Alpha Julius

My life, until recently, has been woefully lonely. Not the type where you’re surrounded by people but claim to feel alone, no, I mean the type where not a single soul cares to know who you are. The type that twists your soul until you’re nothing more than basic instincts and self-preservation.

Naturally, it starts with my parents. My Dad left before I was old enough to develop memories of him, and my Mum was hardly worth remembering by the time I was taken out of her care. I’m sure there’s harboured resentment in me somewhere for them, but I can’t help but think that they must be like that because they too were let down by someone… and so on and so on… perhaps it’s a family curse I’m doomed to repeat.

When I was eight years old I was put into the care of a distant relative by the name of ‘Wes’, whom I’m surprised was even found to begin with. Wes was a man who was probably good looking once upon a time. He was tall enough to be a few heads higher than me, looked as though he could be athletic if he wanted to and his sandy brown hair and grey eyes were an interesting combination you don’t generally come across. The crows feet around his eyes indicated he used to laugh often, but now at the age of 40, alcohol and drug abuse had completely overwritten any of his softness with harsh lines, a constant 5 o’clock shadow and unkept hair.

Life with Wes carried on similarly to the way it did with my Mum. I didn’t attend school, Wes somehow managed to convince the State Government that I was being homeschooled. However, to avoid Wes and his alcohol problem, funded by the payments he received intended to support me, I spent most of my days studying in the library. Although boring to most, this was my favourite part of the day, for those hours I could lose myself in whatever topic I chose, and forget how desperately sad my entire existence was.

Wes and I lived on the outskirts of the Blue Moon Pack. Unless you haven’t already guessed, we weren’t overly involved within our community. Wes went out of his way to avoid anyone getting to know us, and by default, no one knew the reality of my situation. I wasn’t allowed friends, we didn’t have neighbours, I wasn’t allowed to talk to other adults, I had a phone but it couldn’t make calls or texts…I couldn’t even watch T.V. With the exception of my daily trip to the library, my life was completely manipulated by Wes.

Our lives went on like this for years. Mundanely miserable, but the predictability of each day was somewhat comforting.

When I turned 13, however, something changed. I can’t tell you when it happened, whether it was gradual or sudden, all that I know is that I found myself wishing for the days that were lonely and boring once again.

Each day I would go to the library, but each evening when I returned home, I would return to a different Wes.

I became filled with fear and anxiety, waiting to see what version of my ‘carer’ I would be confronted with. This became worse when Wes noticed concerned eyes scanning the bruises along my neck in the supermarket.

“Maia, cancel your library membership, you’re staying home from now on.” He sounded so uninterested when he told me, like it was no big deal, and yet in that moment the air thinned and my heart beat so strongly that my rib cage rattled to its rhythm.

Losing that short window of freedom that had become my lifeline each day was my breaking point. I made the decision in that moment that I was going to leave.

Despite not having my wolf yet, I was still quick and agile on my feet, something I hoped would get me out of Wes’ rickety camper trailer and through the forest before he realised I was gone.

That night, I waited until Wes passed out - a common occurrence - and I could hear his heavy snores reverberating throughout the small tin box we called home. Unfortunately for me, he kept the keys to the multiple dead locks guarding my exit in his back pocket, a hurdle I wasn’t fully confident I could overcome. However, when I entered his bedroom a smile split across my face, he had managed to fall asleep flat on his stomach and it took me no effort at all to smoothly remove the ring of keys from his jeans.

Three deadlocks and five mini-heart attacks later and I found myself in open forest. I couldn’t hear much over the blood roaring in my ears, but no lights had been turned on in the trailer, which was all I needed to confirm he was still asleep.

I broke off in a run. We lived close enough to the perimeter that it was easy to cross over undetected, even more so because I knew where the patrols were stationed after having watched them for years. I slipped through the small gap in their formation, not stopping to look back. The air felt so crisp in my lunges, paired with the adrenaline spurred on by my fear and excitement, I felt like I could run for days.

Except I didn’t. I never stopped running.