Alone

Chapter 11

*Jacob's POV*

When I wake up, I see that we're back at the packhouse. I let out a big yawn, stretching my body to get those last bits of sleepiness out.

"You have no idea how cute you are, Love," Damien says out of nowhere. I freeze. The boys are both staring at me from the front seats. Redness fills my cheeks immediately, causing them to laugh. Ryder gets out, opens my door, and pulls me into his arms.

"It's alright, my little mate. We love to see your cute face." He peppers kisses all over my face until I start to giggle. 

Damien comes up beside us and kisses my cheek too. "We are so lucky to have you as our mate."

Mate... why do they keep saying mate? Is it something bad? Oh, Goddess, I hope not. I don't want to have to hate these men, they seem so nice.

The boys bring me upstairs to my room and set me on the bed. They take some clothes out of the bags and start to put them in the dressers when I stop them.

"W-wait. Let m-me." Before they can protest, I stand up and start organizing. After doing laundry for so long, I'm fast at putting clothes away. I'm going so fast that the boys don't even bother to help me. They just sit on the bed and watch me with what I think is amusement. 

It only takes me about 10 minutes to put away all 8 bags of clothing. After hanging up the last hanger, I fell arms snake around my waist and pull me into a chest.

"You're so good at that, Love," Damien says calmly into my ear. I know that he meant no malice. In my gut, I understand that. However, some part of me didn't, because what I did next surprised me.

I screamed. Loudly. I screamed so loud that my voice started to break. I punch and kick at Damien, trying to get away from him. I'm not strong, so he probably let me go out of shock rather than me escaping.

I almost trip over myself to get out of the closet. Ryder is standing there staring at me, obviously confused. Before he can say anything, I run into my ensuite bathroom, slam the door shut, and lock it. 

Collapsing into a corner, I start to sob. I pull my knees to my chest and cry harder than I have in years. I used to only cry out of pain or fear of pain. Don't get me wrong, I am petrified right now. But I just feel this empty ball of sad in my chest, which fuels my tears like gasoline fuels a fire.

Distantly, I hear the boys pounding on the door, but they can't get through because the doors were made to withstand werewolves. My rational mind tells me to let them in, but I'm not in control right now. 

Now I know what's happening. I don't know how I got to this point, but I've been here enough times to know how it's going to end.

The emotions clouding my brain tell me to rummage through the cabinets, and I of course do. It doesn't take me long until I find what I'm looking for. Back at White Dawn, I would sometimes do this, but no very often for if they caught me I'd be in big trouble. But right now, nothing can stop me from using the razor in my hand.

Trigger Warning: If you are triggered by self-harm, please skip this part. I'll put another marker when it's over.

I sit back down in my corner and roll up my left sleeve. It's almost hard to find a spot that doesn't have a scar, self-inflicted or not. I place the razor against my flesh and draw neat lines through my skin. The rivulets of blood quickly start to flow, and the red fluid starts to calm me slightly.

I'm starting on my fifth cut when the door slams open. The boys look at me in complete shock. I suppose I look quite bad, my cheeks stained from my tears, my arm covered in fresh wounds, and swimming in a small puddle of my blood.