My Youth Began With Him Novels & Stories

he says as he begins his story. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask him. “I am getting to that Jenna. Learn some patience,” he says before continuing, “Well as a younger boy I was constantly getting into mischief – as most boys do. One day I wandered into an unknown territory, which I came to learn was the Black Crescent Pack,” he shares. “I was climbing a tree when this beautiful, red-haired little girl wandered into the forest near me. I stared at her for what felt like hours, just watching her play,” he says. I feel a chill run down my spine.

Her face eased at his description and she listened carefully. He saw her curiosity and interest and that brought a smile to his face. "I was on the field with my grandfather and we stumbled upon a boy my age. He was… beautiful." he snickered. "That was the first thing I thought but Grandfather said 'you look hungry. Come home with me'."

I had him right where I wanted, and I needed to keep him there. “A minute,” he replied awkwardly. “I started when I was sixteen. I got tired of getting pushed around.” I nodded like that made sense, smiling encouragingly at him. “Let me guess, rough neighborhood?” “You could say that,” he replied. “I grew up just down the road from here. My pops ran numbers, and my moms ran off when I was eight. The street taught me how to keep my fists up and my mouth shut.” I could feel him starting to relax, just a little bit. He was opening up without even realizing it, and I just needed to keep going a little longer.

He watched me for a second, as if debating how much to tell me, or maybe if he should tell me at all. “I was twenty-one,” he began. “You’d have been… eight? Maybe nine.” Something about him saying my childhood age made my stomach twist. “I enlisted because I didn’t have anything else. No family. No backup plan. Just… nothing. The army was the only place where nothing meant something.” I swallowed. “You don’t have to tell me—” “I know. But you asked.” He went quiet again, staring out the window, and for a moment I wondered if he’d changed his mind. But then:

His gaze was distant as he looked into the fire. "To be honest with you, baby. Ever since I was a kid, girls have always come after me. I am not trying to brag, but I never had to chase anyone. I could have whoever I wanted without even trying. My first time was when I was thirteen. With my math tutor. Dad had hired her to help me pass my class." My eyes widened in shock. Thirteen? With his tutor? "W-What! How old was she?" I blurted out.

I ran. I heard footsteps behind me and the next thing I know, I'm being hoisted into the air and landing flat on my back on the cold wet alley floor. I couldn't see his face. Till today I don't even know who that person was and trust me, I've searched everywhere for him. But all I can remember is me almost shitting my pants and being thrown into a black van. The guy they took me to, was kinda merciful. Said I was just a kid and that I didn't deserve to die. But in order to make sure I didn't have some kinda mental break down and tell on them, he made sure I was initiated.

He was indeed happy, and at that moment, it was the most beautiful day of his life. He remembered the first time he had told himself that he would embark on this journey. He was a teenager. He was nineteen and bristling with the sense of ambition familiar to young, wild, free boys. He was in his sophomore year in college. He was drinking beer with the fraternity members of the frat, and slices of pizza were being passed around in the dimly lit frat common room when one of them told the story of the ancient Amazonian tribe. The storyteller was a senior who loved being at the center of attention.

“Just that.” He leaned back in his chair, looking up at me, and for a moment he just looked like a person. Not the thing the city feared. Not the composed untouchable version he wore in every room I had seen him in. Just a person sitting with something old and private that someone had just called by name. “I was thirteen,” he said. “It had been a bad day. Worse than usual.” He said it plainly, no drama in it. “And this tiny girl appeared out of nowhere and started crying because she thought I didn’t want her lollipop.”

“So I can be a toy for your amusement again?” He went deathly still at my words. “What did you say?” “You know what I said,” I hissed. “I heard you all those years ago. Do you think I ever forgot?” “Eva,” he began slowly, reaching out to me with his free hand but I brushed him off. It all started one summer when I was sixteen. I’d been living with grandmother for a while, and he’d just returned from school. He was already making a name for himself as an Alpha. His presence was the only reprieve I got from her abuse.

He sat there motionless, like a frozen statue. His mind was in complete chaos, thoughts fragmenting and colliding. How had things become like this? When had everything gone so wrong? In the beginning, things had been so good between us. Perfect, even. He was the one who'd picked up that fifteen-year-old girl with a shattered family. Found her hiding in corners crying, her world falling apart around her. Piece by piece, he'd helped put her back together. Who'd patiently wiped away my tears with his own hands.