Octavius (WATTYS 2016)

five | bubble bubble

That bastard. Who does he think he is? Playing with my emotions like that as if he's some sort of puppet master.

Snapping my jaw shut, I grind my teeth and angrily replace the cover on the ziti. 

He's such a bully, pulling me around at will, and I don't know who I'm more disappointed with, him, or the fact that I wanted our exchange to end much differently. I try to convince myself that it's only my wolf's instincts to be drawn to him, that there is no way I would be attracted to him...

I throw the rest of the ziti in the fridge, no longer hungry, and storm into my room, stomping my small feet on the floor as loud as I can. God I am so juvenile. But I am so filled with pent up rage and frustration and heat that I just want to explode and provoking an argument is my main focus. Probably not the best idea when you're living in the same wing with a murderous alpha but at the moment I couldn't give a rat's ass.

I reach my room and listen for any footsteps that would indicate he had heard my rampage and was coming to chastise me. All I hear is empty silence. So with a growl, I open my door and slam it as hard as I can, the sound resonating throughout the empty halls. I wait, facing the door I expected to fly open to reveal a furious alpha. But again, nothing. In frustration, I turn away from the door, and gasp.

In all the hours I had been in the wing, I had yet to see my room. The walls are a pale pale beige, rose-gold almost, with of course, a golden trim. The bed is large, probably king-size, with a fluffy and puffy white comforter under a mountain of white pillows. I just want to collapse on top of it, but I see myself in the mirror across from me, which lays against the wall next to the bed. My bed. I look as terrible as before, and I am in desperate need of a shower.

I step farther into the room, and I see a white door to the side, and upon entering, my feet touch cold tile of a bathroom. 

A large bathtub sits in the center of the room, accompanied by a long white counter, and wall length mirrors. It's pristine. Perfect. Cold.

I walk over to the bath and turn on the faucet, running my fingers under the already warm water. Everything about this room, this wing, this mansion is perfect. Clean and cut, but cold and empty. I guess a home is the reflection of its master.

Octavius is perfect and godly, so insanely and impossibly exact. But I can sense his need for something to matter. For something to live for. For all the art and decorations he has all over his wing, I haven't found one picture of parents, of a laughing and happy couple. The guardians of a beautiful child. His home is devoid of emotion or love. And, like the Beauty and the Beast, he wants, no. He needs that sense of passion. But I don't know if I can be Belle. I don't know if I could love a monster. But then there is the lingering question...would he be able to love me? Do I want him to? 

As a child, I would sit in my mother's lap by the fire, listening to the story of how she met my father, how, once they realized they were mates, their love for each other grew stronger and stronger. I would stare up at the night sky through my bedroom window and pray that my relationship with my mate would be as loving and caring as my parents. I was such a fool.

I strip from my clothes, and slip under the bubbles and the water, relaxing into the cushioned edge of the bath.

Tomorrow I will go out and see how the rest of my pack is, Moonrise pack that is, I haven't even seen any of the Blood Moon members who aren't soldiers. I wonder where the women and children live. If there are any.

I think of little Lacy and Charlie. I haven't seen them since the age groups were divided. If he hurt them...

Don't think about that. I say to myself.