Unsettled

Once Ginny started, she never stopped until she was out of breath or I was unconscious, whichever came first.

If I was lucky, she would tire herself out before I passed out, but it rarely happens.

She doesn’t care where the cane landed. Back, arms, legs or face. I stopped counting a long time ago. There was no pattern, just rage and I have grown used to it. Strange how when pain became constant, you stop fearing it, because it blended in and feels more like a background noise in a place you can't leave.

I don’t even dread the beatings like I used to. I’ve learned to disappear inside myself. Each time the leather struck my skin, I shut my eyes tighter and imagined a place far away, a vast field with warmth and endless beauty.

A place filled with sunflowers and tulips stretching toward a wide blue sky which sways softly in the breeze.

The kind of place that exists only in storybooks, or dreams. A place where no one yells at me, where I don’t have to flinch just because someone moves too fast.

Maybe such a place exists somewhere in the world, but I know I could never go there, but it doesn't hurt to think about it and in moments like these, when the world turns red, then black, then quiet, I like to imagine myself there, safe and happy.

When I woke up, everywhere was dark, I remembered getting summoned around 3p.m, meaning it is already night, I just don't know how late.

I couldn't see much, but the smell told me everything I needed to know, dried blood and the cold silence that always came after. No one was at home, this was part of the ritual.

After a beating, they suddenly leave the house to go be somewhere else because they couldn’t bear the sight of me, couldn't face what they'd done. Out of sight, out of guilt.

I was expected to wake up on my own and clean up the mess, making sure the house sparkled again as if nothing happened.

Because if Ginny or her husband comes back from wherever they always went, and the house was still messy, they would snap, and I just can’t afford that, not today, or she might forbid me from going to school again next week, I have already missed several days in a row, not doing what she expected is just inviting trouble and I can't afford to offend her.

This might not mean much to others. But for me, school was everything, it wasn’t about friends or popularity, I had neither. It was about being away and also learning, in school, there was so much interesting stuffs and I want to use the little time allocated to me to learn as much as I can.

I know it sounds stupid, celebrating something as ordinary as a school day, but it means a lot to me and I want to cherish every second.

The only reason I was even allowed to go was to help Mary with schoolwork, but I don't mind. I will do everything for my sister if it means getting out of the house a few hours a day.

Earlier this week, Mary asked me to write her project report again. She couldn’t find the one I had given her the day before. The one I spent sleepless nights perfecting, she misplaced it and needed a new one as soon as possible. I had to re-do it all over again, making it better, neater, and just in time for her deadline.

Ginny beat me for it. Not because Mary lost the report. But because she said I should have known better than to give it to her in the first place. I should have predicted her carelessness. Should have saved a backup. Should have been smarter.

So as punishment, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house for a week. Sometimes I wonder if it was just me, I think I am the problem.

But there was a time when Ginny was a little kind to me, she used to be gentler, when I was younger she held my hand and taught me how to clean the floor without hurting my knees. I still remembered how she helped me sort laundry by color and showed me how to knead dough until it was smooth.

She even taught me sign language. She once said it was beautiful. I have a stutter, a really bad one that most people can’t understand me. When I try to speak, it’s like my words get stuck behind a wall. It frustrates people and embarrasses me too.

But sign language made me feel like I could communicate too, it felt like magic, the way hands could speak without ever opening your mouth.

Now, I use signs most of the time, and when people don’t understand, I pull out my notepad, it was small, worn, and always in my pocket. That’s where I scribble down most of my conversations.

After Mary was born, everything changed. Ginny said I was useless.

So if I was going to stay with them, I would need to earn my keep by making myself useful in helping my sister secure a great future.

Mary was perfect. Not just in Ginny’s eyes, but in everyone’s.

She had blazing red hair just like Ginny's, porcelain skin that never burned in the sun, and the most striking obsidian eyes, so dark they looked like polished stones.

She looked like someone painted her and belonged in magazines. I, on the other hand was directly opposite.

I had dull, muddy eyes. Raven-black hair that hung limp no matter how I brushed it. My skin carried a sickly yellow hue with a face dotted with freckles.

Next to Mary, I looked like a stain. At first, I was jealous, I wanted everything she had, maybe I would amount to something in Ginny's eyes if I had a little resemblance to her. But as time passed, the jealousy faded.

I stopped dreaming about being Mary. And started doing what I was meant to do, help her.

Ginny looked at her with pride, her voice always sweet and light around her. She brushed her hair gently, complimented her smile, and laughed like the world was made just for Mary.

When she looked at me, though, it was different. Her eyes turned cold, and her jaw would tighten like she had to clench her teeth just to stop from screaming.

As if I was some rotting thing left behind in her house. When I was seven, she moved my room to the basement.

She said it was more “efficient” that way.

When I was in the kitchen, they would stay in their rooms.

Once I was done with breakfast, I would ring the kitchen bell and wait exactly fifteen minutes in the basement before going upstairs to clean their rooms.

That way, we wouldn’t have to see each other. This became a routine.

Like I was never really part of the house, just a shadow moving in silence between the walls.

Whenever I did something wrong, Ginny would sneer at me and say, "Even God couldn't be bothered to finish creating you properly, that’s why He forgot to give you a real voice."

Those words stung more than any slap ever could. But, I was grateful she took pity on me let me stay with her. The idea of being abandoned terrifies me more than anything else. No one would want someone like me.

So I follow the rules and kept my head down. No matter what, in the end, family is everything.

In her own way, Ginny accepted me. Because if she hadn’t, she would have thrown me out a long time ago.

When I turned ten, I finally found the courage to ask her why she treated me so differently from Mary.

She didn’t hesitate, before saying I was the greatest mistake of her life. She told me the bastard who got her pregnant disappeared without a trace, and she only kept the baby because she thought I would turn out perfect.

“But you didn’t,” she had said, her eyes hollow. “You’re the living proof of my worst decision.”

I remember standing there, staring at the floor as those words sank in like ice water down my spine. Then I thanked her for the honesty.

And after that, I made a promise to myself, that since I wasn’t perfect, I would at least make her life easier, by earning my place, even if it meant erasing myself completely to do it.

For Ginny perfection was everything. She made sure I understood it, down to the last breath in my lungs.

To her, beauty equaled worth, and I had none.

She was always too embarrassed by how I looked, and said I was too ugly to be a girl. So she cut my hair short and dressed me in boy clothes.

"Girls can’t be ugly," she had muttered before yanking a pair of scissors through my hair. "Only boys get away with that."

I didn’t mind, in fact, I think I look a little more dignified this way. Less offensive, maybe. Easier on the eyes.

When I messed up, and I always did, Mary would mock me, drawing out my stutter in front of her friends until they all laughed like I was the punchline of some running joke.

But life in the McGiffin house wasn't all that bad, I get a roof over my head, I get to eat even if it is leftovers, it is still good and I prepared it. So what more could I possibly want?

I hummed softly as I mopped the floor. The routine brought a strange sort of peace. When I finished, I prepared dinner, meatloaf, roasted potatoes, and steamed greens, just the way Ginny liked, and laid everything out with care.

Then I walked over to the house phone, to dial her number, and waited, once she receives the call, she would know everything was set and they would all come back.

Ginny had taught me that once everything was spotless and I had properly “reflected” on my misdeeds, I had to call her. Only then was I allowed to exist in her presence again.

***

KAEL

It’s been two weeks since that near encounter and I have been feeling like shit ever since.

I kept telling myself I did the right thing. That walking away made me strong. That I was setting the right example, just like my grandfather would have wanted.

A good leader should put the pack before everything else, including his mate.

So I convinced myself it was better this way. If I didn’t face them, I wouldn’t have to reject them. Out of sight, out of mind, only I couldn't have been more wrong.

I might have walked away, but my thoughts never did. My emotions were everywhere. One minute I was frustrated, the next, I am just hollow.

And the truth is, nothing I have ever been told about finding your fated mate prepared me for this.

I haven’t even met them properly yet. But ever since that day, this gnawing feeling hasn’t let me rest. The curiosity, the ache, and the way my wolf keeps pacing restlessly was all just too much.

I finally gave up pretending and went back to school.

I told myself it was just to get back to normal. But deep down, I know I came back because I needed answers.

I need to know why this feels so real, when everyone insists it was wrong.

I understood the rules, the reasons and the risks, but still, I want someone to tell me what it really means to find your mate without all the fear. Without bias and without the shame.

The past week had been hell, I couldn’t shake the bad mood that clung to me like a second skin. My wolf, barely spoke to me and when he did, it was just to grumble about how much he missed that damn scent. Citrus and coffee. He said it with such longing, like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And maybe he was right. I have searched the school top to bottom, every block, every hallway, every classroom but nothing, not even the faintest whiff. I wondered if it was all in my head, maybe I had imagine the whole thing.

But if it was just a dream, why was Blade still moody and silent? Why do I feel so empty, like something vital had been ripped away from me?

Too many questions, yet no answers, just this endless ache. And as if that wasn’t enough, Lilian decided now was the perfect time to visit.

Of course, she was supposed to be my Luna. Everyone knows it, my father had chosen her for me before I was old enough to spell the word “mate.” Our parents made sure we spent time together, enough to make something grow.

She is charming, smart, and I used to love teasing her. It was easy to feel something for her back then.

By the time we hit our teens, it all felt inevitable. We trained side by side, learned to carry the weight of duty together. She never questioned her role. Neither did I.

But now I find myself annoyed that she came without warning and I kept wondering if I ever had a real choice.