My Unwanted Mate

Chapter 2. The Girl Who Lived

Veronica

I stare at my sister’s lifeless body for the longest time possible. I am on my knees on the floor, eyes wide with horror. My hands are still trembling as I reach again and shake her in a desperate attempt to wake her up. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know she is gone, but still… still, I am unable to accept it. We just talked a few hours ago. She was good when I left her. We didn’t agree to meet here, so why did she come to this forsaken place? Why did she have to be here where Bart could find her and hurt her just when we found each other?

My mind drifts to her easy smiles and her crazy stories about us being lycans and my heart clenches at the thought that now she’ll never be able to tell me all about it. She will never see her brother who she worships, and her grandmother will never have the chance to scold her again. We will not celebrate our birthday together in just a few days. We will not go to college together. She will never get to be happy again.

God, I thought the pain that I always carry with me was overwhelming but right now it is so much worse. It is pain for someone else. Sorrow, regret, guilt. Why didn’t I warn her more firmly never to come here? Yes, I do come back to the apartment every day, but it is different for me. I… I have this weird ability to heal immensely fast. I can’t die from a beating. Actually, I just can’t die, period.

For some stupid reason, my mind drifts to that first time I realized it. I was only fourteen then and I had finally managed to convince my mom to leave Bart. He was hurting her almost every day at that point and there wasn’t a single time I could remember seeing her without bruises on her face or cuts on her hands. He wasn’t physical with me yet, but I hated him for what he did to her.

After that last beating, she couldn’t stand up for days, she was on the brink of death. When she got better, she finally listened to my pleas and took me away one night, stealing Bart’s car keys after he eventually fell asleep. We didn’t bring much with us, just a pair of clothes and some money I had been saving from my part-time job. We traveled for miles without any trouble, but I could see how wary my mom was getting with each passing second. Her face, the beauty of which had faded a long time ago under Bart’s constant abuse, was even grimmer than usual. I will never forget how I thought she reminded me of a scared hind at the sight of blinking car lights in the night.

Her eyes drifted to the rare view mirror for just a second, and her hands were twitching with the need to turn around and drive back home. I couldn’t understand why that was. Did she really want to spend the rest of her life with the person who hurt her the most? Somehow, that need took over her and she made a harsh u-turn, not seeing the truck coming from the opposite lane. She died on the spot. My body flew out the front window and hit the nearby tree, my neck snapping to the side. Just like my mom, I was supposed to die that night. But I survived. And I survive ever since.

Tears are streaming down my face now, but I ignore them. I am holding my dead sister's hands, begging her to come back, even though I know how pointless that is. I would feel it if she was alive if there was still a soul in her body. Still, I wait. The stupid hope that she might be like me, unable to actually die, clings to me even as the clock ticks away the minutes, turning them into hours. Geneva’s body only gets colder and the blood gushing from her head wound congeals, but her eyes don’t move. She is gone for good. She is not like me, she can’t heal.

It is around two or three hours since I found her now. The silence around me is overwhelming, as is the pain in my chest. I am exhausted and terrified, but at least my tears have finally dried. I reach and close her unseeing eyes gently.

I should call someone, I realize. But who should I call? What should I say? That my stepdad who beats me to death every night, killed my sister and I stood by her freezing body for hours after that? Who would believe that? How can I explain why she was here in the first place?

I imagine the cops looking at me with suspicion, just like they always do, and tremble with horror. I imagine the nurses' and the social workers’ faces every time I try to tell them about what Bart does to me. None of them ever believes me because there are no physical signs on me of the abuse, and Bart is a charmer who can sweet-talk his way out of any situation. Will he be able to talk his way out of this though? He did kill her. Will he blame me again, making everyone believe I did it because I am a troubled kid seeking attention, a kid who is not right in the head ever since her mom died?

With trembling fingers I reach for my phone, determined to do the right thing nevertheless. I can’t just let him get away with what he did to Geneva. As I dial the emergency number, I hear buzzing from her pocket.

For some reason, I leave my phone and fish hers out. It unlocks immediately, the face recognition app taking me for her without an issue. There is a message from someone named Ian. Her best friend, I remember from what she told me earlier.

Bitch, I don’t know where you are but you are missing the party of the year! Drag your a*ss down here right now!

The phone buzzes with another message, this one with a picture.

You’ll never guess who hooked up with Dragon tonight. Like, he is hot but damn… that guy is a w*hore. Anyway, where r u?

There is a blurry image of a tall dark skinned guy pressing some thin girl with a tight skirt while he sucks on her face like holds his living force. The guy’s dark unruly hair sticks in every direction and his bright green eyes are somehow staring right at the camera, and for some reason I find it quite annoying as I look away, feeling like he is staring right through my soul.

At the upper end of the phone, I notice the missed call - four missed calls from Victor, Geneva’s brother. Our brother. The head of the family. Alpha as she called him. God, how did this happen? The urge to call this Victor guy and ask for help is overwhelming. But then I remember how nobody ever believes my words and I am terrified. Just because we might be related by blood doesn’t mean he will be willing to forgive me when I am the actual reason for his sister’s death, even if I wasn’t the one who did it.

Fear grips my entire being and my mind freezes. I can’t do this. I am alone, I have no one. Bart took care of it. Again. I can’t breathe as I stared at my dead sister’s face. Her phone rings again and I pick up without thinking.

“Genie?” I hear a masculine voice from the other end of the receiver. The caller ID notifies me it is Victor. He sounds angry and worried. “Genie, where are you?”

I don’t reply for the longest time. What the hell am I doing? Suddenly terrified, I drop the phone to the floor and it falls in the pool of Geneva’s congealing blood. Victor is shouting something from the other end of the line. Something about her not telling him where she is and what is going on, and how deeply worried Genevieve is. I stare at the phone for the longest time.

I don’t know why I pick it up again, but the blood is now on my hands too and I can’t stop shaking.

“I am sorry,” I say quietly, my voice trembling as I lift it to my ear. I feel the blood on my cheek too now.

“You should be sorry, you brat,” Victor growls like a bear, and I can’t help but wonder if he is really this scary in person as he sounds on the phone. “Where are you? I am coming to get you right now.”

I blink like an i***t. He can’t come here. He can’t know. I am so horrified by the idea, that I just can’t think straight. “No, no, don’t come,” I plead, terrified.

He huffs out a breath and for some reason, I imagine him as a raging beast spitting fire at me. When he speaks though, he seems calmer, as if he is trying to think straight and collect his anger. God, what would he do if he knew his sister died because of me tonight? How would he feel if he knows his sister died period. How could this happen?

“Alright, Genie. Fine. I don’t know where you are, and why you decided it is a good idea to leave like this. But you have to come home. Grams is getting crazy with worry, me too. It is three in the morning for Goddess’ sake and you are a minor. Please come home and let’s talk it through, whatever it is that bothers you.”

I wet my dry lips and struggle for air, the beat of my heart pounding in my ears like a drum takes my breath away. I don’t know why I say what I say next, but I do and there is no way back. “I am coming. Don’t worry about me.”

“Genie?” Victor says with a worry in his voice, worry about his sister who he thinks ran away from home because of some stupid teenage drama. God, he couldn’t be further from the truth. “Is everything alright? Really.”

I steal a glance at Geneva’s lifeless body then squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears. “Yes,” I lie. “Everything is alright, I am coming home.”