Mated to Morpheus

MTM.33

haunted by memories

But, will I ever admit that?

My wide eyes of chocolate flicked back and forth, paranoid and cautious. Viviana. Door. Viviana. Door. Viviana. She stared down at me, expectantly, her ocean blues watching me with pure care as she held onto my arms gently, lovingly. The thumbs of her hands rubbing the skin of my upper arm lightly until my shaking form settled down, almost as though we were children again and I hurt myself tripping over a rock. Throughout the years, Viviana had made the loss of a mother bearable.

I unknowingly ventured towards and into the memory that itched at the back of my mind—always, always, always.

The memory itself was as clear as day, and so was the achingly pitiful voices that flooded my small ears as I attempted to focus on one thing and one thing only. The television painfully close to the front of my younger face had created a reflection in my eyes that burned, and the only thing that stopped me from facing the conversating men was the fact that they would know that I was listening, and so I stayed watching the show.

I left it up to my imagination to paint a picture of the encounter. And, at eight, I had a lot of it.

A week had passed since the funeral. The days were going by slow, and Dad was struggling to do everyday things. For me, it felt as if I had grown up too soon.

Dad stood there, at the door, whispering low to the Alpha of the Ventus Pack. He was already on his third beer, and he had only started drinking just moments earlier. It was a side of him that I'd never ever witnessed before, and in my heart, I knew that Mom did not either. On nights like this, he would let me stay up as late as I wanted, just so that he didn't have to spend time on reading me to sleep. His voice so quiet that he thought, 'No, she can't hear me'.

But, I could. My bottom was planted into the floor, and silently I sang to myself, 'Criss-Cross Applesauce' as I twisted my legs. And, the words that the Alpha spoke to my father lingered and echoed for the rest of my life.

I didn't have to be older to fear it.

"He was caught, and killed. There was no questioning needed. The reason of her death can be easily explained," he paused. "It pains me to admit it, as he is a valuable and respected piece of our history, but the death of your wife has been a problem among many packs that we are going through." The atmosphere turned dreary at the topic, and the feeling of being numb filled my senses.

Dad wanted answers, he begged for them, prayed for them, longed for them. Day and night. Sometimes, he would leave me alone, just for a few measly minutes while he went out to try to find the man again. The time passed like hours. They were always the worst minutes of the day, and I would find myself hiding under the blankets of my bed until he got back. My father pleaded with the Alpha, "Please, I mean no disrespect to you, but I just want to know why he did it. Why my wife? My-My beautiful wife. Please, all I want to know is why?"

"It was nothing against your wife. Wrong place. Wrong time. The rogue that murdered her was a devoted follower of Morpheus."

"A follower?" My father spat out, the answer he craved for was useless to him, and it left him with even more questions. Unsatisfied. Disrupted. Heartbroken. His voice trembled, "My wife was what, some kind of sacrifice?"

"No, her death was not needed, nor is it praised. It was not a ceremony of ours. It was because she was human. There are many today that believe humans still have not paid for what they have done, and the number of them are declining, but there are still followers that religiously believe in Morpheus' view of punishment."