Give me a reason, Ray, not to kill you right here? How'd you like that, huh? Do you want me to bash your fucking brains out all over this alley?" I hissed harshly, pressing down on the knife when he moved to punch anyway.

"Hey," a voice called cautiously, and I heard someone behind us step forward. I felt my shoulders knot together as my whole body tensed, not looking away from Ray, whose eyes were gleaming with hatred and something more. As I got a whiff of the stranger's scent, I realized it was that same goddamn vamp from my last transformation. Didn't he have anything better to do?

"I told you to leave me the fuck alone, bloodsucker," I called, then cut a huge gash across Ray's cheek, kicked him hard in the privates, then brought my hand down across the back of his neck, making him choke. After a few kicks to the ribs, making sure that he wasn't going to get up and attack me, I turned and stalked over to the vampire, eyes flashing. "What's the matter, don't like werewolves? Is my blood not fucking good enough for your palette?" I demanded, and clenched my fist around my knife, stopping in front of him. Ray's blood dripped off the tip. The vampire looked just as polished and put together as he had the last time.

"To the contrary," he said calmly, and stepped aside, letting his companion into better light. My eyes narrowed, and the guy looked down like a bashful little kid. At first, I thought he was human until I smelt the strong scent of werewolf on him. I barely fought down the urge to laugh as the guy looked up with freaking Bambi eyes and then looked quickly away from my hard gaze. He reeked of vamp, something I found odd. Werewolves and vampires didn't mix.

"What, you have a fucking pet? Oh, that's really nice, that's just great. Take your little dog back home and fuck off. I don't want to see you again, got it?" I asked, raising the knife. I wasn't going to let this vampire make me his second little pet, if that's what he was after. He seriously needed to back off.

"Pet?" Bambi spluttered, raising his head with sudden boldness. "I'm not his pet. We're roommates." I blinked, surprised, then barked out a laugh.

"Well aren't you two just living the fucking American dream." I mocked, closing the blade and shoving the knife in my pocket. "Whatever, I honestly couldn't give a shit. Go fuck yourselves, alright? Do everyone a favor." I started to walk away but stopped for a second, coughing hard into the crook of my arm when my lungs seared with pain, forced to reach out for the wall of the alley to hold myself up. I'd been doing that ever since my last transformation and it was as irritating as shit. I probably could help myself out by drinking instead of doing weed to make my terrible life fade away for a day or two, but weed was cheaper than booze.

"Do you need help?" The vamp asked, and I nearly turned around and throttled him. Would it make him feel better if he was charitable to the little werewolf girl? His one comment made me so angry that the wolf nearly escaped. I slowly stood up straight, fists clenching tight. After trembling for about a second, I forced myself to relax, to shove the wolf away…for now.

"Fuck off!'" I shouted over my shoulder before loping out of the alley and angrily starting off down the sidewalk. If I ever saw that vamp again I was going to beat him to little bloody pieces and then burn his sparkly ass.

So, now you've met my little werewolf! Yes, she's offensive and swears a lot, but that's her character. Bear with it, please, just for a few more chapters. She settles down a bit. No one else swears like her, I promise.