Fated To The Lycan Brothers

Chapter 1: I Wish I Was Never Born

Suri Nightingale

“Where’s the money?! Where’s the f*****g money?!” His voice sounded off in the four corners of this tiny, tiny room. Even with my eyes closed, I could easily tell who it was.

Anderson Michaels. One of my mother’s ill-fated ex-boyfriends. Ever since she passed away, he’s been harassing me about the money he claims my mother stole.

His early in the morning shouts made my ears ring with a screeching noise and my head ache terribly.

I am then thrusted into a numbing coldness which I am safe to assume is because my already thin blanket is completely pulled off of me.

I groaned.

He shouts again.

“Wake the f**k up! Do you think I’m joking right now? Wake up, you useless b***h!" His crass and filthy curse words prove just how lacking he is of brain cells, but for his lack thereof, he makes up with his physical traits aka the fact that he’s six foot two, has veins almost popping out of his muscular arms, and he can pretty much choke me to death without barely even lifting a finger.

So I obliged.

“I don’t have your money. I’ve told you a million times.” I reply in a way that the exact words have been accustomed for me to say because, let’s be real, I have told him the exact same thing a million times.

I. Don’t. f*****g. Have. His. Money.

I barely even have my own money for myself. I live in a shitty twenty square meter abandoned room with roaches and rats crawling everywhere. I live from paycheck to paycheck, which are mostly from illegal jobs since they won’t/can’t hire an underage girl. I eat one meal a day—two if I’m lucky—thanks to some kind churches that open up their doors or feeding programs.

If I had his—or anybody’s—money, I’d have left this shitty place and gone far, far away a long f*****g time ago.

“Useless trash.” Another lovely set of words from his massive vocabulary.

“Oh, thank you.” I said sarcastically, and though I knew saying it was a terrible idea, I couldn’t hold back and I quickly experienced the consequence of my own action.

The sharp and painful tug at the ends of my hair was sudden.

I scream in pain and tell him to stop, but he just continues to drag me from one corner of the room to the other.

I’m tightly holding the top of my head and hoping my entire hair doesn’t get ripped off of its roots. I certainly can’t afford a wig now, and a bald seventeen year old wouldn’t look good on my resume.

Eventually—I don’t know when—he stops, but not before shoving my head on the ground so hard that I thought I might have gotten a concussion.

I’ve barely opened my eyes when I see him towering over me and he spits on my face. I wince from the disgust and the shame.

“I’ll find you, you little b***h. No matter where you go, no matter who you become, I’ll keep finding you and continue to make your life miserable until I get my money.” He threatens, but I don’t react.

Only when he lowers himself down, pulls out a knife and glides it on my cheek with just the right amount of force to scare me but not scar me, does the beating of my heart pick up.

“Your mother killed herself because she must have realized how much of a waste you are. I suggest at least redeeming yourself a little before you kill yourself, too.”

I grit my teeth and clench my fists tightly as I push back the tears that are threatening to come out.

The second I hear the door slam shut and know for sure that the asshole is gone is when it all comes out like a gallon of milk that had been tipped over. That is when I allow myself to release all of the tears.

My face is completely wet and the tips of my hair are drenched from the salty substance when the alarm on my phone brings me back and I manage to stop, like a flip of a switch.

Over the years, I have learned to control my emotions. One minute I would be crying my heart and soul out, and then the next, I would have a wide smile on my face for the public.

I shook my head and stretched the edges of my mouth into a big, wide smile.

Time to go to school. Time to suffer in the hands of my classmates who do nothing but make me feel like crap by constantly bullying me. Time to continue living the miserable life I’ve lived since my mother died and left me all alone in this cruel world.

Time to face reality.

My name is Suri Nightingale.

And everyday I wish I was never born.

—

“Hey, freak!” The very thoughtful greeting came from behind me and I opted to ignore it, focusing on fixing my things in the locker, but of course, life isn’t as easy as that if you’re me.

A second later, Justine Myers slammed my locker so fast it caught a strand of my hair. I grit my teeth in order not to say or do anything. They’re not worth my time. Nobody is.

“Didn’t you hear me call you or did you forget that you’re the only freak here?” She continues to taunt me, but I just continue to pretend she doesn’t exist.

I opened my locker again so that I could pull away the hair stuck in it, but before I could finish, Justine closed it so fast that my finger got caught in it, making me scream from the sudden pain.

“Ow f**k!” I pulled my finger close to my chest, clutching on to it as if this would stop the immense throbbing, as I stared at the pestering b***h next to me with an angry glare.

She merely gave me an amused smirk. “Ooh, feeling feisty today, Nightingfreak?”

My hand clenched tighter. I f*****g hate when they call me that. I don’t care if they call me other pathetic names, but when they use my last name, they also degrade my mother because it was hers. I hate it with my entire being whenever they drag her into their shameless bullying.

Pissed by this, I couldn’t hold back. I spit on her face and this caused the other two girls–her posse–behind her to simultaneously let out an ‘ohhhh’ sound like Justine just got burnt.

I felt victorious for my action, but the feeling of victory didn't last very long. It never does. Because the next thing I know, Justine is raising her hand and I don’t have enough time to react before the sound of a loud slap echoes along the hallway and my right cheek feels like it has been set on fire.

“Stupid f*****g freak. Don’t you dare do that again or you’ll be mopping the floor with your ugly hair.” Justine threatened me and spat on my hair before turning around, her posse not missing a single beat, and they walked away with their asses excessively pushed out.

I hate them. I hate all of them. I wish there was a way to teach them a lesson without losing my scholarship, but unfortunately, if you’re the mayor’s daughter, you can get away with anything – even torturing someone for your own amusement.

If only I hadn’t gone to my shift that day. If only I had held on tight to the glass of lemonade juice in my hand then none of this would have begun. I would still be invisible to them like I have been since I started studying here, but unfortunately, there was no way to turn back the time and the moment I spilled that juice on Justine in the diner I used to work at, nothing has ever been the same for me in this school.

I took a deep breath before rushing to the girl’s comfort room and quickly washed away her spit from my hair. My sandy hair gets darker as the water runs through it. Fortunately, it only takes a minute of rubbing until I’m sure there are no more traces of Justine’s gross saliva on it.

I placed both hands on the counter before looking up to see myself in the mirror. The once glow in my eyes are gone, the eyebags have gotten bigger, but the color of my eyes still remain the same – still two vastly different shades that always make me stand out wherever I go. It’s the reason why they call me a freak because what kind of normal person would have both green and blue, one on the left and the other on the right?

I let out a sigh.

“You got this, Suri. Just one year left. Just one year and you will leave this place and never see any of these assholes for the rest of your life.” I told myself, psyching myself up as much as I could, and with one last deep breath, I braced myself for another day in teenage hell – high school.

—

School ended like usual.

And by usual I mean Justine and her posse threw papers at me every chance they could and every time the teacher scolded them, they would only point to me, giving me a bad reputation and scolding.

What’s worse is that all the drawings were vulgar so the other students around me would laugh whenever a teacher opened it and was shocked.

None of them ever stepped up for me. I would like to think that it’s because they can’t, that if they do, it’s their reputation and job on the line. But I also know that people aren’t as nice as they could be.

Seventeen years in this hell hole and I’ve experienced my fair share of terrible people thanks to the life I’ve lived so I know that even if they could be nice, they choose not to be for selfish reasons.

I can’t trust anyone here. Or anywhere else in the world where I end up, for that matter. Not that I would be going places any time soon. I’d need to graduate, get myself a proper job, and save up for years before I can do much.

It’ll take a lot of work, but I can do it. I have to do it.

—

As I was waiting for the bus at the stop, I felt like someone was watching me. Do you ever get that feeling where the hair at the back of your neck stands up and you just know that it’s because somebody’s eyes are looking straight at you? That’s exactly what it felt like right now.

I impatiently tapped my leg on the ground as I sat up a little, trying to find a hint of the bus nearing, but to no avail. The longer I waited, the more I felt like my life was in danger.

“Oh, f**k this.” I mumbled to myself before getting up the bench and deciding to just walk. I’ll just wait at the next stop.

But before I could get any further, I felt my bag get pulled from behind me and suddenly someone much taller than me had pushed me against the bus stop railing.

“What the f**k?!” I shrieked in shock, but my breath was taken away when my eyes opened up to meet steely gray eyes that pierced into my soul.

That was the only thing I could see clearly as he wore a black cap and black mask over his mouth.

Who the hell is this guy?

“Take it,” he muttered demandingly as he waved a white envelope in front of my face.

My admiration is cut short when I realized this man was holding me against my will and I shouldn’t be fantasizing over his f*****g eyes.

“What? No! Are you crazy? Who the hell are you?!” I shouted back at him, but his grip on my neck tightened. Any more and he could choke me to death.

But why was I finding that oddly s e x u a l for some reason? Jesus, I think I’m going insane.

“Just f*****g take it!” He threatened me further which made me give in.

“Alright, alright. Geez.” I grabbed the white envelope from his hand and he loosened his hold on my neck.

Is it wrong to say that I kind of wanted him to keep it tight? God, I really need to get a hold of myself.

All of a sudden, he comes near me. His face is so close to mine that if he moves by just another inch, and if he didn't have that mask on, our lips could touch. Holy s**t.

“I’m only going to say this once so you better f*****g listen.” His voice is deep and so smooth that I know I might just end up dreaming about it, but it’s the danger in it that has me on some kind of unexplainable hold.

“Whatever that letter says, do not, I repeat, do not f*****g follow it. You’re going to stay right here, right in this shitty town, and never dream of contacting whoever sent it. You got that?”

I swallowed nervously. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about nor can I even process it because he’s so close that every part of me is aching for him.

“I said, you got that?!” He shouted before pulling away and his eyes pierced into mine again.

“I… I got it.” I managed to utter and before I could say anything else, he let me go, turned around, and disappeared by the trees at the side.

What the f**k was that all about?

My heart was still beating a mile a minute and the envelope I was holding on to had started getting crumpled.

A few minutes of going back and forth between reading or not reading it, I eventually gave in and ripped it open in seconds.

—

Dear Suri Nightingale,

This letter might come off as a complete shock, but trust me, finding out that your mother, Stella, had passed away a couple of months ago was even more so.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Keith Whitford. I knew your mother a long, long time ago, a time when I had no one but her. She never left my side. A ten year old boy who was lost in the world and a sixteen year old girl who was barely trying to find her place.

Stella was a remarkable woman, and that doesn't even begin to explain the impact she had on my life growing up.

Unfortunately, our life together was short-lived when she disappeared on my thirteenth birthday. All she left was a few hundred dollars (that I was sure she spent months to save for) and a note that said 'I'm sorry, I love you. Grow into the amazing man I always knew you would become.'

That was it.

I never thought I would see her again. I used all my resources to find her for many years, but never found anything.

Until one day when a certain obituary on a small town newspaper was brought to my attention.

Your mother’s.

I don't know if you'll get this, or if you will even bother to respond, but I want to meet you, and if you let me, to give you a good life. One that I wish I could have given your mother.

So I hope you give me a chance.

If not, I'll have to move on with Plan B.

Sincerely,

Keith

—

My eyes blinked once, twice, trying to see if the piece of fancy paper would suddenly disappear from my hands.

Except it doesn't. It just stays there like it's the realest thing in the world because it is. This paper and this letter with its contents–as absurd as they are–couldn't be any more real.

But if it was true? That I had no idea.

Keith Whitford. Keith Whitford. Keith Whitford.

His name repeated in my head like an unusual puzzle piece that couldn’t fit because it wasn’t the right shape nor the right design.

Keith Whitford did not fit in mine or my mother’s life, and so I concluded — this was all just a ruse and whoever that guy was that was threatening me, he didn’t matter. Soon he will just be a part of my past like everyone else is.

Tucking the nice paper into my back pocket, I let out a deep sigh and gently slapped both sides of my cheeks with both my hands in the hopes of bringing me back to the present.

“Just another Tuesday, Suri.” I said to myself before forcing a smile on my face as I saw the bus on the road coming towards me.

A few days later, I came to realize that it was not just another Tuesday, and the letter was most certainly not just a ruse when a man cladded in what seemed like a very, very expensive suit appeared in front of me and told me the craziest thing.

That he wanted to take me and live with him and his sons.