Nixon

••• Thirty-Two •••

Things have to look up. Things have to look like they are headed towards the bright side rather than a path I am worried for my child. Nixon told me what Lillian was like, how she was insane, how she hid things from him that would make him involved. Nixon told me the truth that has been eating him alive, the reasons for why he killed Lillian: it was either him or her. They were both planning to kill the other, but the night she finally decided to do the deed, he had been awaiting her.

But now I need to put that to rest. How can I expect Nixon to leave his past behind and forget what happened if I bring back the past and have him relieve it. I cannot keep doing there, where I mention her name and watch as the relationship between us I am trying to salvage becomes even more cracked and damned. For our relationship and for our child, I must put Lillian Rice's name to rest when I talk with Nixon.

I guess that is why I stand here, the pearl I had found in the piano months ago clutched in my hand. Holding my hand above the soil where a hole has been dug, I open my hand, the white pearl glistening in the sunlight as I take one last look at it. This is just a fraction of what Lillian left in her memory, the piano being the next thing to go as I have called in a company to replace it with a new one, this one black and even more grand if possible. Taking in a deep breath, I say goodbye to the woman I never met, the pearl falling into the hole as I kick my boots into the pile of drink to my left. As the hole becomes filled and a small weight becomes lifted from my shoulders, I look back to the house, Nixon in our master bedroom as he's talking with someone on the phone.

He's always on the phone now, taking about the palace or the royal couple as the war goes on. Sometimes he gets calls in the dead of night, waking the two of us up as he rushes with his phone to his office, locking himself up as I am left to wonder what is going on in his head. Sometimes I wonder if something is underway that will leave a bad taste in my mouth and a bitter feeling in my chest.

Heading inside, I take off my boots, the fall colors having transformed this backyard into one of vibrant autumn colors. It's been two weeks since I learned of Lillian's story, the part where she was not an angel, and now I am moving on. In just an hour or two the company will be here to haul out the piano and replace it, the house filled with a new symbol as Nixon and I will try and put our differences aside. We both have a pack to run, one where the members fear him and respect me. We have a pack where our duties are needed and we cannot hold them off any longer. For the past two weeks Nixon has been busy in his office and I have spent my time attending to the pack, aiding the pups, helping the elderly members with their gardens, and greeting families and warriors with a smile for pack dinners. Where is their Alpha? He's not just at his office, not at the one in the pack house, but at home, living out of the fridge and office as he rarely comes to bed anymore. What is going on? I only hope it is good and will not taint our child.

The kitchen empty for the most part, the curtains pulled shut, table holding no mess, and every ounce spotless, it's strange to see it like this. Yes, Nixon has always made sure to keep a clean and tidy house, but since I moved in it had become dirty. Yet in his absence as he attends to work, he finds time to keep this house spotless as I am out taking care of the social rolls. I do not just do my part, but I have also found myself taking on some Alpha duties, even having to meet and greet a fellow Alpha and Luna from a neighboring pack for lunch in the city as Nixon was too busy. Without Nixon, I somehow managed to walk out of that lunch not just with an ally, but with a continued treaty of peace and loyalty all from them meeting me. That was an Alpha's job, to maintain relationships with other packs, and I, a human Luna, did so. That following day I was told by Nixon's head warrior that the pack found me to be doing a better job than their own Alpha.

Their Alpha, a male who is broken. Broken just like me. I wonder if Nixon was always this way, even when he was my age, if he was always cold and dominating, if he ever scared his parents? A part of me wonders how long he has lived within a hollow shell, only now and then leaking his soul through as the weight of the world takes affect. He enjoys the power that he has, never wanting to lose it, for he enjoys the people under him, the fear he can strike in them, and the way that they will always be obedient...obedient until someone else proves to be a better ruler. However, he has Alpha blood in him, making him the rightful ruler of Crimson Lock, yet a part of me wonders if he is slowly losing the right that made him their ruler. A part wonders if his misuse of power and the fear within his pack members has caused a shift in their allegiance. A part of me wonders if I could make that happen.