Lexie is not a warrior. In fact, Lexie is a painter. Her hands are always covered in paint. Never coming off. Always there. For Lexie, painting is an escape. An escape from her pain. She paints to avoid the darkness that is in her soul. She paints t...
Why I stayed inside with my paints and canvas. With my brush and imagination.
Avoiding people and becoming consumed with my own thoughts.
"You'll be fine."
For the first time I feel annoyance at Lilah's words.
And that annoyance is what drives me to look at Atlas before getting out of the truck.
Smiling.
Always that same smile.
It fools so many.
And now it is fooling hundreds.
A gasp comes around the crowd as Atlas quickly stands by my side, his eyes narrowing in thought as he takes in my change in personality.
"Hello," I say.
The crowd looks to their Alpha, eyes wide, and waiting.
"This is my mate. Lexie."
Brief silence.
And then they line up.
Each one comes, hesitant at first.
I can feel their hesitation.
They eye me, as if trying to figure me out while I do the same.
Lilah stands on my other side.
"It's an honor to finally have a Luna."
I don't say anything about the comment.
Instead I just nod and smile.
Smile and smile and shake each stranger's hand.
Smile as names I quickly forget are told me to.
Grace, Lilah's mother, comes up, her appearance resembling her daughter.
A man stands at her side. I can tell it's her mate, John. Another girl, one who looks like Lilah besides the fact that she has dyed blond hair, stands behind them.
She looks me up and down, glaring at me.
"You're not what I pictured for him."
I just smile and shake her hand.
Finally the crowd is gone. Dispersed and satisfied with me. For now.
"This is the pack house," Atlas leads me inside.
I can see a woman in the kitchen, cooking.
She waves a cheerful wave, grinning at me.
"That's Sandra. She cooks for the packhouse."
I nod and follow Atlas as he leads me upstairs.
"Lilah and I will get your stuff into your room."
He opens the door to reveal an empty room that contains the standard bed, desk and wardrobe.
I sigh in relief that I have my own room.
"Thank you."
"I'll go get your stuff."
He walks away, leaving me to walk around the room.
I go into the bathroom.
It's what i've been dying to do, ever since we entered the house.
Quickly I turn the sink on, and without mercy, pump as much soap as I can, into my hands.
My hands that are covered in paint.
But also covered in others.
Others.
So many others touched me.
I can feel their skin.
Gripping mine.
I want it off.
Now.
I saw the way they looked at my hands. Saw the confusion and thin press lips as they took in the splattered color.
And I kept smiling.
But not anymore.
Not anymore.
No one could see me now as I rushed to get breath into my lungs.
Rushed to get their touch off of mine.
"Lexie, Lexie."
I hesitate at the sound of his voice.
Atlas is standing at the doorway, his face twisted in a scowl as he watches me trying to clean my hands.
"Do you really find them that disgusting?"
Vile. His voice is laced with anger and dripping with barely controlled rage.
"No...," I'm barely able to sob the words out, "I just...It's just, so many people were...touching me."
I don't know why I admit this to him.
Maybe because I don't want him to think that I hate his pack already.
I don't want him to hate me because of this.
Something changes in his eyes.
He steps closer to me.
I lean against the sink, shrinking into the counter as he soon stands, tall and above me.
"Here," he gently takes my hands, the suds of the soap transferring onto his own.
And just as softly, he places them under the running water.
His hands rub over mine, as he washes away their touch. His touch. All of it.
"Thank you."
It's whispered out.
This male has already seen me vulnerable.
Not even a day in and I've shown him a weakness.
He nods, still focused on my hands.
He turns the water off and reaches for a hand towel, wrapping my hands within it and drying away the water.
Without another word, he leaves me there.
Blinking and staring at his retreating figure.
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