A massive ache seared through my skull. As if nails were being driven there. My palm was on my forehead and I was rocking back on forth on a chair. I gritted my teeth. It always came this way—shifting—which was why I dreaded the full moon. Shifting was excruciatingly painful. Worse still, I had to endure hours of pain before finally morphing.
A grunt left my lips. The pressure in my head was building up. So much so that I felt like pulling my brain out. I left my seat and staggered towards the bathroom. Ever step I took was laborious. I had suddenly weighed a log.
But I was determined to get my destination. So, I pushed on—eventually making it inside. As soon as I was inside, I ripped off my clothes and crept into the tub. I turned it on and laid back, waiting to get submerged. For a while, the pain ceased and I caught my breath. Then, almost like a flash, the pain came back. With full force this time.
I groaned, clutching my head. The water had lost its cooling effect. I felt like someone dunked into a geyser. My hands found their way to the rim of the tub. Clutching it tightly, I pulled myself out of the tub. As I brought out one foot to the floor, I lost my balance and fell. My shoulder made a nasty impact with the tiled floor. Urgh.
I didn’t rise. I merely laid still, gritting in agony. Then, something entered my ears. The sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door. The intensity, loud: kpor kpor. My eardrums cried out in pain.