Adrift
Calliope
9 years ago
Whack
Another stone ricochets off of my shoulder blade, just below my neck, causing an all consuming fire to burn its way through the base of my skull and rendering my arm useless for just a moment. But I keep running, if not for me then for my wolf.
“Stop! Please, I didn’t do it!” I yell, except I did do it. But I don’t know how.
Vanessa Lancaster, the eldest daughter of our Alpha, lies in a hospital bed covered in third degree burns up the left side of her body from her waist onto her previously pretty cheeks. If she survives she will no longer be the seemingly Pack Sweetheart. She will be marred, still beautiful by all measures but her mental state will be altered. Fractured. It’s happened before.
I’ve done this before.
I scramble over a mangled root that juts up from the dirt, marking the end of our pack borders. “Please!” I cry desperately trying to implore angry teenagers from assaulting me anymore with the stones they wish to kill me with. Being stoned or becoming a rogue, which is a worse fate? I’ve only known of three wolves in our region’s history who have succumbed to the death of stones rather than choose to become rogue. I will not become one of them.
I don’t deserve this, I’m too young. Vanessa deserves this treatment, after trying to burn my family home to the ground with my parents and I still inside. But then again, we are both seventeen. Aren’t we both too young? No. I should have sought revenge as justly given to me by pack laws for attempted murder of another.
Another stone, jagged and dark whizzes past my head as an answer to my pleas. No, I cannot stay. I will not be given a fair trial. Vanessa’s life and the wronged Luna will not allow it. The pride of the Alpha will not allow it. With the final thought of mine condemning my fate, I launch myself over the border and feel the severing of the pack bond. I can no longer feel my parents, as they died this morning before the dawn of the new day so that I may live. So this pain is little compared to the agony of losing my parents. Of losing my lover.
The stones cease their onslaught but the shouting of anger and disgust from the children of the beta, gamma and alpha who chased me out of my home do not. “You whore! You should be dead!,” and “Murder!” accompany my ears as I run further into the thicket of the woods until I can no longer hear them over the sound of my ragged breath and pounding heart. I cannot hear my wolf aside from her whimpers, as she refused to aid me in my escape. I don’t know why she is so weak in my greatest time of need.
Falling to my knees, my adrenaline gives out and I am overcome by sorrow, a pain worse than any sharp stone. Warm wet liquid streams into my right eye, straining it crimson as I scream out in ragged breaths. I cannot breath; my chest is too tight as my nausea increases. Shaking uncontrollably, I drop onto my hands with salt water and blood rush to meet the ground as well.
I had not meant to hurt Vanessa. The memory of this morning played in my mind’s eye as I screamed out again. I had scrambled frantically onto frail legs after regaining consciousness, the smell of smoke burned my nostrils as Vanessa seized my arm and vowed to kill me for good with a knife in her hand. I looked back to my house realizing the blazing inferno of my home was caused by my friend, the burning corpse half out the front door of my mother was caused by my friend. A rage I’d only experienced once before overtook my being and a searing heat spread from my hand onto Vanessa’s and she screamed as a black tar spread up her being onto her face.
What did I do to deserve such a fate as I have now? What thought hurts my body and soul the most? That my best friend tried to burn me to death because I was tricked into believing I was the true mate of the Alpha? That my lover was false, and after he took my body as his he tossed me out saying it was a mistake? That I betrayed the trust of Luna who treated me as another daughter? Or that as I felt my parents being burned alive, only the death of my mother seared my heart? Was my father not even mine?
_______
I sit up abruptly, smelling the burning of my bed sheets. Yet again, my nightmare, my memories, have caused my sheets to become ruined once again. I sigh and pat out the embers and roll out of bed. Still not a clue how I can randomly burn shit. A shower will be much needed to rid me of the smell of smoke before I head into the big city for work.
“Happy Birthday, Bitch.” I greet my reflection in the bathroom mirror with a frown. I had not believed I would make it to my 26th birthday, yet here I am. Most who become rogue are mauled by each other, starve to death, or simply go mad from the loneliness and disappear. But I’ve survived, with my sanity but not without a few rough encounters myself. Pulling up my oversized sleeping shirt and tossing it aside, I see my large breasts and toned stomach covered by the faint white lines marking my healed many near deaths of the past 9 years.
The smell of earthy mud assaults the air as I unwrap the plastic from my hair that I had left on overnight. Rinsing out henna is the easy part but the smell doesn’t leave me for days. I turn on the water to fill the tub for my mermaid bath before my shower. The peace of being surrounded by warm water and drowning out the sound of air is the closest I will come to comfort. Yet I leave my cocoon all too soon to rinse my body of anymore mud dye and hopefully the memories of my nightmare.
I don’t even get a chance to finish my face care in the misty confines of my mirror before a loud knocking berates my front door. “Kalliope Mays! You’re a week past due, Open up now!” My landlord all but screeches and I groan.
“Coming!” I return to her and quickly wrap up in a robe making my way to her.
Opening the door to her five foot frail frame and wrinkled complexion do nothing to lessen the contempt I feel towards her. “You owe my two grand, right now!” Her elder face scrunches up in condescension mixed with frustration.
I lean against my door frame with a subtle roll of my eyes, “As opposed to the fifteen hundred that was due last month, not including utilities and all the other bills? You’re out of your mind, Belinda. I don’t have two grand.”
She’s not pleased to hear this, but when is she ever content? The greedy cunt. “The economy isn’t getting any better for me either, so if you don’t have it by the end of the day I’ll have the cops throw your ass out by 9pm.” My landlord all but spits at me and turns on her slippers and sulks down the stairs in her blue nightie. It’s only 7 am and I’m already homeless again.
I puff out a breath, not the least bit bothered. Eight months in one spot is a new record for me at this point. And I was planning to be on the road again next week anyways, so this is just a little rush. I’ve saved up 8 grand from the serving job I commute to in New York. I’m not about to lose more savings to a greedy, greasy old cunt who could replace me for more in a week. At least I got in a fresh dye before struggling for another shower somewhere.
Turning around, I remind myself that I can be out in two hours tops and that a no-call no-show won’t mean anything. Not to the chef who I’ve been dating for the past four months and not to the hostess who calls me her work bestie. The never ending rotation of the restaurant industry is just that way. They’ll give a half assed “aww” and they go right back to business.
My apartment, if you can call it that, is meager in size and nothing to fill it but a table, a few chairs and a twin mattress I found for cheap all on an online locals marketplace on social media. Of course, my account is vague and anonymous but it does what I need it to do. The two duffle bags I’ve got stuffed in my closet on the other side of the studio are calling my name.
I know I have no need for makeup right now because I won’t be showing up to a job that requires getting dolled up for money today, but I throw on a few layers of mascara anyways. Since middle school, it’s been my comfort, my mask. It makes me feel a bit better about myself. Choosing a cream sweater and black leggings to fit into today seems right, regarding it being in the low 60s in this apartment, and it’s even colder outside. September is not warm, even though I’m not a few days from it being technically fall. The rest of my closet is easily folded and stuffed into my duffle bags, and I carefully stack my toiletries and makeup into a wicker caddy before gathering up my belongings to head to the elevator down the musty ass hall for the last time.
I really hope no little critters have become stowaways in my bags, that’s one regret I have about coming to NYC. The bugs, the rats, the perpetual smell of trash. Yuck. That and the fact that I’m only 586 miles from my childhood home, the pack that drove me to become an orphaned rogue. This is the closest I’ve been, my first bus out of Maine took me to California, I was so desperate back then. This place reminds me of San Francisco, the disgusting let down that was. Maybe I shouldn’t have used my real name when applying for a home so close to danger, but how do I apply without stealing someone else’s identity nowadays? I couldn’t do that to someone. Nor do I deem myself sly or smart enough to get away with it for long.
Maybe no one still cares about the drama I caused nearly a decade ago. Right? The elevator drops slowly from my third floor studio to the lobby below. Ms. Belinda is nowhere in sight, and there’s no one at the front desk until 10 am anyways. So my exit will be quiet and peaceful, the ideal really. I get to start over, to choose a new life, to choose a new town or friends maybe. I smile as I step out of the elevator shaft finally feeling a little excitement, my avoidant ass flight-response-stuck-nervous-system lives off these types of days. I don’t dare step foot in an airport, I was nearly caught that way 6 years ago by the Beta’s family from my old pack who owns a large share in some major commercial airlines. They’d been using the flight manifests as a way to track me down. So me walking out to my little dingy Toyota truck and scoot-scooting it cross country is the plan yet again.
I walk out into the parkour lot out back and throw my bags into the back seat, and slam my blue peeling door with a smile. A fresh start. The day seems brighter. I was beginning to get claustrophobic at work, yet again all the people that loved me as soon as they met me became distant a few months in and talked to me less only to be caught talking shit. The friends became shallow or showed they despised my presence with snippy comments and the roll of eyes accompanying too polite behavior. I don’t know why it always happens this way, I care about everyone and think I am as helpful and as nice as I can be but it never is enough for anyone. So fuck them, fuck this city.
I pull open my driver door only to hear a scream and the breaking of glass interrupt my tranquil new mood. I turn around to see it can from the third floor and Belinda is now a bloody mess on the concrete. Her head is twisted at an odd angle slightly too far behind her shoulder and white eyes stare directly at me. I hear a loud snarl ripple from the third floor as well, and my wolf all but raises her hackles inside of me. My body suddenly becomes weak and butterflies fly through every nerve ending and vein in my body. I turn back to hop in my truck hoping that I was fast enough to hide my face and that my auburn hair in the sun hides my identity. Hell, knowing that snarl was from a wolf with blonde hair I’m hoping the fresh muddy henna scent on me is enough to mask the natural scent of my wolf and I. Because now I can recognize the scent of Jane Lancaster all over poor Belinda’s bloody old cunt of a corpse.
I knew using my real name was a bad idea. Applying for a legit apartment was a bad idea. I should have just kept to those awful rent-a-room/house websites. But noooo, I wanted to save money. I wanted to have my own home for the first time in a decade. I didn’t want to stay overnight hiding in a locker room of some small gym illegally. So I whip my truck into reverse and try to exit the parking lot at a normal speed, as if I were human and didn’t see anything. But by the time I reach the exit to turn right onto the main road, I see through my rear view mirror that a big-ass wolf had burst through the glass of the front lobby and she’s zeroed in on my truck.
"Shit, shit, shit!" I yell. The only thing left I can do is hit the gas and pray to the moon goddess that I don’t hit anyone.
The chase isn’t long, because a truck is faster than a damn dog, even an oversized mutt. That and the fact that I ran four red lights and somehow didn’t get T-boned but Jane did get caught behind a crash behind me on the third red light. I hope no one died, or was seriously injured. I would never wish harm on another, not again. But as I’m thinking this I can see smoke start to fizz out from beneath my palms that have death gripped my steering wheel. I need to slow down so I don’t get myself caught by humans and then still get killed later by a wolf.
I make the decision to slow to traffic speed and take an immediate turn right then left then right across the city. I’m hoping it’s enough to throw off the cops that are probably looking for my truck from the crash and traffic cams. Maybe I’m being paranoid? No, time to ditch the truck. I hit the highway a few minutes later and drive until I come up on a small town a bit farther northwest. Finding a grocery store parking lot that doesn’t seem to have any cameras in the back, I hop out of my old truck and grab my bags too. This is the exact reason I live so minimally. Hell, I even have more belongings than most rogues. Once I had nothing more than a backpack for a whole year.
There’s a brown Nissan that I see a few spaces down that looks easy enough to get into. I remember my dad getting one like this stolen when I was younger and telling me the cops saying this is a common one to steal. Go figure. But the dumbass didn’t even lock his doors, lucky me. A quick hot wire later and I’m back out on the highway for the next 200 miles on stolen gas. I’m going to miss my truck, I had been taught how to fix it quite a bit by a boyfriend.
After a few hours I notice I’m coming up on the empty tank and decide to pull off into a random city my phone map says had my bank in it. Luckily, the bank account belonged to my mother and I was given access to it. No one from my old pack has thought to look that deep or report my mothers death. I park a few blocks away and walk to the bank, just in the off chance that maybe someone does get the bright idea to look into me further, since apparently the Lancaster family is still hunting me. Did I actually kill Vanessa? Is this their revenge?
After pulling out three grand in cash, I get back on the road. Who knows what I’ll need it for now? I decide South Carolina is my next destination, as a faint image of trees and old beautiful buildings fills my vision. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a guided sight, but I’m filled with the feeling that I’ll be safe there. At least for a little while.
