The Unbroken Luna

2

 Emily’s pov

It was morning. Well, it was the perfect morning. Outside the window, the sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and the little stream of water that ran a few feet beside the pack house was gurgling.

“See you later, sweetheart,” Clayton said, fixing his dark red tie. He leaned down to brush a fake, disgusting kiss on my hair and then disappeared behind the door.

I was finally alone.

He was not there with me; he wouldn’t hurt me.

My shoulders relaxed as I sighed. I got up from the bed, wincing at the sharp pain in my lower area, and padded over my vanity, taking a blank look at my reflection.

Nothing unusual.

My arms were covered in cuts and bruises, like the rest of my body; my scalp hurt painfully, because Clayton really liked to pull my hair harshly, and the bright red bruise on my right cheek had the exact shape of my husband’s hand.

I knew my werewolf healing wouldn’t kick in soon: Clayton rarely let me shift, and therefore my wolf had increasingly weakened during these four years. She was so weak that now I barely even heard from her.

I covered up my bruises with makeup and, once I looked like a normal, happily married woman, I pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a tank top from my closet. Clayton had “enjoyed himself” that night, and I highly doubted that I could go through all my daily duties. I quickly dismissed some appointments and crawled back into bed, asking for some breakfast at the Omegas who worked in the kitchen through my phone. I didn’t really feel like talking. Or getting out of bed. Or anything else, really.

It was, actually, already a couple of weeks that I was feeling like that. I was sluggish, tired, and really hungry… and that was strange. I'd stopped being hungry six months after my wedding; since then, I only ate because I knew I had to, and it showed; even though nobody said anything, I knew I looked like a walking bag of bones.

I closed the curtains and turned the TV on, absent-mindedly watching some shows I really didn’t care about: it was just to have some background noise inside my empty, depressed mind.

Half an hour later, the Omegas brought me Nutella crepes, orange juice, and a small sandwich with turkey ham and jalapenos, just the way I liked it. Mornings were the only time when I could actually eat what I liked, and not what Clayton wanted. Since he always required me to share my meals with him, I had grown used to his preferences; preferences that I hated with every single fiber of my malnourished, small body.

Breakfasts were now my only moment of freedom, the only moment in which I felt Emily. Not Clayton’s toy and c*m bucket, not the Red Blood’s Luna, not the alliance’s key. My heart hurt painfully at the thought of my old pack; Clayton made sure we visited my parents at least once a month, and he usually hired a witch to cast a glamour spell on me to make me look like my old self. I could cover up the bruises, but not the unhealthy way my collarbones protruded on my skin.

I let out another sigh, and I started to pick at my breakfast, even though I wasn’t really hungry. Actually, I felt rather sick… but maybe it was because of how much my husband and the things he did to me disgusted the s**t out of me.

Resting my head and back on the pillows, I tried to relax, forcing my brain to think about anything but Clayton and what would happen at the end of that day. To keep my mind absent but entertained, I started scrolling down my i********:; there were several posts and stories of my old pack friends. Jessie and Michael got engaged just the night before; my cousin Nella and her group of friends had gone to the pub and her best friend got so drunk that Nella's twin, Grant, had to carry her bridal style up to the stairs and tuck her into bed. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel that way, but a small part of me was thankful to Clayton; he didn’t force me to shut my social media accounts down. They didn’t only give me the chance to see what happened in the world outside of the Red Blood pack’s borders; they made me feel like I was a normal person. For a while, I could lose myself in those posts and stories and pretend that was my life, and not this living hell. However, my husband’s influence was heavy even there. He told me nothing about how to manage my accounts, but his shade over me was enough to influence my behavior. I barely chatted with my friends, because the thought that they might understand what was truly going on between Clayton and me was terrifying; I posted cute pictures of us with cheesy captions that didn’t reflect even a single bit of my true feelings, but lying was better than finding out what Clayton would have done to me if he knew anyone had found out. So, I quickly complimented Jessie on her recent engagement and sent three laughing emojis to my cousin.  

I missed my family. I missed the carefree, merry girl I was, so silly and free and in love with life. There was a small part of me that had never lost the hope to be finally free from Clayton’s evil clutches, a part that wanted me to fight tooth and nail for my freedom, my health, and my life, but the fear I had of that man – no, that monster – was overwhelming. It was so strong that, sometimes, it made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, my stomach knotted up, and I felt the disgusting taste of vomit in my mouth. 

Oh goodness.

Amazing; nausea was just what I wanted to end a terrifying night and start a morning. Cursing under my breath, I held onto the canopy's pillars, panting and trying my best to keep my breakfast inside my stomach, hoping that it would pass on its own. 

After a few seconds I realized it would not happen, and I managed to get into the bathroom just in time to kneel in front of the toilet and let it all out.

It took over five minutes for the retching to stop; when I finally emptied my stomach, I sat against the cold tiles of the wall, breathing heavily, following the motions I’d seen in a YouTube video on how to overcome anxiety.

I was drenched in my own sweat; I could feel it making my tank top stick to my skin, and wetting the hair on my nape. It was disgusting.

I need to take a shower… I need …

Suddenly, I felt incredibly exhausted. It almost felt like being trapped in a dense, thick liquid; it was hard for me to move, to think, to do anything.

It was terrifying.

What the hell is happening to me?

I tried to cling to the toilet and pull myself up, but I couldn’t. My muscles were abandoning me, and I had not a single drop of strength left …

“Luna!”

The face of an Omega danced in front of my unfocused eyes, and it was the last thing I saw before black, thick darkness engulfed me.

“Luna Emily?”

When I came back to my senses, the first thing I saw was doctor Richard Foley's face. He worked at the local hospital, but we'd never interacted that much. I'd never been one of his patients, because Clayton's family physician, doctor Murray Stevens (who conveniently turned a blind eye at the clear signs of abuse on my body at every check-up visit) had always followed me. 

I gave a quick look around the place; I was in a hospital room, with bright white lights and a greenish linoleum floor, and they had attached me to an IV and some beeping monitors. The moon shone brightly outside the window; I’d been out for the entire day.

“Wh-what…” I tried to speak, but my throat felt coarse. Foley offered me a glass of water, and I swallowed it in one gulp. “What happened?”

Foley gave me a big, bright smile. “I have some exciting news for you. The Omegas in the pack house told me you seemed a little off recently… I ran a quick blood test, and I found out the cause of your weariness, nausea, and of your sudden fainting”.

A few moments passed. “Well?” I asked, then.

“Luna, I’m honored to confirm, with no kind of doubt, that you’re pregnant”.