Chapter 10 – Echoes and Whispers

                The weekend stretched before me, a long, agonizing expanse of time that twisted into a suffocating silence.

                Still, there was no sign of Anderson.

                Margie's well-intentioned advice now felt hollow, an empty echo in the cavern of my despair. My fingers, trembling slightly, hovered over my phone, constantly refreshing the screen, but his name never appeared. I sent message after message, each one a desperate plea, only to be met by a cold, digital rejection.

                Friday, 8:15 PM: ‘Hey, you okay? Haven't heard from you since...everything. Just checking in. Call me when you get this.’

Message not delivered.

Friday, 10:30 PM: ‘Anderson, is something wrong? Please, just let me know you're alright. I'm getting worried. My calls aren't going through either.’

Message not delivered.

Saturday, 7:00 AM: ‘Did I do something? Are you mad at me? Just tell me, please. This silence is killing me.’

Message not delivered.

Saturday, 2:45 PM:  ‘I went by your apartment. No one answered. Where are you? My heart aches not knowing. Just a word, anything. Please.’

Message not delivered.

Sunday, 9:00 AM: ‘Anderson, this isn't fair. After everything, you just vanish? Don't you owe me an explanation? Or at least confirmation you're alive.’

Message not delivered.

Sunday, 7:15 PM (My last attempt): ‘If this is it, if you're really gone, then I guess... goodbye. But I deserved better than this. We both did. I hope you're okay, wherever you are.’

Message not delivered.

My calls were also definitively blocked, met only by the cold, impersonal tone of an automated voice telling me the subscriber was unavailable.

                Also his online presence vanished as if he had been utterly erased from existence.

I spent hours on my small balcony, looking over the glittering city lights, each sparkle a cruel mockery of my inner darkness. I counted the stars, each one a tiny, distant hope that flickered out, leaving only deeper blackness.

                To stay alive, I ordered takeout, forcing down bites of food I barely tasted.

 I watched endless hours of mindless television, the empty chatter a poor substitute for conversation, until exhaustion claimed me and I fell asleep, usually slumped on the sofa, too weary to even crawl into my bed. My mood was at an all-time low, a deep, pervasive gloom that settled over me like a suffocating, inescapable blanket.

                The grief for Anderson intertwined with the still-unhealed wound of Axel's brutal murder, tightening its icy grip around my heart.

                “Why? Why would you do this to me?” I whispered in the dark.

                Monday arrived, cold and relentless, dragging with it the merciless cycle of a new work week.

                And that's when it finally dawned on me, a cold, stark realization that settled deep in my bones like an icy, undeniable truth.

                Anderson was gone.

                He was not coming back to me, not now, not ever. I had lost him, just as painfully as I had lost Axel.

                I have to forget him, somehow get over our nascent love, just as I was still trying, impossibly, to get over Axel's early, brutal leaving. It was a new wave of grief, different in its origin but equally devastating in its impact, washing over me and threatening to drown what little strength I had left.

                But as I slowly, painfully, pulled myself together, forcing my trembling hands to button my shirt, compelling my feet to slide into my shoes, a tiny, defiant flicker of resolve ignited within me.

                “I still had my dreams” I encouraged myself in the mirror.

                I still had my budding career, a fragile anchor in a life that seemed determined to strip everything from me. They were all that was left, the only constants in a world that felt increasingly chaotic and cruel.

                “I will build something for myself, something strong, something no one could ever take away,” I told myself.

                 I had to. It was my only path to survival.

The weeks blurred, each one carrying my quiet endurance.

                Then, a much-needed distraction arrived.

                Amy and Jor, my two closest friends, were about to visit. To maximize our time together, I took two days off, eager for a long weekend of shared laughter and camaraderie. Our first night out, we decided to hit a pulsating club downtown, hoping the vibrant energy would drown out the ghostly shadows in my mind.

                I embraced this opportunity, desperate to unwind, to temporarily forget the aching, unrequited love for my ex-mate, the ghost of what Anderson and I could have been.

                The music throbbed, the lights flashed, and I lost myself in the rhythm on the dance floor, moving with my friends, trying to feel alive.

                But then, amidst the hundreds of mingled scents — perfume, sweat, alcohol — a strange scent rose above them all, ghostlike but almost known, and startlingly present. It was extraordinary, unlike anything I had ever encountered, and I couldn't explain why it resonated so deeply within my very being. My werewolf instincts, normally subdued amidst bustling crowds, activated with a subtle awareness, a prickle on my skin.

                I subtly searched the gyrating crowd for the owner, my senses certain it must be a male. My eyes scanned faces, my nose subtly flared, but no one seemed to be the source. The scent was there, potent and captivating, yet the person remained elusive, just out of reach.

                 I sighed, a tiny wave of disappointment creeping in, but I pushed it aside and continued to enjoy the night with my best friends, trying to ignore the mystery.

                Later, needing a break from the thumping music and crowded floor, we found a quiet, round table and settled in. Jor, ever direct, turned to me, her eyes filled with concern that she didn't bother to hide.

                "So, has Anderson finally shown up? Any word?" she asked.

I took a long sip of my drink, the ice clinking against the glass. "No. Nothing. Not a single message, not a returned call. He's vanished."

                Amy reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over mine.

                "I'm so sorry, Anna. That's messed up. You deserve so much better than being ghosted like that, especially after everything with Axel."

                "Tell me about it," I muttered, a bitter laugh escaping me. "He was my hero but transformed in a complete asshole."

                Jor frowned, her brow furrowing. "That's why you need answers. We should go to Eclipse Howl, his pack. You're entitled to an explanation for his behavior, Anna. He can't just vanish after starting a mating with you. It's not right. Maybe there's a reason."

                I shook my head, a weary sigh escaping my lips, laced with a new kind of resolve.

                "It's a waste of time, Jor. I don’t want to chase after him. If he decided to terminate our just-started mating this harshly, with such cold silence, then he's not worth pursuing. There's no 'reason' good enough for that kind of cruelty. It's over. I'm done with chasing ghosts, whether they're dead or just vanished without a trace."

                Amy squeezed my hand. "We get it. It's incredibly painful. But you're strong, Anna. You always have been."

                "Yeah," Jor added, though she still looked unconvinced about Anderson. "Let's just focus on enjoying our weekend then, okay? No more brooding about boys who don't know how to communicate."

                I managed a genuine smile.

                "Sounds like a plan."

                The pain of Anderson's disappearance still lingered, a dull ache, but with my friends by my side, and a strange, lingering scent hinting at an unknown possibility, I felt a tiny crack of light break through the suffocating darkness.