Chapter 1
Emilia's Point Of View
It was 2:45 in the morning, and I lay in ungodly pain on my lumpy and hard mattress. Everything from my toes to my head hurt, and it was all thanks to the beating the Eta's gave me earlier today. Staring up at the ceiling... well, more like the first floor since my bedroom was the smallest room in the basement, I replayed the events from today, from yesterday, and from my entire life. Everywhere, memory was plagued with some sort of misery and torture. I guess that's what I get for being the last of my pack to phase, and I had to phase to a white wolf. The rarest of our kind and the direct link to our moon goddess... well, that's what the elders would say in the stories. Stories I used to love listening to and stories that got me through the darkest moments in my life. Now.. now they are just a hollowing reminder that childhood fantasies are just that, childhood fantasies.
Shaking away the replayed events, I push myself to sit up, despite the pure pain running through my body. I stand up and make my way out of the small space that I call my room, it's more like an old storage closet that had the door removed and a curtain put in its place, to at least give me some privacy. Not like that ever happens anyway, the only place that I get pure privacy is the small, dimly lit room with a toilet, sink, and a tub that only got lukewarm water, and it always smelled like mildew, a scent that I now find peace in. Using the few perks I get from being a werewolf, I make my way to the small bathroom and stop when I hear footsteps above. I kept my breathing shallow and made sure I made no sounds until the footsteps retreated upstairs. I quietly grabbed the doorknob and prayed to the moon goddess that the door would make no sounds before I opened it, and with a mocking laugh, the door squeaked, and I quickly retreated into the bathroom.
Closing the door as quietly and quickly as I could, I turned the dim light on and took a deep inhale. The smell washed over me, and I relaxed a little bit. I locked the door and put a chair under the handle to hold it in place and keep people out. Haha, what was I thinking? I live in a pack house full of werewolves who could easily break down the door if they really wanted to. I shake my head as I turn to look at my reflection in the half-broken mirror. I take in my complexion, the bruises, cuts, and scars, both new and old. My breaths halt when I see the hand-shaped bruise that was darkening on my wrist. The very bruise came from my own brother, and tears began to fill my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
If anything that I've learned from all the abuse and torture I've endured is that crying and showing weakness only made the abuse and torture worse. I had it beaten into me that I must remain silent, and so I do, I don't make a sound when they beat me, and I don't make a sound when I fall apart. I refuse to show them that their words and actions affect me. Turning my back away from the mirror, I put the stopper into the tub and turn the water on before slowly stripping out of my dirty clothes. As the tub fills, I watch the rippling of the water and imagine myself on a beach, my feet in the sand, and I'm listening to the waves crash along the shore as the sun sets over the horizon, bathing the beach in a warm orange glow. A fantasy that always brought me peace, but it was just that, a fantasy, I'd never be able to go to the beach as long as I'm the omega in this stupid pack.
Shaking away the fantasy, I slowly step into the water and sit down. Closing my eyes as I sat in the tub and let the water fill the tub until it almost threatened to spill over the edge. I reopened my eyes and turned the water off before sitting back and doing my best to relax, but relaxation never came. No matter how much I try, my body is always on edge, and I could never fully relax. I groaned out in annoyance and reopened my eyes. Grabbing the only thing that took my pain away, I lifted my leg out of the water and laid it on the edge of the tub, holding the blade. I took it to my thigh and felt as it reopened old scars and created new ones. One cut turned into three, and three turned into seven. I soon set the blade back down and just watched as the blood dripped into the bath.
After a few more minutes of watching my own blood drip into the tub, I heard Kaya's whines in my head, and a wave of crushing guilt rushed over me. I always feel bad after I cut, not because I did it, but because my wolf could feel every cut. She was my best friend and the only reason I haven't cut deep enough to kill myself, and yet here I am hurting myself. So much for being a good host for her. She is said to be the direct descendant of the mood goddess, and only a true soul can host a white wolf. There is nothing pure about me. So why was I her host? All I do is fail her and the moon goddess; maybe I am what my pack says I am?
A failure...
