From the Ashes

Chapter 13.

Under Construction

qotd - Who's your favorite author?

Gif of Nora to the side

I'm changing Larson's character to Iwan Rheon! Sorry I'm changing it soo late!!

Rena's POV***

The next day I'd planned on taking Damon to the spot of chaos in which he'd demanded to see. We walked in a comfortable silence through the white forest.  My mind was all over the place apparently.  I kept thinking about Sunscorch, Larson, my future with Damon and the woman and wolf from yesterday.

Had I stayed in Larson's pack, it's an understatement to say things would be different. I wouldn't know the rights and wrongs of how I was to be treated and I'd still be a doormat. Had I run into that wolf the way I was a month ago, I would've died instantly. 

Would Larson feel guilt when he realized I was gone and how he had treated me? Doesn't he ever wonder what our parents would say if they saw how the pack had been led to into the ground through his leadership?  What if my parents were still here? We'd have the perfect family like we had years ago. 

When my parents died, the pack took it very hard. No one bothered to really check on Larson and I because they were already too busy grieving for their lost leaders. We had gone from loved and cherished children to irrelevant and isolated orphans. I suppose you could say that Larson and I both had our own ways of coping.

As we continued to grow, Larson started to show Alpha like traits. Yet instead of leading the pack, he more so bossed them around. It was as if my title as his sister evaporated into thin air, and I became lesser than the dirt under his paws. The pack saw this as well, but no one seemed to mind. They had their new leader, nothing else mattered. 

The pack saw how their new Alpha had begun to treat me, and because their leader did this they figured it'd be fine if they did too. The teasing was rough considering I was a child, but as I grew, I started to brush them off. When I turned 12 was when the real torment began. 

I'd been stripped away of a real room, leaving me with just a bed and sheets that were made of patchwork and holes. As I reached for a box of cereal in the mornings, it would be knocked out of my hands by the adults, and I dare not try to challenge them over a box of Frosted Flakes. Confused, I'd reach for another snack, only to be screamed at until I began to cry - which angered them even more.

 I remember sneaking a poptart to my room at 2 in the morning, and how the teenager me thrived on the strawberry sweetness. To others, it was a deed that was just about as simple as opening an envelope, but to me I felt as though I'd just stolen from a major bank. I've never tip toed as quietly as I had that day as I crept up the stairs, and into my cubicle of a room. As I'm about to throw away the wrapper, preteen Tawnya walked in and made sure I knew never to take another snack from downstairs again.

From that day forward, I never asked for food, nor dared to open cupboards. I was 14 when I began to lose hope for my future. Now here I am, 5 years later, feeling that locked emotion again. Hope. 

"What are you thinking about?" Damon asked, pausing to stare at me. I jumped, obviously too consumed in my thoughts. 

"Nothing," I said. He crossed his arms, and waited for me to speak. 

"Just my family, that's all," I replied, walking to his side. He sighed and looked at me, not sure of how to respond.

"I wish they could meet you. They would have loved you," I told him with a smile. My mother would've gushed over him in seconds, and my father would've been amicable with him as well. Damon chuckled, and grabbed my hand. I looked down in shock. He was holding my hand. Though we'd kissed and this was such a small notion, I couldn't help the warmth that surged through my cheeks. We began to walk, hand in hand.