1. Sad A** Intro...
1939 Words
Shyla's POV:
3 1/2 Years Ago
Age 14
Life with Denver...
I woke up early before the sun rose and tiptoed out of my tiny bedroom, across the hall into the bathroom, being super careful not to make a single sound.
I could hear the faint snoring from Denver on the couch. He must’ve fallen asleep watching the game last night. He was a heavy sleeper, but I could never be too careful around him. Lord knows it wouldn't take much to set him off.
I showered quickly. The water was cold, and the shower head pressure was almost nonexistent, but since we were forced to live on the edge of the border where the electricity was failing and we didn't have access to hot water like everyone else in the pack, this was as good as it was going to get for us.
I slipped out of the shower and rubbed lotion on my body with the homemade creams and oils I’d been making for myself over the years. I didn't have money to go shopping, and the small earnings I made from my chores at the pack house were barely enough to cover the bills or keep food on the table.
Denver last worked when I was 11 years old, so I was forced to pick up his slack and do tons of odd jobs to provide food and other necessities, or we would literally die of starvation. I tried not to complain about it, although it wasn't ideal, and often I wished I was able to have a normal childhood, to laugh, play, and have freedom like all the other pups my age, but that wasn't on the cards for someone like me, unfortunately. Kids like me don't get freedom, love, or fun.
I didn't deserve it... not after what I did...
I opened the bathroom door and poked my head out. Denver was still sleeping, so I quickly crossed the hall, shut my bedroom door, and pushed my dresser in front of the door just in case Denver woke up. He didn't allow me to have a lock on my door; he claims I'm not old enough for privacy. I can't wait for the day I'm finally free of him. I dressed quickly, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and blue faded jeans. I had long, wild, curly hair that I usually kept in a bun so I could wear a hood and blend in with the shadows as much as possible.
I looked at the time: 5:47 AM.
I rushed back to the bathroom and turned the faucet on to brush my teeth. I wanted to leave by 6 a.m. today so I could study before class. I had a history test coming up, and I haven't had time to study between work and taking care of Denver.
I was just about finished brushing my teeth when a hard smack across the back of my head sent me flying into the wall. I didn't have time to process what happened before a familiar fist came smashing into my lower jaw, the bone of his knuckles splitting the soft skin of my lip. I crumbled to the floor, a soft whimper leaving my lips; the rusty metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I lifted my hand and applied pressure to my busted lip, trying to stop the remaining blood from oozing down my chin. I didn't want it to get on my shirt; this was the only clean one since I couldn’t do a fresh load of laundry. Denver was supposed to buy the soap, but instead, he spends our survival money on booze and gambling.
I slowly got to my feet and kept my eyes on the ground, not wanting to set off his wolf; he was aggravated and restless already. I looked at him through my lashes, keeping my eyes low. The last thing I wanted to do was set him off more than he already was. He looked manic. His sandy brown hair was a mess, flying in different directions, his beard was overgrown, and he had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He was wearing a beat-up white shirt and sweats that I believe used to be gray once upon a time. Now they look like they've been stained with only God knows what. I could smell the wolfsbane and Hennessy coming from his pores; it was repulsive and made me want to gag. But I didn't dare move; he was in one of his drunken rages and was most violent towards me when he was under the influence.
I took a slow, steady breath and prayed he'd lose interest in me and leave me alone. I had to leave for school and didn't have time for one of his "I hate you, you ruined my life tantrums."
Truly... I didn't mean to be insensitive to his feelings or his grieving process, but it's been 14 years, and f**k, I’m grieving too if anyone bothered to care or ask! It’s not like my life has been peaches and sunshine, either. I didn't ask for this... I didn't want any of this ...
You see... Denver, believe it or not, has every right to hate me. He lost everything because of me... although I didn’t do it on purpose, he still blames me for it.
Years ago, Denver had a mate... we'll call her Jean. I don't know if that's her actual name, but it's the name he calls me when he's drunk, and I've heard him mumbling it in his sleep from time to time. I don’t know much about her story. He refuses to talk about her, especially to me. All I know is that she was raped by a rabid rogue and left for dead on the side of the road. It was a miracle that she was found shortly after by pack warriors. But, the damage was already done… a few weeks later, she discovered she was with the child.
Their entire pack was devastated, but she couldn’t find the heart to get rid of it, so she decided to carry the child full term, then planned to give it up for adoption. The pregnancy was rough, and she was sick all the time; she had lost so much weight and was on bed rest by the end of it, and when it came time to give birth, her body couldn’t take it, and she died.
As you may have guessed by now. Yes, I am that bastard child… and I feel guilty, I really do… I mean, I killed my mother. My conception was a tragedy, and my life is a constant reminder of that dreadful day, especially for Denver, so I try to give him grace… he still took me in and kept me alive all these years… and yea, that came with a ton of verbal and physical abuse, but are least I’m alive; right?
"She would’ve hated you, you filthy rat!” Denver screamed, pulling me out of La La Land and back into this f****d up reality. I looked at him; his eyes had turned black, and his canines elongated over his bottom lip. My heart pounded as I looked for the nearest escape route.
“You would have made her sick to her stomach,” Denver roared behind me. He stood in the bathroom door frame, looking at me with disgust. His body shook, and a thin layer of sweat covered his skin. I hate when he says things like that to me. It was hurtful, and, worst of all, I didn't know if it was true or not. I didn't think she was a bad person or capable of that much hatred, but how would I know... Denver won't tell me anything. I don’t even have a picture of her. He claims I don’t deserve to know her; it’s my punishment for killing her.
I sighed internally, never taking my amber eyes off his bloodshot red eyes.
“She would have hated you,” he whispered, his eyes filled with sadness. I stood still; my heart was beating out of my chest as the tension in the air grew between us. When, suddenly, he stuck out his arm and grabbed me roughly around the neck, cutting off my airway.
“You are a despicable w***e! A waste of breath!” He said, stepping into the small bathroom; his large frame towered over me, making me feel small and helpless. He knew I couldn’t physically fight him off, so I braced myself against the sink, trying to pry his meaty fingers from around my throat. He released me for a moment, then drew his fist back. I held my breath, waiting for him to strike me again, but the blow never came. Instead, we were interrupted by a loud knock on the door.
Denver stumbled back a little but didn’t release the firm grip he had on my throat. A moment of silence passed between us; I guess we waited to see if it would continue…the loud pounding on the door continued, and Denver finally let go of my neck. I slumped to the floor like a brick in water, coughing while greedily sucking in the air around me.
Denver stumbled out of the bathroom and down the stairs. I immediately shut and locked the door and returned to the mirror to assess the damage.
My lip was severely torn and needed stitches. I sighed, bent down, and grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink.
I could faintly hear Denver talking to whoever was at the door, but not clear enough to make out what they were saying. Instead, I let my thoughts drift to Lunar Academy, my dream school. It’s a prestigious university for supernaturals and challenging to get into.
Only high-ranking wolves were allowed; unfortunately, I was ranked lower than an omega. I didn’t stand a chance of getting into a school like that, even with my perfect grades and attendance. I’m a rogue, an abomination, cursed over a conception I had no control over. Still, it was my dream to attend university, get a degree in healing, and leave this place once and for all.
I finished stitching my bottom lip, removed my long curls from the messy bun in which I had been storing them, and let the lion's mane fall around my face and breast. This would have to shield the bruises Denver left around my neck.
I grabbed my bag and medical books and poked my head over the railing. A tall man who looked around my age, maybe a year or two older, was in deep conversation at our janky kitchen table. He had pale blonde hair and skin and wore a suit that did very little to hide his muscular body.
I could barely hear him speaking about an opportunity in the capital, and my heart started to pound as excitement filled my chest. When I heard him mention my name, I wondered if he was from the city or the academy.
Our eyes met briefly. His were a pretty navy blue color. He smiled at me, and I smiled back, but Denver saw his face and turned to look at what stole the young man’s attention. I slammed my back against the wall. That was close.
I didn’t bother sticking around for the rest; it was only a matter of time before Denver kicked this kid out and came back to finish the beating he was about to give me.
I tacitly slipped down the stairs and out the front door.
- Writer
