Tormenting Territory

Preface To my wonderful reader, Tiffany Gettle, for contacting me with a fundamental idea that helped me create an adventure in which all readers can participate. With the help of our creative conversations, I managed to give life to new characters that my readers can hopefully get to know and love as their fictional friends. Thank you for all your help, your insight, and your patience! Chapter 1 Laughter echoes in the hallway, and I mentally prepare myself to be able to get through another day of school with all my bullies. In their eyes, it doesn’t matter that I’m our Alpha’s daughter. Despite being the firstborn daughter, I have neither value nor interest to the wolves in our pack. The reasons I’m being mistreated should be sufficient there, but unfortunately, the list continues. It’s because I can’t shift. The average age to get our wolves and be able to transform into them is sixteen. I’m almost eighteen, and even though I sometimes can feel my wolf, I’m simply incapable of changing shape into her form or get her to talk to me. “Move over, you ugly, fat b***h!” Sophie growls, my sister, as she pushes me to get by me and hurries into the building to meet her friends. I’m neither ugly nor fat; on the contrary! With silky, dark brown hair, shimmering purple eyes, and a frightful height of 5’1, I can say with a clear conscience that I’m a beautiful girl. But, as I mentioned earlier, it doesn’t matter. My sister is the famous, nasty b***h who appears in every teen movie. While I’m the odd, socially embarrassing, and quiet person that everyone avoids having a proper conversation with precisely because I’m shy. Maybe that’s why more and more people participate in the bullying because I never said anything or hit back. Or perhaps it has to do with the fact that I have that aura of innocence? Which isn’t very strange in such cases, considering that I always do as I’m told no matter what. In other words, I’m a good girl. I don’t mean to excuse their behavior, nor do I accept it. The problem is that it has been going on for so long I don’t think it can be stopped. No matter how many there is that stop, there will always be someone who begins, and then I’ll only be disappointed when the pattern repeats. Honestly, I suspect that that’s what scares me the most, the possibility that it’ll never end. It’s in this way that this has become my natural everyday life, and I can bet that’s probably the same for those who actually expose me to it. Making permanent changes in your life is a much more significant challenge than you might first think, and in my case, it’s probably even more difficult. Then the question remains: “Is this how I want to live?” Of course not. As I said, I don’t know how to stop what’s happening. I want it to be different from how it is, but at the same time, it’s not worth spending either time or energy trying to change my life. That’s why I have plans for my future, including finishing school and then creating a new life elsewhere as far away from this pack as physically possible. I don’t have lousy self-confidence when it comes to my appearance, but other things, like this whole thing about my inability to shift, make me very insecure as a person. No one can make me feel unattractive because I know it isn’t true. But if someone were to start discussing that I can’t shift, that my wolf is probably too weak, and that’s why she doesn’t appear in her natural form, I would break down like a child. Do you understand my point? A person can have strong self-confidence while, at the same time, it’s as fragile as the petals of a rose. It’s the balancing act I walk daily, and I’m tired of it. Soon I’ll finish school and can move on with my life. What I desire most is to be able to create my own conditions and ensure that others no longer see me only as Alpha Daniels’ spoiled daughter. Someday, but not yet. Because first, I have an algebra lesson to get through. With one last deep breath, I open the door and begin another day in my eternal hell. It’s time for lunch, and I’m very eager to drink the blood of my haters at this point. One would think that my sister belongs to another family, another family tree of horror. How my own sister can choose to participate in the treatment others give me is difficult to understand. Siblings are supposed to take care of and protect each other from all threats. Instead, it’s my little sister who poses a threat to me. Those feelings are heavy to carry, and when my gaze lands on Sophie laughing with her friends, my eyes fill with tears. Despite her treatment, I love her. After all, we’re family; no matter what she does, I’ll always value her, even if I don’t always agree with her actions. I may be Sophie’s biggest enemy in her eyes, but in mine, she’s still the same girl I played with when we were kids. What happened and caused the change in our relationship? I don’t know. As with everything else in my life, it obviously doesn’t matter if there’s any reason or not; I’m not being treated right regardless. In fact, even if there were a reason and I would try to improve the situation, it wouldn’t matter either. I’m disliked, and I really can’t understand how my own pack members can look down on me just because I can’t shift. Is that what classifies as unity in today’s society? It has been many years since the wolfpacks lived according to the cycle of nature, “the strong eat the weaker” and” the strongest survive.” In my eyes, it’s a damn 1400s behavior, and to be able to think in those ways now in the 2000s is nothing but sick. All creatures, from fairies to humans, have strengths; it doesn’t always have to be about physical strength. Having a solid psyche is at least as valuable as being able to knock someone to the ground with one blow. Intelligence and intellect are also beneficial qualities to possess. Yes, I wonder why they’re still far behind in time without the slightest hint of modernized thinking. It doesn’t matter anyway; nothing matters to me anymore. I sleep, eat the little food I get, go to school, clean, and repeat the circle again. Everything I do, all the pain I carry, is ultimately worth it if it opens up opportunities for me to disappear from here and start all over again somewhere else. As if my gloomy thoughts don’t put a golden lining on my everyday life enough, milkshake suddenly drips down my face. I’ve become accustomed; hence I don’t even react to the ice-cold liquid cooling down my body. As I raise my eyes, I discern my sister indulging in a fit of laughter along with her companions, positioned directly in my line of sight. A rapid survey of the surroundings uncovers that every individual present is partaking in the demeaning spectacle aimed at me. “Wow, getting the cold shoulder, are we?” Sophie comments, and the laughter erupts even louder. Silently, I rise from my seat and exit the cafeteria. It’s pointless to try to say anything. No one cares enough to listen, and it’s not worth the trouble it will cause me when we return to the packhouse. Rather than causing a commotion, I calmly enter the bathroom to assess the aftermath of my sister’s actions. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I observe my sparkling purple eyes and experience a sense of relief upon realizing that the damage inflicted upon me is not as severe as the incident where hot coffee was thrown at me after gym class a few weeks ago. This time I get away with a bit of humiliation and messy hair. I let out a heavy sigh before reaching for a piece of paper from the holder. Unfortunately, I don’t have any spare clothes with me, and I won’t be able to make it to the gym to shower before my next lesson. Despite my best efforts to clean myself up, there’s only so much I can do to remove the milkshake stains. It’s disheartening to know I’ll be stuck smelling like sour milk for the remainder of the school day. I’m so happy to be able to head home early today. It’s such a relief not to have to stay until four in the afternoon like some other days. One lesson, one hour, I can do that... Right? As I enter the classroom, my heart races with anticipation for the upcoming lesson. Time seems to be ticking away faster than I can keep up with. I quickly make my way to my usual spot, situated near the window in the left corner at the back of the room. This spot allows me to observe my fellow classmates without being a disruption to anyone. An intriguing scent delicately teases my olfactory senses, piquing my curiosity. I glance around surreptitiously, attempting to discern the source of this alluring aroma. No unfamiliar faces or foreign objects fill the classroom, leaving me with the assumption that my imagination may be playing tricks on me. It would be impractical to approach each person and scrutinize their fragrance, so I resign myself to the mystery of the captivating scent. As I listen to our literature teacher, I find myself preoccupied with other thoughts since we’ll be discussing “To Kill a Mockingbird” today, a book I’ve already read. As an avid reader, I usually relish the opportunity to discuss literature, but this time, I feel a sense of indifference. The only thing that sets this experience apart from my previous reading of the book is that I’ll be graded on my analysis and report. While I have no qualms about rereading the book, I won’t have to listen as attentively to Mrs. Poletzky’s lecture since I’m already familiar with the book’s contents. As I gaze out of the window, captivated by the mesmerizing sight of the golden leaves rustling in the cool autumn breeze, I can’t help but ponder on the impending arrival of winter. It’s a season that brings both joy and sadness - the excitement of the holidays coupled with the dreariness of the cold, dark days. As I contemplate the changing of the seasons, my thoughts inevitably turn toward my personal goals. I am determined to finish school and move on to the next chapter of my life. I envision myself basking in the warm glow of the summer sun, free from the constraints of school. But for now, these are just dreams that I cling to. Even during my waking hours, my mind is preoccupied with the idea of escaping my current situation. I yearn for a fresh start, a chance to leave everything behind and start anew. Perhaps someday, my dreams will become a reality. Lost in my own contemplation, I fail to perceive Mrs. Poletzky addressing me. It is only when a ball of crumpled paper collides with my body that I snap out of my reverie. The entire class is now fixated on me, and I swiftly redirect my focus to my displeased professor. “I apologize, Mrs. Poletzky,” I say with concern. “I’m afraid I didn’t fully comprehend what you were saying.” “No, Sapphire,” she responds in a displeased tone that could make anyone uneasy. “It’s frustrating that you seem to ignore me when I speak to you or ask you a question. It’s hard to believe that you have good grades when you don’t seem to focus in class.” I’m furious, not embarrassed, that this woman is daring to question my intelligence and knowledge. My high grades prove that I put in a lot of effort into my assignments and research. It’s completely false to suggest that my work is mediocre because of a lack of attention. But, I know better than to argue with Mrs. Poletzky. She’s an authoritarian teacher, and I’m just a student. I’m much lower in the hierarchy, so it wouldn’t make sense to oppose her now. It’s a well-known fact to both my peers and myself that I haven’t been giving the required attention to Mrs. Poletzky’s lessons. Despite my annoyance at the situation, I realize it would be in my best interest to simply let it go. Mrs. Poletzky’s gaze is fixed upon me, anticipating my defense. Nonetheless, I’m aware that confessing to already having read the assigned material won’t be deemed an acceptable excuse for my lack of attentiveness. Mrs. Poletzky is a strict educator, and although it may be difficult to swallow, I comprehend that the most appropriate resolution would be to sincerely apologize. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Poletzky,” I mutter, feeling a sour taste in my mouth. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” “I hope you’re going to make sure it doesn’t, Ms. Daniels,” she replies, with a hint of dissatisfaction, turning to the chalkboard to continue the lesson. As I find myself with nothing else to do, I decide to uncrumple the note that I had previously discarded. I’m not anticipating any significant information to be present, but to my surprise, I’m proven wrong. Why do you consistently put yourself in these embarrassing situations? Your behavior not only reflects poorly on yourself but on our parents and the rest of our family as well. It’s clear that you’re struggling, but do you really need to publicly disgrace us all in the process? As I read the note that my sister Sophie wrote, I can feel the pain seeping into my bones. Her words are like daggers, cutting me deep and leaving me feeling small and empty inside. Despite my love for her, I can’t help but wonder why she hates me so much. It’s a constant struggle to better myself, to become someone that others can appreciate and respect, but it feels like it’s never enough. I wish I could just be accepted for who I am without feeling ashamed or unworthy. It’s not too much to ask for love and acceptance from those closest to me, is it? I just want to be seen, to be truly understood and loved, but it seems like I’ll always be invisible to them.