Wereball Serie - Along Came A Mate

Sometimes the decisions we make in life, even the smallest, or the microscopic ones, begin to build a predestined path that zigzags through the forest of life and leads us to a precise destination, to a final stop.

Chance had led me to go to that bar that evening, or better, Tiziano and Makena had dragged me. First, I had freed myself from the shift in the hospital, afterwards I had decided not to stay at home with Amaia who refused to join us, and, I had agreed to lend my phone to a random friend of Makena’s, that Ludmilla girl who could have asked thousands of other people in the bar.

And here I am, in the darkness of my room, on the verge of falling asleep, when the infernal machine called a cell phone beeped.

With a frown, I pondered whether it was worth the effort to check who had written to me at that absurd time or re-immerse myself in my soft lilac-smelling pillow. Tomorrow would be one of those endless days, with a crazy shift in the hospital, a study session, and some volunteering at the children’s center. Plus, it could not be a family emergency; they would have mind-linked me if something had happened.

Thus, I decided that my sleep was more important and, with a blissful smile, I let myself be enveloped by the pleasure of my blankets that cuddled me. Sleep was involved in the healing and repair of the heart and blood vessels, and I certainly would not let a message interfere with that fundamental phase.

As I was about to fall asleep, my traitorous phone beeped again, for the second time, indicating another text.

Grabbing it too hard, I cracked the screen slightly. The strength of the werewolves, particularly the werewolves descended from alphas and betas, was too much to bear for futile human devices.

“Oh great,” I growled as I rubbed my groggy face. I pushed myself up so my back leaned against the headboard. My fluffy blanket rested on my lap.

Once I unlocked the screen, I realized that the number from which I received the unwanted message was not in my contacts.

Raising an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity joined the annoyance. I swiftly moved my fingers to open the first of the two messages.

As my slow foggy mind absorbed what was written, I flinched.

Unknown: ‘Is this another number? Baby, I don’t have time to see you. And If I had, I wouldn’t anyway.’

Astonished, I checked the second message, realizing it came from the same person.

I stared at it in disgust and I refused to repeat what was written... Some references to a part of his body, and ‘my’ poor handling skills.

What a rude, insolent, impolite person.

This personage had obviously contacted the wrong number. Or, perhaps, was it some kind of bad joke? Was I missing something here?

I was fairly sure I had not done any ”service" to anyone, so these messages were not meant to me.

A light bulb went on in my head. It must have been the boy Ludmilla had sent a message to.

I quickly scanned the conversation with this vulgar animal and noticed that the only messages present were the two he had sent me recently. No trace of Ludmilla’s...

She must have deleted them, for some reason. Not that I was going to read her texts.

While I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure this was the guy she texted from my phone, the odds were pretty high.

Eventually, I decided it had to be him. But why would Ludmilla want to deal with someone so rude?

Since sleep already abandoned my body, I decided to teach him a lesson. It was certainly a he, considering the remark to a certain part of his body.

Tapping my chin with a finger, I mulled over a good answer.

‘Mr Rude-’

Lame. I erased it and started tapping again.

'Hi there.

I would gladly forward this message to your mother to show her what kind of rude son she raised. Make sure you wash your mouth with plenty of cleanser when you can, as the dirt you’ve spilled must have contaminated your surroundings.′

I pressed ‘Send’ without thinking and found myself type a second text.

'And Sir, please delete my number and don’t text me ever again.

Good night.′

I added the ‘goodnight’ because I am a considerable person whose parents brought up well. I wouldn’t wish anyone a bad sleep, not even someone of that calibre.

His unwanted response came after fourteen minutes, while I was super awake for some reason. And very annoyed, I must add.

With a surge of energy, I rapidly opened his text, growling. A real growl, since I’m a wolf.

'If this is a technique to get my attention more, let me tell you, it’s sad. And I just gave you constructive feedback about your sucking skills. No need to take it personally, baby.′

There was also a second message.

‘Oh, and my mother said hello ;) ’

I gasped, covering my mouth.

What a, a- ...

I fumbled, trying to find the appropriate epithet to describe this beast.

Who treated women this way? What a huge ego inflated to bursting.

'Why should I want to get the attention of someone who has a dirtier mouth than their own dirty laundry? YOU are sad. I’ll repeat: DO NOT answer me anymore.

Goodbye.′

This time I didn’t have to wait long for his unwanted response.

‘Oh but If I remember correctly you loved my dirty mouth on you ;) We have a saying in the place where I am from: never spit on the plate where you eat ;) and, baby, you have eaten a lot on my plate.’

I grunted with irritation. The best way to deal with such primitive ape was to ignore him, but I could not resist the urge to respond.

‘Don’t baby me! I am NOT your baby, I never was, and I will NEVER be. I don’t even know you, or where you are from, super rude unknown stranger. And believe me, I have no intention of “eating” on your same plate.’

I must have misunderstood his “metaphor” about eating from his own plate, but I didn’t care. His response came quick again.

'Unknown? Are you by any chance having a stroke? Or is it a feminine way to get more attention? I like this wild side of you, maybe we can find a moment for you this week ;) ′

“A feminine way-” My mouth dropped and before I could catch a moth I shut it, grinding my teeth and typing a reply.

‘My medical condition is perfect, thank you for your unnecessary concern. But I’m worried about yours, Mr. Rude Stranger. and I must add chauvinist. Meeting you would be the last thing I would do because I have much better things to use my precious time with.’

I pressed ‘send’ but not fully satisfied, I typed another text.

‘I swear that after this I will never answer you again. PS: I can recommend many specialists to check your mental health as I work in the field.’

The response was almost instant, as if he was waiting for my messages.

‘I knew you were a prostitute!! ;) ’

I wrapped my hand around the phone very hard. This person is infuriating.

Before I could react, another message appeared.

'Wait, is this some kind of a bet or a joke? What do you mean by ‘stranger’? You do know me.′

I was beyond sure he was the boy Ludmilla had written to. And he was beyond sure I was Ludmilla.

I began to suspect she did not tell me the whole story; besides, why would he block her number? Was she some kind of stalker?

'My acquaintance, Ludmilla, asked me to lend her my phone so she could text you because you apparently blocked her number? So no. I don’t know you, and I’m not going to. As we speak, I’m already blocking your number. Bye and have a good life.

Or not.′

When I entered “settings” and pressed his number, searching for the “block this contact” option, my phone started to vibrate. It took my brain a few blinks to realize that the unknown number was calling me.

The psycho is calling me!

What do I do?! There is no reason to be anxious, Yvaine. You are a doctor, a future neurosurgeon. Fighting evil and diseases is what you are training for.

You will kindly inform this pig that you are not interested in chatting and that there has been a mistake. That you are not who he thinks you are.

Ultimately, what harm could it do to answer a phone call?