Chapter VIII

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QUESTION FOR TODAY: What's your favourite flavour of ice cream? Mine's Cookie Dough 😍

"It's time to get up, Thea!"

I pulled the covers up to my chin and grinned. Last night, I had sealed all the windows in a desperate attempt to increase my temperature. Upon realising that it wasn't radical enough, I turned the heating up also. Beads of sweat had gathered on my forehead, and my skin was blisteringly warm.

"I don't feel well." I groaned.

He was by my side in an instant. "What's wrong, T?"

"My head hurts, and I threw up a little earlier." I replied, grimacing.

"What? Where? Please don't tell me you stained the carpet!" he moaned.

I raised a trembling hand and motioned towards the bathroom. "I reached the toilet just in time."

He cursed and bolted towards the toilet, arming himself with a plunger. As he left my room, I grinned triumphantly; apparently, my drama teacher had underestimated by acting abilities.

"This is mashed up weetabix!" He shouted.

Shit. Pinterest had failed me.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I chuckled nervously. "My head hurts. Ow."

"You're just trying to avoid Alpha Black, aren't you?" he sighed impatiently, entering my room once again.

I flung the covers off of my legs and slumped in defeat. "Maybe..."

"You can't avoid fate," he laughed. "Trust me, I know from experience."

"I can sure as hell try!"

"No, you can't," he snapped, suddenly growing serious. "Be glad you've actually got a mate and stop being a petulant bitch."

My eyes widened, and a solid lump formed in my throat. "Please leave my room."

"Thea, I'm sorry-"

"GET OUT!" I screamed, flinging a pillow towards him.

He hurried out of the door and I broke into hysterical tears. Everything was shattering before my eyes. My family- well, the majority of it- was dead, Chrissy seemed to have forgotten about my very existence, my psychotic chemistry teacher was claiming to be my mate and my uncle believed I was no more than a petulant child.

At the sound of squealing tires I peered out of my window, inquisitive. The black SUV, which, yesterday morning, had delivered me to my doom, parked on my driveway. My heart began to pound as I pondered my options; I could leap out of the window and hatch an escape plan, or face the day ahead.

The first seemed more plausible. I slid the window as far open as the groaning hinges would allow and readied myself, breathing deeply. With a tiny shriek I flung myself through the gap, flailing like a man caught in fire.

"PRAISE ME, CHILDREN!" I yelled in mid air.

I landed on the Astro turf, which made the pain marginally more bearable. Before the two werewolves could object I was already shooting off in the opposite direction.

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