When I Was Nine Mga Nobela at Kwento

I turned her head with my hand so I could see her ear clearly. “What's this?” I asked her, my heart pounding in my chest. “You mean my birthmark?” she chuckled, then looked at me, “What did you think it was?” I looked at her completely dumbfounded as an intrusive memory filled my head. I was nine and my father and grandfather had taken me fishing for the first time. As I stood between the two of them as they stooped low to sink their line into the water, I saw an abnormal discoloration on their ear.

Zadok's Pov "Minneapolis, Minnesota." A voice announced as the jet touched down. It was just after seven, tires kissing the wet tarmac hard enough to jolt the cabin, and through the window I watched Minnesota rise up, familiar and completely unrecognizable all at once. Nine years. Nine years since I'd let any part of the States see my face. The last time I was here, I was still madly in love and full of hope for the future.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard enough to keep them from falling, and shifted my gaze away from Zevyn for a second. I stared down at the island, blinking slowly before finally looking back at him. "When I was nine, all I remember was sirens blazing..." My voice grew quieter as the memory came back in pieces. "And that was the last time I saw my father." I swallowed, feeling the tightness building in my throat again.

I didn't want to remember but he'd asked and something about his tone made it clear he wasn't going to let this go. "She was nine when it started. When they took away my room and gave me the cupboard." I kept my eyes on the path ahead. "The first week, she would open the cupboard door in the middle of the night. Just to wake me up. She thought it was funny." Lycan said nothing—just listened.

I would have memorized every detail of that moment—the exact shade of green in the leaves, the pattern of freckles across her nose, the way her hand felt in mine. But I was nine, and I thought forever was a promise I could keep.

My voice was weak and my throat felt like it was burning. "HELP! PLEASE! ANYONE!" Nothing. “HELP!!!” Silence answered me—and I sobbed. I couldn't help it. I was nine years old and I wanted my mother. I wanted my father. I wanted anyone. I wanted to go home. Then a low and weak voice came from behind me. "No one's coming." I froze. My breath caught in my throat. I twisted around, trying to see through the darkness. "Who's there?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"I didn't want you to be hurt. They would have only made you cry, and I couldn't stand to see you cry, Mommy. I was only trying to..." "You were nine years old when the first one came." "I..." "Nine." My mother rose slowly to her feet, still holding the letter. She was a small, pale woman in a dark dress, and for the first time since I had known her, she looked tall. "You were nine years old, and you stood in my kitchen and told me the postman had made a mistake. You held a letter out to me, and I believed you. I believed you for eight years."

Twenty people sat with their tea gone cold, and they waited the way they would wait for a seed. I looked for somewhere to put my eyes. At the far end of the shed there was a small square window above the workbench. It was grey with salt, and a jam jar of pencils stood on the sill. Behind the glass was a strip of flat, pale sea. I looked at it. And I was nine years old, in the passenger seat of a white van, with a biscuit in my hand and the cold coming off the glass. "I was nine," I said. I did not turn around. I said it to the window.

And that day I was scared. Not that I didn’t want, but i couldn't come up with the thought of you claiming Evan. It scared me to hell. In these 5 years, it’s only me to be the parent for Evan. Until Nine came. He made his own space in our life. In Evan's life. I have never seen Evan so comfortable with anyone in first meeting like he did with Nine.

I decided to talk about my parents since I wasn’t ready to go into details about having two mates, although I was sure she already knew about that. “One of my favorite memories is from my ninth birthday. My parents gave me a bike. It was everything I always wanted. It was hot pink and was a ten speed so I could switch gears like the bigger kids. I wanted one like that so badly. I don’t even know how they knew I wanted it. I had never told them about it.