I was so exhausted from a demanding night shift at the store. I just threw myself in bed and hugged what I thought was my husband lying next to me in our dim bedroom. I woke up with a start in the dead of night when I realized the man beside me WASN’T MY HUSBAND but a TOTAL STRANGER.
My husband Christian and I have been married for five years now. Usually, we’re that annoying couple who can’t keep their hands off each other, but lately, these night shifts at the convenience store have been killing me. Ten-hour shifts of dealing with drunk college kids and truckers hopping up on energy drinks isn’t exactly my dream job, but it helps pay the bills while Christian builds his car repair business.
When my shift ended at 3 a.m., I was running on autopilot. My feet ached, my head throbbed, and all I could think about was our foam mattress calling my name. I barely remembered the drive home, though I’m pretty sure I had a fascinating conversation with a stop sign I mistook for a crossing guard.
The house was dark and quiet when I arrived. This was nothing unusual. I kicked off my shoes, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to our bedroom like a very tired, very confused Hansel and Gretel.
The streetlight filtering through our curtains cast just enough light for me to make out a figure under the covers. Perfect. Christian was already home and asleep!
The thought made me smile. I slipped under the covers, snuggling up against what I thought was my husband’s warm back. The familiar scent of our detergent mixed with something else.
Maybe a new cologne? I was too exhausted to think about it, though I did briefly wonder why his arm suddenly felt bulkier, almost like a thigh. Must be one of those things that happens during marriage! I reasoned in my sleep-deprived state.
“Baby,” I whispered, nuzzling closer. “You smell different tonight. Like discount whiskey and bad decisions.
I like it.” I giggled, running my fingers through what I thought was Christian’s hair. “Very sexy. Very mysterious.”
The figure remained silent.
Feeling playful despite my exhaustion, I rubbed my leg against his, trying to be seductive. Instead of the usual smooth skin, I felt something different. Very different.
“Honey,” I mumbled, still running my leg against his, “when did your legs turn into an overgrown lawn? Did you join some kind of werewolf support group while I was at work? Because I’ve got to say, this whole sasquatch situation you’ve got going on down there is unexpected.”
Still no response.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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