Alpha Alexander

Chapter Three: Haunted by Memories

****Trigger Warning - Domestic Violence*****

*** Alexander's POV ***

I quickly shut my bedroom door behind me as the little she-wolf that seemed to have formed a crush on me followed me like a love-sick puppy trying to convince me to have supper with her. But of course, if I agreed to supper to appease her, it would have only encouraged her silly idea that she had a chance with me. This was not something I was remotely interested in as I strongly believed in saving myself for my mate. However, with everything going on inside my head, I would have to stay away from my mate. No one wants someone as broken as me.

The idea of staying away from the most amazing, life-altering thing a werewolf could experience sent a sharp shooting pain into my chest. Peter whimpered as he lay low to the ground. Everything I could feel or see, he could as well. I hated myself for having him go through any of this. From what small bits I remember, when I was a human and Peter was our little dog, he was always happy-go-lucky and rambunctious. He still is, but lately, he has not been himself because of me and my memories. Again, I hated myself for all of this.

"I appreciate the gesture Annabelle, but I am not interested and have to get going in the morning," I said through the door gripping the handle tightly.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where I'll be. No one has to know," Annabelle responded.

"Goodnight, Annabelle," I snapped.

At this point, I clenched my jaw, trying not to lose my temper with her. Instead, I carefully listened to see if she would continue trying to convince me why an Alpha such as myself should associate with an Alpha's daughter. I wasn't raised just to seek out a mate of higher status like myself. Status meant nothing in our pack. Love was love, and if my mate was a bog creature, then that was what I would wholeheartedly accept. Although, I would hope she wasn't a bog creature. Peter's ears perked up as he let out a little laugh at my inner thoughts.

I heard Annabelle huff and puff before storming down the hallway back to her floor.

"I didn't think she would ever leave," Peter sighed.

"Me either," I replied as I rubbed my hands together.

I needed to get her touch off my hands and out of my head. I was starting to feel overwhelmed and trying to ignore the person following me, which could only be seen in the reflections of windows and mirrors. The intense bursts of rage I would have to hold in were getting harder to control. The constant taunting of His voice echoed in the back of my mind. Terry. I felt like I was completely out of control of my body.

I made my way to the bathroom to wash my hands. I kept looking down into the sink, watching the water before putting my hands under it to feel the heat of it. I soaped my hands up and rinsed them off. I turned the water off and held onto the counter as I felt a cold sweat wash over me. I glanced up to look at my reflection. A blue and hazel eye looked back at me. The small reminder I had that I was a part of my mother and a part of my new father, Noah. My hair was messy, and my face needed a good shave.

Then my gaze shifted to Terry standing behind me, leaning against the door frame. Sometimes he shows up with no head, and sometimes his head is there. He had black hair and dark brown eyes that were almost pools of tar—a goatee around his thin smirking lips. He wasn't tall, maybe five foot ten, and had a medium build. He didn't look very intimidating. Yet, for some reason, this man was able to make our lives a living hell in the human world. Finally, my eyes caught his dark eyes, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. The room began to spin and shift into a familiar place.

I could smell food cooking and the tv in the background. Rosemary was sitting on the couch; she must have been four or five years old. I saw myself as a toddler shaking in fear as my mother made her way into the living room with a knife. I watched in horror as Terry flung me across the living room into the steel front door, down the hallway, and into my bedroom before slamming the door shut, my mother yelling at him to stop. He was cursing and talking to me the whole time like a disobedient animal. Finally, Terry stormed past my mother into their bedroom as she went to check on me.

I could see the fear in her eyes as she checked me over. She was taking count of the bruises and cuts on my face. She apologized and hugged me. Little me was screaming with tears running down my face as she held onto me before leaving me alone in fear of us being punished further.

"Shh, you have to stop crying, or he will return and give you something to cry about. I'm sorry I can't protect you. I'm sorry for all of this," she whispered before leaving the bedroom.

I watched as she stormed to the bedroom gripping the knife she had been using to cook dinner. Terry was ranting and raving about what a worthless piece of s**t I was because she didn't beat me enough to force me into submission to listen. I watched as her body shook with rage and fear. She held the knife up in front of her.

"If you EVER touch my son like that again, I will f*****g kill you!" she seethed through gritted teeth.

"Are you threatening me?!" Terry snapped.

For a split second, I could see the look of fear flash across his face before it was replaced with a challenging look.

"It's not a threat. It's a promise," she snapped.

"How about I call the f*****g cops on you and you to lose your kids? You want to talk a big f*****g game," he retorted.

I watched my mother's small frame step further into the bedroom, still clutching the knife. The smell of fear and determination radiated off her.

"Do it! Then you can explain why your son's face looks like that!" she snapped, thrusting her fingers toward my bedroom.

Terry looked at her, challenging her, but she didn't back down. She knew she had the upper hand in this situation, and nothing he could say or do would change her stance. When this situation calmed down, he would go on to ignore all of us until he calmed down. Then, he would act like nothing ever happened, or he would be extremely charming and buy food or toys to make up for the s**t he did. I wanted to reach out and touch my mother. I wanted to hold her, Rosemary, and little me. I wanted to take all of us out of here and shred him apart.

The room began to blur and shift into another memory. The voice in my head was screaming for this to stop. Suddenly I was back in my childhood bedroom, watching myself take a nap before waking up by sounds that haunted me my whole childhood...