Mending My Broken Heart

Chapter Eight

I didn't wake up to a warm, safe room. I didn't wake up in the arms of the man I loved but would never love me back. I didn't feel the haven of my mate in every breath I took, beat my heart made and blink my eye had.

But I didn't deserve to.

No, I'd woken up in a place much more befitting, the room I occupied in the house we'd moved into. Honestly, I would never call a bedroom mine, because none felt like mine. The only place I'd truly felt at home was in Kane's room, but that was an illusion shattered the minute he woke up and realized his regretful actions.

The cold air of this room bit at my skin, the dark shadows cast by unfamiliar objects played with my mind and reminded me of memories I fought to shove back in the iron clad chest I'd set aside in my mind and bound with as many locks as I could imagine. Waking up in a room, and feeling a loneliness you can't even describe to yourself is, regrettably, not a new feeling to me by any means.

But this was the first time my actions could come back and rightfully haunt me. And haunt me they did. It was either still night time, or early morning, either way the sky was dark. The shadow in the window reminded me of the chocolate colored wolf whose life I had ended. Instead of the usual nightmares where something menacing came at you, this wolf was just sitting there, deep, crimson blood dripping down it's fur in mockery.

It watched me with eyes of deep sadness, it had been separated from its mate. True, my actions were in defense, it had aimed to kill first. But I could have simply left him unconscious. I knew how.

Yet, something had stopped me. Something had made me forget why life was so important. Something had made me believe that death was just an alternative way to go on.

I'd let all that had happened to me, change me. I'd been weak and vulnerable and lost myself along the way.

"Oh Ava, you always did have your stupid little pep talks." The voice, it flung my head and gaze in it's direction. I had to be dreaming. There was no way he could really be here, in our new house, in our new pack, so far away.

"What are you doing here Jackson?" I growled. This man was the beginning to my upside down life, he started all the torment.

"Haunting your mind, of course." And then he smiled the same smile that made want to punch him, but every moment it held on his slimy face, I lost a bit of my resolve and strength to the point where I was nothing.

And that's when he came closer. I moved as far back in the bed as I could. I now understood why people got so upset over menacing things moving closer at such a slow pace. I'd always believed I'd run when I found myself in that particular nightmare. But I couldn't. I was too enticed by the fear that consumed me. Moving in any direction became entirely out of the question. I couldn't even shut my eyes and tell myself it was just a bad dream, just a nightmare I'd wake up from, because it had happened. I knew what it felt like for his scaly hand to snake up my skin, for his eyes to roam wherever they pleased, whether or not I wanted them to.

So when he touched me, I felt it. The hope that this was just a nightmare, something I could pinch myself awake from, was growing more and more feeble, diminishing at his contact. All those past times he'd touched me, they were creating an effect that seemed very real to me.

And so I lived through my horror, upset only with myself for believing that distance would mean an escape I didn't deserve. This, this pain, I now knew that I deserved this. I understood why I'd been subjected to this. Because I killed. And so now I had to die inside.

And, somehow, all that managed to bring me through the night was Mason. The thought of him, his arms wrapped around me, tightening at any sign of a threat, just that moment. It was all I really had, all that was nice enough, comforting enough for me to grip the sliver that was left of my sanity.

To say I woke up looking like Hell would be a compliment. The circles around my eyes reminded me of the makeup kids wear on Halloween. The difference was, they were trying to look like zombies.

On top of that, wounds from the now mate-less shewolf had scattered themselves over my skin, lacing cuts together with my very visible veins. Some were stitched, some were bandaged, and I wondered who had done that for a moment before realizing a.) I already knew it was the pack doctor and b.) I didn't care.

I was able to cover the majority of damage with baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Really, they just blended in with my other wounds. They just added to my collection.

"Ava, school's in an hour!" My usual wake up call seemed distant, unimportant. All I did to mask my face's unbecoming appearance was drape my hair further down past my face. The shadow it cast evened my tone and made me feel slightly less open to the world.

Fifty minutes later, footsteps could be heard to the top of the steps.

"Lucas is here." My dad leaned in and looked in. After seeing that I was just sitting at the end of my bed, staring into space, he finally realized something was wrong. Thankfully, he didn't come to sit down by my bed, or move closer. I don't think I could have held my fragile composure any longer had he come toward me. "You okay?"

It was really a simple question, to which there was a simple answer. No. "Yes."

Standing, I made to move past him, and tried my best to hide the flinch and face I made when he patted my head in a comforting gesture. It wasn't comforting, it was painful.

I didn't tell him that.