Page 64 of Strays
“You say that now,” she snaps, “but I doubt condoms even cross your mind when we’re fucking and I’m not anywhere near heat. Why the hell would I trust you to remember them for whole days of heat, when not even I know how it’s going to be, what state of mind any of us will be in?”
He looks down at his hands, completely defeated. We all know she’s right. As it is, we lose control around her the second we realize sex is going to happen. Trusting ourselves to remember condoms during a heat was a stupid idea.
It’s excruciating to leave her alone at home like this, but we’re expected in D.C. early the next morning, and she has a shift, so she can’t come with us. We wait for her to fall asleep before taking off.
We arrive in D.C. in the middle of the night and try to get some sleep, but I can’t. Jay and Shane are just as restless. We all miss her in the center of the nest, the way her sweet scent helps us relax and sink into deeper sleep.
In the morning, the medical team puts us through everything: treadmill stress tests, weightlifting, full audiometric screening, and what feels like a hundred tubes of blood. When the results come in, it’s good news: we’ve already cleared Tier-Three and are halfway through Tier-Two.
But we don’t celebrate. We’re so anxious to get back home that we head straight to the truck afterward. Not even Jay asks to stop for lunch.
Jo greets us with a smile when we get back, steady and warm, trying so hard to be okay. But something about it makes my chest tighten, like we’re standing on a ledge we can’t see yet.
Joseph Monsoon Hospital
Residency Administration Board
As of March 2025, the hospital confirms that Dr. Johane Elizabeth Larsen, a first-year resident in Internal Medicine, is of gregalis origin. This information was not previously disclosed during her application or credentialing process.
At present, there are no legal or regulatory requirements mandating species identification for medical licensure or training programs.
Dr. Larsen holds a valid medical license in the State of Connecticut and has met all academic and professional criteria required to participate in this residency. She remains under the supervision of Dr. Bryan Lindstrom and continues her duties without restriction.
However, in light of the unusual nature of this case, the Residency Board has determined that it is both ethically and legally prudent to notify all patients under Dr. Larsen’s care of her non-human status. Patients will be given the option to request a different resident physician at any time. This disclosure is intended to ensure informed consent and mitigate potential legal liability.
This policy reflects the hospital’s commitment to transparency and legal compliance in unprecedented circumstances.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
How Can This Be Wrong?
Jo has been avoiding her parents’ calls ever since she met us, and been evasive the few times she actually talks to them. I see the tension build in her face every time they ring or text, getting worse with each passing week.
We don’t bring it up much. She already has enough to deal with at work, and the last thing we want is for her to worry about family troubles too. And there’s guilt, because we’re the reason for the rift. On top of that, we just don’t know how to help. None of us has any experience with parents.
On Saturday, she has the day off, so we spend it together. It’s calm, fun, easy. We sleep in until ten. We’ve finally learned how to make French toast for her, and she eats so many at breakfast she can’t even manage lunch. In the afternoon, we finally convince her to watch one of our favorite movies. She’s curled up in my lap, laughing at the dumbest scenes, when her phone rings.
Her smile fades in an instant, replaced by that familiar worry, but this time, she stands up quietly and goes upstairs to take the call. My brothers and I stay where we are, anxious, but trying not to smother her. We give her space.
She’s gone for over two hours, and the longer she’s upstairs, the sharper her scent gets, acidic and sour, hanging heavy in the air.
When she finally comes back down, her eyes are red and swollen. Again.
I stand to hug her, but when I reach out, she steps back. It’s the first time she’s ever rejected my touch. I freeze, then back off. But she changes her mind and collapses into me, breaking down in my arms. The low hum rises in my chest before I even think about it. Jay and Shane picking up quickly.
Just like all the other times, we don’t talk. We don’t try to stop the tears. We just hum, hold her, and let her cry.
She doesn’t say a word for the rest of the day, and goes to lie down in the nest before the sun even sets. We let her rest. At least she’s sleeping.
The next morning, over breakfast, she finally tells us what happened. “The second I said ‘Matching Center,’ my father started screaming,” she says.
Her eyes are dry, but her voice is tight and strained. “My mother ended up taking the phone, and she was dead silent the whole time I told her about us. And when I finished, I thought she would scream too, but she didn’t. She just kept saying that my father would be so disappointed, again and again and again. I didn’t know what to say, so I said I was sorry… I know I shouldn’t have said that.”
Shepauses to take a sip of her orange juice, the glass shaking a little as she lifts it to her mouth. “I heard her telling my father I had been bitten by an entire pack, and I think he threw something or punched a wall. I don’t know. But the sound was really scary. He’s usually so calm; before that, I couldn’t even imagine him doing something like that. Then he took the phone and said I’m not the person he thought I was, and that I’m not his daughter.”
She’s so hurt I can feel it in my chest, pressing down until I can barely breathe.
I want to fix it. Say something. Do something. But I don’t know how.
