Their Human Mate

Chapter Two

Question of the chapter:
Favorite drink?
Mine is bubble tea, or ginger beer.

Aalya's POV

I'm scared.

The dark is scary. The pitch black of the living room is making my heart race and my breathing rapid in fear. Easy tears fill my green eyes to the brim.

One thing I've learned in the past three years: bad things happen in the absence of light.

My mother used to comfort me. She would tuck me up in her arms and say that nothing would hurt me.

That was before she died from overdose of drugs.

I'm cold. 

There aren't any blankets on the couch. All I have is my own body heat. I curl up into a tighter ball, letting my warm breath engulf my frozen fingers.

Going upstairs is out of the question. There is no knowing what Carter would do if I got into bed without his permission.

I choke back a sob. The darkness is pressing in on me. 

Alone.

Afraid.

Vulnerable. The darkness makes me feel vulnerable. The cold makes me feel vulnerable. Being alone makes me feel vulnerable. 

I wonder if I'll ever feel anything but vulnerable.

I feel dirty.

I feel disgusting.

The overwhelming emotions seem to bottle up in my throat.

I start scratching my arms, wishing I could rid myself of the skin Carter touched.

The knowing that it's going to happen again. Every night. 

Unless I leave. 

The realization ignites a spark of hope in my heart. If I run into the woods, I'll get away. Carter has always said that if I go into the woods, I'll die. He says that the wolves will kill me. But maybe that's a lie. Maybe that's just because he knows he wouldn't follow me into the woods. 

If it isn't a lie, my stomach is all cut up anyways. Can wolves do worse?

I'm small. Maybe the wolves wouldn't be able to smell me. I could slip through the trees and find another small town. 

I would have to keep moving, though. Carter might try to find me and take me back.

I slowly climb off the plush green couch, tiptoeing over to the foyer. My old school bag hangs on one of the hooks. I slowly take it off, careful not to make any sound. 

It's an old, worn, black bag, and I'm grateful that its not a brighter color. That would make it easier for Carter to follow me.

I tiptoe over to the kitchen, and open the pantry. I grab some canned food and dump it all in my bag. I close the doors of the pantry, wincing when they make a tiny squeaking noise. 

The water bottles are on the shelf right above the glasses. I have to climb up onto the counter to reach them. I grab a small one, trying to keep heaviness to the bare minimum.

When I climb gingerly down to the ground, my elbow knocks one of the glasses of the shelf. 

It shatters across the bench top.

I freeze. 

Did he hear? Is he awake?

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!!"