I sit up, and nausea hits me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing the sensation to pass. Slowly, I open my eyes, searching for the discarded backpack torn from me just before the attack. I emit a defeated sigh when I find it several feet away near a tree on the edge of the forest line, not far behind the school.
I gaze into the forest. I almost made it before the Young Alpha and his group of brainless bullying bootlickers found me. Sadness grips me, thinking about my attackers who once were my friends, but I immediately shake it off. I can’t afford to feel any nostalgia toward broken relationships. It won’t help me survive, and it definitely won’t help me understand why I am the target of their rage.
I situate onto my knees and assess my injuries. Blood splatters trail down my front. My blouse is torn open. My skirt is twisted up around my waist.
I push my skirt down with shaky hands and gather the front of my blouse as I tentatively stand. Staggering forward, I reach for my backpack and retrieve my jacket. I delicately wrap it around my shoulders. Unlike some of the female pack members my age, I have yet to transition into my wolf. I prayed every day since I turned sixteen that I would shift, especially at times like these when I wish I could heal swiftly. As mad as I am at the moon goddess for my unanswered prayers, I can’t entirely blame her. No doubt, the daily beatings and malnourishment contribute more to my inability to shift.
Sharp pain slices through me as I lift my arm. I wince, squeezing my eyes shut. Clenching my jaw, I zip the front of my jacket and pull the hood over my head. Kicking the dirt, I stumble over the knife Kat threw at me earlier. I bend down, sucking in a sharp breath, and tuck it into my waistband.
I make my way across the cracked and chipped walkway leading to Ms. Field’s tiny cottage. As I approach, the screen door issues its familiar creak.
“Oh my god, Grit!” Ms. Fields cries, covering her mouth with her hand as she sees me approach.
I flinch at the sound of my name. I hate my name.
Tears well in her eyes. She whispers, “What have they done to you?” Motioning for me to enter her home, she closes the dooras I step into her cozy living room. “Come sit.” She gestures to the bench in front of her piano before disappearing down the hallway. She returns with a warm washcloth and some extra towels. Gingerly cleaning my face, she proclaims, “I'm going to speak to the principal and the Alpha’s assistant. This needs to stop! They pick on you every single day.”
I reach for her hand and shake my head. “No,” I croak. “If you go to the principal or the assistant, you could lose your job. I won’t allow you to do that. The school needs you. The students need you.” Well, the good ones, anyway.
The Young Alpha issued an order at the beginning of my senior year. Any faculty who interferes with my “lessons”— more like punishments—will be subject to termination from the school and possibly even retribution by their own peers. They could face the same torment I face now.
Ms. Fields teaches music, one of my favorite subjects. She has always been kind to me. When I was ten, she caught me in the school’s auditorium tinkering with the piano while hiding from my brother and his asshole friends. She didn’t scold me or question why I was there. She simply sat next to me and began to teach me how to play the piano.
Now, I see her almost every day after school. These music lessons provide me with an escape from the torment in my life. They are also my protection. My hope.
Slowly shaking my head again, I study her. Her long, chestnut brown hair is tied in a messy bun. Instead of her school-issued blazer, she wears an oversized sweater and black yoga pants. Because of her small stature, she could easily be mistaken for one of the high school students. Her angelic face comprises soft features and a petite nose, but her spark shines in her big, light brown eyes with a blue ring around them.
I repeat, “No. I’ll be fine.”
Sadness reflects in her eyes. Grasping my hand in both of hers, she lowers her gaze. “I can't continue to stay on the sidelines and watch them attack you. This bullying has gotten worse. It’s bad enough that you endure abuse in your own home. I have to do something."
I lean forward and whisper, "I'll be fine. I promise."
A single tear escapes, sliding down her left cheek.
Relinquishing my hand, I lift my backpack and pull out a slim wooden box. The moment I saw it, I thought of Ms. Fields. I snared hundreds of rabbits and sold their pelts to earn enough money to buy it. The box is handmade by one of our very own pack members, carved with an intricate design of lavender and daisies. Daisies are Ms. Field’s favorite flowers, and lavender is mine.
I hand the box to her. “I want to thank you for the music lessons and for taking care of me.”
“A gift for me? Grit, you shouldn't spend your hard-earned money on me.” She passes the box back to me, but I raise my hands, refusing to take it.
“You never let me pay for my music lessons. You always feed me, clean me up when I’m a mess.” I sigh. “You sew my school uniforms back together. Sometimes, you even manage to find me new ones. I saw this and thought of you. I wanted to give you something, to thank you.”
Her hand glides over the cover of the box. Before she can lift the lid I cover her hand with mine.
I confess with a shaky voice, “I survived every day of this hell because of you. If anything happens to you because of me, I couldn't live with myself.” I look up at her. “Please, let it be and take my gift.” Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead and embrace her in a gentle hug.
Her shoulders shake as she cries, squeezing me gently. “I don't understand why this is happening to you,” she sniffs.
I pull back from her and shrug. “Pack tradition. Only the strong survive.”And they’re worried about what I will do to them once I transition into my wolf. I keep that last bit to myself as I stand. Wincing, I pull on my backpack and head for the door.
“Wait. Don't go home. Stay here. Stay for dinner.”
I shake my head. “I should go. The monster is with his friends, and my parents are out of the territory for some kind of business meeting. If I get home now, I can avoid him for the night.”
Ms. Fields steps toward me, pleading, “Please, stay with me. I can petition for you to live with me. I can tell the Betas that I'll take their,” she makes air quotes, “burden off their hands. Let me make this right."
If only it could be that easy. They won’t release me. Letting me go would be admitting that they did something wrong, and that would make them look bad. Their image and power in this pack are all they care about. No, the Betas—my parents—will never let me go. They allow their own son, my brother, to torment me, beat me, and perhaps one day even kill me before they ever admit they are wrong.
