It was all a lie.
All of it.
Thetreatmentto heal. The treatments and training to be what an Alpha wanted, so one day I could live a life to serve someone who would just end up hating my guts.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t stay here; couldn’t go there. I’d be stuck here, for the rest of my life, and I was done.
Just done.
Tears would forever stain my cheeks, even in death. I could feel them falling, seeping from the corners and trailing down my face, drying in some spots as they reached my chin.
My breathing came sharper, painfully as my lungs refused to bring more air into my body.
Oh God.
Not being able to breathe was its own kind of torture. Each cough tore through me, burning my throat raw from the inside out.
Hands gripped my neck, unyielding, merciless, holding me down as if my life could be drained one grasp at a time.
Bile surged.
I choked, gagged, and then it came, violent and unstoppable, spilling from my mouth like a flood.
Most of it hit my chest, warm and sour, before someone shoved me onto my side. It splattered across the surface beneath me, the stench rising instantly, thick and suffocating.
I gasped, body convulsing, lungs clawing for air.
And then—
Silence.
The panic vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the stink of vomit and the ache in my limbs.
My body gave in, grateful for the darkness that followed.
***
Hands.
Too many.
They moved over me, touching, tracing, claiming.
I didn’t fight. Didn’t flinch.
Just let it happen.
Silent.
Still.
Because resistance had long since stopped mattering. And noise only made it worse.
Everything went quiet. Not outside, but on the inside.
The sounds blurred at first. Then the room. Then me.
