The Bookworm

Chapter 1 (edited)

Noah

Eight years later

"After lunch, we need to go to our lockers. We can't put it off any longer, I need to grab my shit."

I knew he was right; I just wasn't in the mood today for love letters, poems, red hearts, and candy. For as long as I remembered, I always dreaded Valentine's day. Everyone gets way too excited, and girls that normally wouldn't dare to even look at you in the eye as you pass them by, somehow, find it a romantic idea to spam your locker. So stuffed with things that when you open it, all the presents and promises of the eternal love you were offered, fell at your feet. This year wasn't going to be any different. I'd have to pick them up, clean my locker, and put them right where they belonged. To the garbage bin.

However, that wasn't the only reason I was usually annoyed on this day. It was also because while my friends and I had to suffer through this, she most probably didn't. From the table I was sitting I often had a clear view of Amara Miller. And even though it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, I couldn't help but follow her with my eyes, intrigued.

She's just sitting there, eating her sandwich with some berries on the side for dessert as per usual, reading her big-ass book without a care in the world. Couples are making out, exchanging gifts, making plans for tonight or the next couple of years, and she was just reading her book. She didn't look like she was in danger of getting her locker violated.

As far as I've heard, she never dated anyone before. People thought she was unattractive or indifferent, but I believed she never really cared to approach or be approached by anyone. To begin with, I didn't buy that a student like her (even I had to admit she is an excellent, A+ student), couldn't put the work in to find a boy to go out with. And secondly, she wasn't bad-looking. If you looked at her flaws individually maybe the statement would make sense, but somehow her big glasses, crazy hair, pale complexion, and her short figure, even though they weren't my thing, they weren't ugly characteristics either. She looked good enough, especially for a guy that was into shorter girls, with pale skin and glasses that framed nicely her face...

Some guys were really into it.

The other undeniable reasoning was that she was odd. No one could argue with that.

"Can you stop this shit? You look like you're ready to kill." Justin spoke again.

"It's not healthy, man." Matt reasoned.

I glared at both of them because I knew they were right, but there was more to be upset about than just Valentine's day and Miller.

Like not having found my soulmate.

I knew in my world soulmates were a difficult thing to find. Some people found them when they were eighteen years old or sooner. But some hadn't at twenty-five, thirty or forty, if not more than that. Some people never did. When you go into puberty, though, so does your beast, and he has no interest in other females other than his own.

Humans had it easy, they developed an itch, and they could simply scratch it. But for us, it was a tad more difficult than that. It's like a craving you can't help having, and even when you try to satisfy it with substitutes, it's still going to exist, pumping through your veins, reminding you some things are just irreplaceable. It's effortless to lay down with a person and share your body, but our nature is to share our soul.

I could've easily picked one of the many phone numbers slid in my locker this morning and dated another werewolf or a human girl, knowing no one would hold it against me, especially in the light I might never find her. There was nothing wrong with a little company, fun, and some experience. It's just that at the prospect, my heart didn't beat faster, and I wasn't excited in any way. I just didn't care for any other female. Actually, I was more excited at the prospect of my own hand.