It's Only The Heat [TharnType 18+]

-22- 🌒 We've All Made Mistakes

"If you look into the distance, there's a house upon the hill, guiding like a lighthouse to a place where you'll be safe to feel our grace 'cause we've all made mistakes. If you've lost your way, I will leave the light on."
~Tom Walker, 'I Will Leave A Light On"

~~~

*Thorn's POV*

"Ugh," I whine, inspecting the long scar extending from my temple, down my throat, and ending at my collarbone. Out of all the scars I received from that attack, this one is undoubtedly the worst. The others are in places that can be easily hidden with clothing; my arms, my back, and one on my left leg that starts at the middle of my thigh and ends at my ankle. I have to wear long clothing to cover it all, but it's better than people seeing the puffy pink scars littering my skin.

"It's okay, Thorn," I say to myself in the mirror. "Appearances don't define you. No one in this pack is going to judge you."

Even as I say the words to myself, my eyes refuse to leave the reflection of the dreadful scarring on my face. I was never really too concerned with how I looked before just a few weeks ago. It's not like I care about looking hot or whatever, and attracting the attention of everyone in the room. As long as I felt comfortable, then that's all that mattered.

Well.
I sure as hell don't feel comfortable right now.

People will stare. I know they will. I can tell myself over and over that they won't, but they will. Everyone stares. Everyone looks for a moment with pity in their eyes, before realizing they're staring and quickly looking away. I don't know what's worse. Having people look at me with pity, or knowing people feel the need to quickly look away as soon as they see me.

Either way, it's clear that I won't be seen as normal anymore.

Werewolves can heal quicker than humans, and even more so with the saliva of an Alpha. The majority of my wounds healed fairly quickly, but the deeper, more severe ones have become permanent decorations on my skin. Constant reminders of when I, the son of the Alpha, was attacked just outside my own pack. My stomach clenches. I know I'm not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but the idea of being seen as weak still kills me. I want to be strong. Not just for myself, but for others. I want to be seen as someone that others can run to when they need help. When they need protection, guidance, support. Who's going to come to me when the scars covering my body prove I can't even protect myself?

My fingertips trace over the raised edges of the pink scar tracing down my face. I'm able to hide all my other scars with long clothing, but it's pretty hard to cover the one on my face. Unless I completely wrap my head like a mummy, which I'm not desperate enough to do.

The sound of a throat clearing behind me makes me jump. I turn around to see Tharn standing by the open bathroom door, watching me with pity in his eyes. I release a sigh and hold back the urge to clench my jaw. Tharn already blames himself enough for my attack. The last thing either of us needs is Tharn catching me staring awkwardly at my scars.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, since this bathroom is my personal one, attached to my bedroom.

Tharn shoves his hands in his pockets. "Just wanted to see how you're doing," he mumbles. "Are... you okay?"

"I'm fine," I wave him off. Pushing past him, I walk into my bedroom and plop down on the bed. "I'm just having a little pity party over my fucked up face. No biggie."