MV2: Practice Dummies

Trainer Jim -- apparently the werecougar's name was James Trainor -- had set up a a dozen or so wooden training dummies behind the classrooms building. Andy had already demolished three of them, with a combination of barehanded strikes, basic claws, and the longer claws of a wight. He knew there was a woodshop on campus; he'd have to build more to make up for it, but right now he needed to break things. Hitting the punching bag in the gym just hadn't done it for him. 

"Hey," said a soft voice behind him. 

Andy spun around, and found himself looking at Sam W -- Samantha Wolfe, she was calling herself, having apparently been turned in her late forties. He thought there was a joke to it, but he didn't get the reference. She was the werewolf who'd asked about shooting guns, though. 

She held her hands up and he put his claws away.

"Hey," she said again. "It's not really any of my business, and I'll go away if you want, but... are you all right?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I am so very much not all right."

She nodded. "You want to talk about it?"

He sighed, looking at the scattered bits of wood that had been three practice dummies, and the gouges in a fourth one. I should stop now, while there are still enough left for the class to use. Did he feel better? He wasn't sure, but he thought so. "I'm taking classes online to finish high school."

Sam nodded. "You mentioned that while we were waiting for movie night one time."

"Yeah, well... Internet connection. So I opened up social media, and saw... what my family is going through right now. Kind of had a meltdown."

"That's... how bad is it?"

"My family was in mourning. My girlfriend died in the same attack where I was turned, and her family is... turning their grief to anger. At everyone, including my family, the school... and particularly my sister, who survived the attack by hiding in her room and calling for help."

"Oh." Sam paused for a moment, picturing that. "Jesus. That's..."

"Yeah. That's why I've been hiding in my room for the last three days. Mr. Carillo arranged for me to call my family and let them know what's really going on, but I think I'm going to have to talk to Amy's family too. I've asked the Authority to give them more information about what happened, and how little chance any of us had of stopping it." He turned away, then turned back. "I thought I was okay, that I was handling all this, but then it all caught up to me and I'm... not."

"Andy... You're still calling yourself Andy, right? ...it's okay. You're allowed to freak out." Sam hesitated, then said, "God knows I did. If I hadn't been presumed dead, I'd owe the apartment complex a few thousand dollars in damages. At least all you did was hide away for a little while, and break some things that were built to be broken."

Andy sat down on the grass. "Thanks," he said.

Sam moved cautiously closer, and when he didn't object she sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I don't know if we're friends, exactly," Sam said carefully, "but I like you, and as far as I know the others do too. We've been lucky; no real assholes in this class, even if we do have our own issues. As far as I can tell, you're doing just fine. Plus, I owe you for getting us started on self-defense training. So if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

Andy nodded. He didn't like asking for help; he never had. But the offer was genuine, and maybe it was time to consider that mutual support was supposed to go both ways. "Thank you," he said quietly.