Warmth surrounded me, humming, I rolled over. An angry hand gripped my throat and I squeezed my thighs together automatically. My eyes flew open to a wall of darkness. The faceless man hovered above me, his free hand yanking apart my thighs as his scent overwhelmed me—tobacco and regret. A gargled sound died in my throat as he stole my words.
“You act like you don’t want it, but we both know you’re a whore, looking at every man but me. Now shut the fuck up and do your fucking duty,” Amos spat.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as my body froze. He thrust into me, jerking my body, hurting my insides. It didn’t feel good. He didn’t feel good. I didn’t want him. He groaned as he withdrew and thrust again. His grip on my throat tightened, my lungs screamed for air.
“I work all day. Slave away for your Mother and this is all I have to look forward to. A fat bitch who can’t even get wet for me. You can’t even do the one thing you’re meant to do. Try and please your mate,” he grunted as his movements sped up.
He’d had a long day and I was his punching bag. His grip around my neck loosened and I spoke without thinking.
“Let’s not pretend you’re my mate,” I rasped, the words burning.
There was a flash of white and then stars as my cheek warmed. He lowered himself, his face coming into view, hisbrown eyes wild. I’d just made things worse. My head was spinning as he pinched my hips, holding me down. He slammed into me mercilessly, and I fought. God, I fought. I pushed against hard abs, wide shoulders, and cried out as he chomped down on my fingers.
My head snapped back as he punched me in the face. My eyes opened, and the strangled sounds of me gasping for air filled the room. My fingers clenched the sheet, my body twitched and jerked as it still warred against him. The light filtered into my room, revealing nothing. No one held me down. I could still feel his phantom grip on my neck. My gaze darted around as my heart beat at double speed. The blood roared in my ears as I fought to believe I was alone.
Tears welled, threatening to spill. The clanging of dishes, slamming of doors, and my mom’s scream floated up through the floorboards, cutting through the spell. I sat up, crying out as a migraine split through my skull. I reached over my bed, fumbling with the bottle and Tylenol there. My feet touched the floor as I stared at my suppressants. I hadn’t taken them in years, but I used to take them religiously.
“Vera! It’s filthy! Stop sleeping the damn day away and get down here!” My Mother called. “Vera!”
I took a deep breath, standing up, I threw a hoodie on over my shorts. I didn’t have time to get dressed. She was on something this morning. This was normal on the weekends or when she was stressed. I just needed to get downstairs before things escalated.
When I got to the dining room, my sisters were sitting in the living room with their phones out. No one paid attention to me, no one bothered to help. She didn’t ask them to help or do anything. No, her hate was reserved for me.
A pity party. That’s what this sounds like. But it’s not even that.
This is my reality.
I pushed the kitchen door open and found dishes all over the counter, bits of food on the floor, and shards of glass in the sink. My Mother, a beautiful woman, shook her head in front of the stove. Her eyes locked on me as I dropped to scoop up the food. It had been years since my dads passed. The lines around her mouth were carved by years of holding our family together alone. I hated her for the way she treated me, but I respected the steel in her spine. She had to keep this house running, protect her children, and make ends meet. It isn’t easy to be a woman, running a pack in a world run by men. She wasn’t the soft, caring woman I remembered, and my eyes watered for the soft, caring woman she had once been. I’d been forced to grow up, and turned to things a child shouldn’t have even known about.
“You’re an adult now, you should get up and clean on your own,” she hissed, the weight of her gaze bore into the back of my head.
I got up, threw the food in the trash bin, and walked toward the sink. I started picking up glass shards from the sink and counter. I didn’t see any blood so she hadn’t cut herself. I stacked the pieces into my hand as she went on about how I was a burden, and that I should make myself useful. In these situations, it was best to remain quiet. Whenever I opened my mouth, I only made things worse. She didn’t want a conversation, she wanted a punching bag. No matter what I said, it would be the wrong thing, and I couldn’t keep my attitude in check if I spoke without thinking.
You can’t backspace in real life.
“I shouldn’t have to get up and tell you what to do. Don’t you know what I have to deal with? You’re adding more stress to my life. The sink is full, the floor is messy, the pack is hungry. Why can’t you get your life together?” she yelled as she threw meat onto the counter.
This place had been spotless. She woke up, made a mess, and got frustrated because I wasn’t here to clean it up. She was only angry because I had still been sleeping when she woke up. She made the mess, but I was the one at fault.
I bit my lip as her words cut deeper than the glass digging into my palm. My vision blurred, but I refused to blink, refused to let the tears fall that would prove she’d hurt me. I looked out the window as I picked up more shards.
I was an adult now, but couldn’t say anything because it counted as disrespect. Yes, I was an adult, but I would forever be twelve to her. She was the head and I was the fuck up. I’d mated with a man who wasn’t my destiny and after he’d been accepted, my Mother cherished him. She loved him more than she ever loved me, and now, she was stuck with me. I irritated her. I’d broken what should have been sacred.
“I need you to do something with your life. The least you could do is keep this house clean. Don’t be a slob. Finish this. I need a break,” she spat as she threw the knife down and walked out of the kitchen without even looking at me.
A smile spread across my face as stupid tears escaped. I walked over to the trash bin again, throwing the glass shards in before sweeping the floor and cleaning the kitchen. My movements were mechanical, a robot, as my mind hyper-focused on what I was doing and what I needed to accomplish. By doing this, I didn’t focus on how I was feeling, or have thoughts that told me how much of an utter disappointment I was.
I left the dishes for last and cooked for everyone. When the food was ready, I plated it and let them know they could grab it. I slipped out before they could come in and look at me. I hated being seen, especially when I felt so fucking weak. I didn’t want to look at people who saw me the same way my Mother saw me. The disgust would break me.
I hated myself enough already.
When I got back up to my room, I showered and checked my notifications. There was a message from Uriel saying good morning. There were also a few from Fale.
Fuck. I forgot she was here.
Opening it up, I read her message about having plans today.
Me: How long will you be out?
