WARNING: This story contains graphic scenes of non consent and sex with by a werewolf which may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Rosita Hood stood staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had rushed through her morning routine, cleaning up her mother's, and guest's, mess from the night before, as well as putting the oven on warm to heat the muffins she would be bringing to her grandmother. She remembered the sight of her mother, sprawled on the thick rug in front of the television, while a man in his twenties sat on the couch, rubbing his stubble of a beard. He leered at her when he saw her. The age difference between him and her mother was probably the same as between him and herself.
Gina was a second generation single mother, knocked up at 16, making her look more like a sister to her offspring than a mother. When Rosita had passed her sweet 16 with her virginity intact, she had sent a prayer to St. Agnes in thanks. Like the Saint, Rosita was a beauty, and had been chased by boys and men alike since she began to grow breasts at the age of 12. Her long, midnight black hair fell in waves across her caramel colored skin, framing rich chocolate eyes and a pair of wide, rosy lips. High round breasts thrust against even baggy polo shirts, and her firm, heart shaped ass looked good in almost any pants. Unlike the martyr, Rosita didn't plan on remaining a virgin forever, but she at least wanted to finish high school, perhaps even college, before she risked everything for some man. So far, she had burned a candle to St. Agnes twice more since that first birthday landmark.
Her experiences with the eager boys in school were not so harsh, but the older men her mother brought home terrified her. She had installed a chain lock on her own door when she was only 14 after one drunk lover had tried to enter her room after Gina passed out from too much beer, leaving her "date" unsatisfied. Rosita had barely slipped through her window, his fingers wrapping around her ankles as she dove, but all he got for his trouble was her booted slippers.
Rosita never knew her father. He was supposedly some football champion from high school, but Rosita's grandmother scoffed at that description. Although Gina had always been a beauty, her low self esteem drew her to losers, misfits, and brutal men. Although she had also become pregnant 16, Rosita's abuela had been deeply in love with Rosita's grandfather, Daniel Hood, and they had married. Wanting a better life for his teenage wife and new daughter, Daniel had enlisted in the army. While training, he excelled, and his skills were deemed good enough to earn him a trip to Egypt for Operation Bright Star, following the Camp David Accords. However, he never made it. During a training exercise while en route to Cairo he suffered an unexpected and fatal heart attack. It was so strange for someone so young, and no one had ever been able to give Abuela a good answer as to why she was left widowed at the tender age of 19.
Rosita's grandmother never re-married, her grief was too great. Thanks to the survivors benefits paid out by the US military and a meager life insurance policy, she was able to purchase a small bungalow in a rural neighborhood, backing up to a beautiful wood, with mountain tops peaking in the horizon. The dirt road had many such houses on it, and led to a small town with a school, restaurants and shopping mall. She never even learned to drive, taking a motorized trike with a cart attached behind to do her grocery shopping, and was able to live frugally on their monthly stipend. Gina had hated the place. She was desperate for the big city. The closest had been Stroudsburg, PA, where she was bussed to school. She'd had big dreams of escaping to NY, or maybe just Pittsburgh, but when she got knocked up at 16 by her first high school boyfriend, there was little chance. Abuela had raised her until she was old enough to go to school, and then Gina had suddenly packed all their things and moved into an apartment in the heart of Stroudsburg. Rosita's mother rented the small two bedroom, one bath flat with her earnings as a barista at the mall where she spent most of her time. The bus rode right there, and it was a favorite hang out of the college kids who attended the branch of UPenn.
Since she was old enough to ride a bicycle on her own, Rosita had been braving the 5 mile ride down the mountain road to her grandmother's bungalow. It was better than school, where kids often picked on her because of her slutty mother, or the mall where she might find said mother making out with a college boy in a corner. Eventually, she started staying the night on the weekends, and her mother barely noticed, except that it meant Gina could have overnight guests also, without any interruption. Only when she was at Abuela's house did Rosita feel safe. She would have moved back in with her grandmother, if her mother had allowed it, and Gina and Abuela had gotten into a few fights about how to raise Rosita. But Gina remained stubborn on this one aspect of her life in which she had control: Rosita. She liked having someone to boss around and do the chores she despised. Rosita had also learned early how to dial 911 for help when Gina's boyfriends became too violent. Eventually, Rosita came to feel that she was responsible for her mother, who obviously couldn't take care of herself. But that all changed when Abuela got sick.
In the beginning she kept it hidden, and Rosita might have never found out about her grandmother's illness if she hadn't adored her so much. It was little things at first. Abuela started to lose some of the roundness she had always had, her figure going from plump to merely curvy. Abuela had only just turned 50 and still maintained much of the beauty of her youth. A few of her midnight black hairs had gone gray, but not enough that she had felt the need to dye it. She had merely plucked the few errant strands. Now her hair was turning gray all over, and seemed much thinner than before. She was tired, and becoming forgetful. It scared Rosita, especially since her grandmother lived all alone. Eventually Rosita confronter her, and Abuela confided that she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The symptoms Rosita had noticed were all from the chemotherapy treatments she took bi weekly.
Now that Rosita had turned 18, even though she had not yet finished high school, she decided it was time to start spending more days with her grandmother. At first Gina had protested, but there wasn't much she could do about it, besides kick her daughter out of the house completely. Even the few days a week she was home was enough to keep the house from turning into a garbage heap, and whenever Gina was between boyfriends, she liked the company. So Rosita spent every other day and the whole of the weekend with her grandmother, making sure she was never alone for more than 24 hours. Like at home, she cooked and cleaned to take the pressure off of her weakened grandmother, until finally it seemed to be paying off. Abuela was getting stronger, and the doctor had changed her chemo schedule to once a month instead. The mass in her ovaries had shrunk significantly, and they scheduled her for surgery in December. Although that was still several months away, everyone was confident that she would pull through.
Hearing the oven timer beep, Rosita took one last look at her reflection and pulled on her favorite accessory: a red, hand knitted poncho. Abuela had made it for her when Rosita turned 13 and began having problems with boys. The yarn was thick, but the weave was loose, letting in a nice breeze and allowing Rosita to wear it three out of four seasons. The bulky garment covered her luxurious hair, fine chiseled features, and was long enough to hide both her bosom and her shapely derrière. It gave her a sense of security and confidence, and as a result, she wore it nearly everywhere. Steeling herself for her escape, she went into the kitchen and dumped the pan of hot muffins into a basket and poured steaming chai tea into a silver thermos. From the corner of her eye, she could see the young man her mother had brought home approaching her, smiling suggestively as he leaned against the counter. She tried not to look at him, but when she went to leave the kitchen, he moved to block her path.
