Finally Her Turn

Chapter 15: Marissa

I’m back in my bed for what feels like the third or fourth time tonight, but I can’t sleep because I know what’s to come. I can hear him stomping around out there, cussing me out.

Each time that I end up back here I’m a little older, but it always ends the same. He flings the door open so hard that it hits the wall, and then he barges in and drags me out of my bed by my hair, still cussing and yelling.

‘You good for nothing waste of groceries!’ he screams, spittle spraying at me from his mouth that’s gone lazy from how much he’s had to drink. ‘I should lock up the food for another week and see if you appreciate my sacrifices then!’

I don’t even remember what he’s so angry at by this point. This night has been going on for so long that I’ve lost track. But before I know it, he’s dragged me up and out of bed and to the door that leads to the basement. Just the sight of that door makes me want to vomit, and my body starts shaking all on its own, which only seems to make him angrier.

‘No, Dad! Please! I’ll be good!” I promise pleadingly, even though I know it’s hopeless.

It never sways him, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. I usually don’t even know what I’ve done to set him off, so it’s impossible for me to avoid doing it again.

But this time when I tumble down the basement stairs, it’s not the cold, hard basement floor that I land on. It’s the floor of my dorm room at the packhouse, to my relief. I love this room, and I know that he can’t get to me here. He’s not even allowed in the building.

But when I lift myself off the floor, I see that there’s already someone in my bed. He’s lying on his side just the way I remember, his head propped up on his arm as he smiles at me as if he actually cares.

I remember his name too. It’s one I’ll never forget – Oliver Winters. We’re in the same grade at school, and I hear everyone else call him Ollie. He likes that I just call him Oliver though. I know because he told me, right before he kissed me.

It seems like I don’t even walk or move at all, but the next thing I know, I’m in the bed with him. He has his arm draped loosely over my hip as he smiles at me, his eyes warm and happy. He’s enjoying my company, and I like talking to him too.

I’m so grateful for the reprieve from my dad that I don’t even notice as the scenery around us starts to shift and become that of the high school we went to. My bed is in the middle of the hallway now, and other students have gathered around to watch us.

I still don’t notice though. I’m too caught up in the moment we’re having. I’m sucked in by the fact that even after I’ve told him all about my dad and some of the things I’ve endured over the years, he’s still here. He’s looking at me differently, but he still cares. He didn’t run away.

He’s whispering in my ear now, telling me how beautiful he thinks I am and how much he likes that I’m different from the other girls, but now I can hear something else. There’s a familiar, grating female voice in the background, and she and her friends are mocking me.

‘You’re an i***t, Carter!’

‘It was just a bet, and he won a lot of money for it!’

‘You made it way too easy!’

‘You’re crazy if you think any guy could actually like you.’

‘You had it coming, mate-stealer!’

And then the one that cuts the deepest, directly from the man himself, coupled with the look of pity and regret that I’ll never forget.

‘I’m really sorry, Marissa, but I’m with Monica now.’

Her smug face floats into view and hovers just inches in front of me, like she’s crawled on top of me in my bed just to gloat. I realize with horror that I’m still naked after what Oliver and I did, and she saw the whole thing.

‘That’s why no one likes you, Mary. You’re just another one of the Alpha’s whores.’

Oh no. That’s my dad. He’s here, and he’s going to see what happened.

‘It’s too late,’ he cackles, his face breaking into a wide grin as he laughs at my expense. ‘And you know what’s coming. Don’t fight it. Just accept your fate.’

He reaches for my hair again, shaking me as I start screaming and trying to fight him off with everything I’ve got.

“Just open your eyes,” he says, which makes no sense. Especially since his voice sounds funny now, like he’s choking.

“Marissa, please. Wake up,” he pleads in that same breathless voice.

My eyes snap open and I gasp with horror when I see that I have Tasha held by the throat and she can’t breathe. She can’t move either because of how I’m holding her with the other arm, and I don’t think she’s trying all that hard to fight me.

But as soon as I realize that it was just another nightmare, I release my hold on her and sit up, struggling to catch my breath about as much as she is. She tumbles to the ground, but her well-trained reflexes allow her to catch herself gracefully.

“You’re going to have to stop trying to wake me up. Just let it play out,” I tell her, though it’s more of a request than a complaint. “It’s too dangerous for you, and I manage well enough with it when I’m on my own.”

“I just can’t stand listening to you cry and scream. I figure the sooner it’s over, the better,” she explains.

She doesn’t seem even the least bit upset despite the fact that this is the third or fourth or maybe even fifth morning in a row that we’ve started the day like this. I appreciate that she cares enough to be concerned for me, but I also hate it. It seems to only make me that much more anxious to fall asleep knowing that I’m probably going to wake up hurting her.

I think it’s Thursday now, but I can’t be sure. I haven’t been sleeping well, and these nightmares that just keep repeating over and over but building in the intensity and horror factors are really doing a number on me.

No, wait. Definitely Thursday, because I remember Wednesday. That was the day that John left Maine, and then he was kind of quiet and weird last night. I can’t help wondering if it’s because there’s so much distance between us now, and he’s already experiencing those mate-bond withdrawal effects people talk about. Problem is, I don’t feel any different, and I feel a little guilty about that.

It’s probably my fault for being so on the fence about this whole thing. I know that Aly already knows that I have a mate now, and so does Devon, but they seem to be okay with it as long as it doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.

Well, that’s easy. I just make sure to do what I’ve always done. The phone doesn’t come out until my shift is over and I’m back in the hotel room. It’s weird to actually have someone to text with it now, but I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would. I just wish I could think of more to say.

It’s hard because he seems to want to tell me everything about him, and I have to be careful not to give away too much too soon. Even simple questions like “tell me about your family” feel loaded to me. Nothing about my family isn’t painful to talk about. I can’t exactly tell him that my dad is such a bastard that his entire family has shunned him, and even the Alpha banned him from the packhouse and all pack events.

And then there’s my mom, who I’ve never even met because to her, I’m just the abominable “creature” that my dad put in her belly. I’ll give her credit for at least allowing me to incubate long enough to be born healthy, though some days I kind of wish she’d have put us both out of our misery and gotten rid of me long before that.

Yeah, that’s definitely not the warm-fuzzy sharing experience John’s looking for, so I figure that the secrets can stay locked up a bit longer. But just meeting him and letting myself start to think about a potential future with him seems to have stirred up a lot of the old fear and trauma I’ve been burying for years. I’m almost guaranteed to have one of those twisted, endless nightmares every time that I close my eyes, so I’ve just been trying not to do that as much as I can manage.

It takes me a bit to realize that Tasha never left. She’s in my bed with me now, cuddled up on the normally empty side and already drifting back to sleep. I envy her innocence, her clear conscience, and the apparent lack of trauma in her past. I’m also glad for all those things. She’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad she’s had a happy life.

Though I really don’t want to, I am exhausted and there are still two hours left until we need to get up, so I decide to lie back down and settle in against the pillows. It’s a struggle not to be bothered by the fact that there’s another person with me in the bed, but I suppose it’s a good test of how mate-worthy I might actually turn out to be.

I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m focusing on steadying my breathing when Tasha startles me by speaking. I thought she was asleep.

“That guy from the other day at the hotel, for the appeal thing,” she says softly, and I can tell she’s worried about how I’ll respond to whatever she’s about to say.

I’m a bit worried too, since I have a feeling that I know where she’s going with this. I’m not sure that right now is the best time for a discussion like this either. My nightmares tend to zap me of all my emotional energy, leaving me flat and affectless for a few hours until I can shake it off. And even then, I tend to take a turn from numb to grumpy.

“The one in blue who couldn’t take his eyes off you. Did you ever get a chance to talk to him? I think he liked you.”

“I’m not sure who you mean,” I lie, or at least try to. It’s admittedly easier to do when I’m numb anyway because even a lie won’t change how flat and vacant I feel or sound. “But I did notice a guy in the light blue who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you the whole time,” I lie again, though it is true from what John told me. One of the other guys from his pack apparently left with quite a crush on Tasha.

“What? No,” she laughs, turning around to face me as she lies on her other side now. “Are you sure it wasn’t you he was looking at? Because I definitely saw a guy who kept staring at you, and it was the one who joined us for lunch. He kept glancing over at you then too, probably sad because you didn’t seem to notice him.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t me. You and I were nowhere near each other,” I remind her, sighing with the weight of my lie and debating about whether I should just come clean.

“Was he cute? Your guy was super cute,” she gushes, and I can tell she’s excited to be lying here with me and having “girl talk” like this. It isn’t really my thing, but after nearly choking her to death first thing in the morning all week, I suppose I owe it to her.

I’m also still a bit confused and on the fence about how “cute” John is or isn’t. I’ve never really thought of people that way, in terms of what’s attractive and what’s not. I pay far more attention to whether I can rely on someone, whether they show up on time and keep their promises. I like people who don’t pry too much, who talk enough that I don’t have to do much talking myself, but who don’t talk so much that I can’t think.

Cleanliness and hygiene are also kind of important, though. I can’t stand when someone looks all disheveled like they slept in their clothes and just sort of rolled out of bed. It reminds me too much of my dad. But to John’s credit, he did seem to have himself put together, at least when I saw him. As for the rest, I don’t know him well enough to be able to tell.

I really don’t know how to answer her about the other guy, either. Not only did I not really even look at any of the guys who were there other than John, but I wouldn’t know how to judge whether the guy was attractive even if I had. I also don’t really feel like telling her more lies, so with a heavy sigh, I decide to just come clean, hoping she’ll understand my reluctance.

“Honestly, Tasha, I don’t know whether your admirer was cute. It wasn’t me that noticed his interest in you. It was my mate,” I tell her, hoping she’ll catch on and I won’t have to explain it to her. And she does.

“Your mate? Oh my gosh, Marissa, are you telling me that the guy who was obsessed with you was your mate? Oh, that makes perfect sense,” she enthuses.

Her body seems to take over and automatically scootch her closer to me so she can hug me, but she seems to remember who she’s dealing with at the last second and stops herself, settling for a warm squeeze of my arm instead.

“John, right? That was his name?” she asks, still grinning from ear-to-ear about it. It’s like I accidentally gave her an early Christmas present or something.

“Yeah. How do you do that?” I ask her, impressed that she remembered his name.

I struggle with that and always have. Even when I repeat names over and over or try to use the mnemonic devices trick, I seem to forget as soon as I stop thinking about it. It takes me a long time to learn a name unless there’s some reason that someone stands out in my memory. Like Oliver. Ugh, I don’t want to think about him.

“Do what? Pay attention?” she teases, and I do my best to smile with her and let her have her laugh because I know she meant that playfully.

It still stings, though. I do pay attention. I just can’t seem to remember things, especially names.

“He said it when he was in the elevator with us,” she reminds me, not that I needed the reminder.

His is one of the few names that I’ve never had trouble remembering. Apparently, meeting my mate is another of the reasons that helps a name stand out in my memory.

“Oh, Marissa. This is amazing. I’m so happy for you,” she adds, apparently not even needing a response from me to keep the conversation going. Which is good, since I don’t seem to have a lot to say yet.

“In case you’re wondering, I only asked because I kind of suspected it, or at least that you had something going on with him,” she explains, though I still haven’t chimed in. “Or not him specifically, but someone, and he seemed the most likely person after I’ve thought about it some. You’ve been texting someone every night, but you didn’t start doing that until after that appeal thing, and he was the one giving you all the attention.”

I thought I was being discreet, though I suppose it’s hard to hide any amount of interaction with John when I went from never using my phone at all to suddenly using it every night. I guess I didn’t consider that.

“But don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone, especially not Devon,” she promises, and I actually believe her. She’s chatty, but she’s not really gossipy.

“I appreciate that, and I’m sure you already understand the risk to me if you were to say anything,” I finally speak.

She smiles, reaching out to grasp my arm again.

“Of course. I know we’re not supposed to have a mate for this assignment, and I’ve also gotten the sense that this assignment, or more specifically the money we’ll be getting for it, is important to you. I’d never do anything to mess that up for you,” she assures me.

“Thank you, although I will say that both Devon and Aly already know. I had to go to Aly in order to even get John’s phone number because I didn’t have the nerve to speak to him myself that day. Aly’s mate got his number, though.”

“And you’re not worried?” She seems horrified.

“No, they’ve both assured me that it’s fine as long as it doesn’t affect my ability to do my job. So, in a way I’m glad that I never spoke to him personally or touched him or anything. We haven’t really initiated our bond.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s true. And once this assignment is over, you can use some of the money you’re getting and just go see him.”

Oh man. I hadn’t even thought ahead to doing something like that. I think she’s forgetting who she’s talking to. Not only do I not want to spend the money on stuff like plane tickets, but I’m not that brave.

“Or not,” she laughs, studying my face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so terrified. I’m sorry I even mentioned it now. But don’t worry, I’m sure John will want to come see you. Maybe it will be easier on home turf, where you’re most comfortable.”

It won’t be me that breaks it to her, but there’s no such place. I’m uncomfortable everywhere. She may be getting to some of the root of my problem, though. It’s stuff like this that probably has me replaying some of my worst memories every night. I’m somehow linking this thing with John to all that’s happened before, which is concerning.

“Thanks, Marissa,” she says, that soft uncertainty returning to her voice. “I know that stuff like this really isn’t your thing, but I appreciate you trusting me enough to share this with me. I know it’s hard for you, but I promise you can count on me. I won’t tell anyone about John.”

“No, it's me who should thank you,” I tell her, noticing that my voice sounds warmer now, more genuine. “It means a lot to have someone I can trust and confide in.”

And it really does. It didn’t even sink in until now, but the moment that I decided to tell her about my mate was the moment that I realized that I trust her, at least with that little piece of me. I don’t do that easily or often, though it does still make me anxious because I can’t help but expect things to always go wrong on me at the worst time. I don’t have the best track record with deciding who to trust.

Which is why I’ve learned over the years that it’s safer to assume that no one can be trusted, not even the people that everyone claims are safe people, like teachers. I keep everything to myself because it leaves no chance of having someone turn on me and use my own secrets against me, which is what always seems to happen.

I really do hope that Tasha proves to be the exception and doesn’t let me down, though. I know I’m taking a huge risk with her, which is terrifying, but I’d love it if I could finally have a real friend that I can actually count on for once in my life.