"The Wolf Inside Me… And the Trauma

Riven Ashborne, seventeen years old. Occupation: 11th-grade student. Special skills: Oversleeping, dodging responsibilities, and being slightly confused about life. --- The alarm screamed like a dying bird — for the fifth time that morning. > “Just five more minutes... I swear, this is the last time.” Riven mumbled from beneath his blanket fortress, legs flailing as if fighting off an invisible enemy. The pillow was smashed against his face, while the blanket clung to him like a lover refusing to let go. > “If I die now, write on my tombstone: ‘Went out doing what he loved – sleeping.’” Then came the real terror. > “RIVEN! Get down here now! If you’re not up in two minutes, you’re not going to school!” His mother’s voice boomed from downstairs — like an earthquake siren. Her slippers slapped the stairs with the urgency of a marching army. > “Crap… she’s serious this time.” Riven shot up like a corpse rising from the grave. His hair pointed in seven directions, his shirt was halfway on, and he was cramming books into his bag while chomping on burnt toast. He almost brushed his teeth with hair gel instead of toothpaste. --- Breakfast was a disaster, as always: Burnt toast with… burnt eggs. > “Have you ever tried using lower heat, Mom?” Riven grimaced. His mother glanced at him over her teacup. > “Eat. Charcoal has iron.” Riven sighed. > “I want vitamins, not fireworks.” --- The school bus was a sweaty, noisy, hopeless tin can. Riven leaned his forehead against the window, eyes fixed on the gray clouds, ignoring the dried spit stain on the seat in front of him. > “Another day, another class, another chance to pretend I’m… normal.” A breeze slipped through the window gap, bringing the scent of dust and rain. But along with it… Riven caught something else. Blood. Not fresh blood. Not rotten either. Something older, colder — and not of this world. > “Again...?” His heartbeat skipped. Then skipped again. A voice whispered in his head — faint like a glitching radio signal: > “Awaken...” He jolted upright. > “What the hell…?” The whisper vanished. So did the smell. Had he imagined it? Before he could panic, the bus screeched to a halt. > “End of the line, kid,” grunted the driver without looking back. --- Blackmoor Academy – Class 11B. The classroom buzzed like a beehive. Riven had just sat down when something soft hit his face — a breakfast bag. > “Late again, O wandering prince of sleep?” He turned to see Lyra Velden, his longtime partner-in-chaos. One braid falling out, one sock missing, chewing roasted sweet potato like she was interrogating him. > “You look like a panda that fought a hairdryer.” > “And you smell like responsibility. Get away.” She leaned in and sniffed. > “Nope. Still stress and cheap deodorant.” > “While you smell like gym class and existential dread.” They bumped fists like a sacred ritual. --- The teacher entered. Silence fell. Riven opened his notebook… and realized it was last year’s math book. Lyra tilted her head and whispered: > “Wrong book, genius.” > “Plot twist: I’m in the wrong lifetime.” She stifled a laugh. > “We really are the same species…” --- First period: History of Otherkind. Today’s topic? > “Page sixty-seven,” the teacher said. “Today we’re covering The Era of Blood Purge — the final days of the Pureblood Vampires.” A chill crept down Riven’s spine. The word “Pureblood” echoed inside his head — louder than the real sound. His vision blurred. His pen slipped from his hand. And then — a whisper. > “We are not dead… We are only sleeping.” He clenched the desk. A sharp pain throbbed behind his forehead, then a crushing pressure in his chest. > “What is happening to me…?” --- Lyra nudged him. > “You okay? You look like you just saw a leaked test schedule.” > “I’m fine. Just… dizzy.” > “Maybe you’re allergic to Vampires? Afraid of… neck kisses?” He gave her a look of silent death. She grinned wide. > “Or maybe you're hearing the call of forbidden bloodlines?” He blinked. She laughed and slammed her desk. > “Kidding! Your face was priceless. Like you just got a ten-million-dollar phone bill.” Riven forced a smile. But deep inside… something had changed. And it… wasn’t going away. --- 🌒 After School They missed the last bus. Had to walk home. > “Told you. Three minutes left and you still went to buy pomegranate juice,” Riven grumbled. > “Hey, walking’s good for circulation,” Lyra beamed. Evening wind swept through the trees. The air was damp and heavy. Riven suddenly stopped. A smell — again. This time, fresh, close, and real. He scanned around — no one. But the feeling of being watched returned. A shadow... slinking behind. > “Pick up the pace,” Riven muttered. “No more jokes. Something’s off.” --- 🩸 Home – When Blood Falls Silent > He wanted it to be a dream. A bad trick from a tired mind at the end of a long day. But when the door opened... And the stench of blood hit him — thick, metallic, horrifyingly real — Riven couldn’t pretend anymore. He ran into the kitchen. And his world collapsed. His mother lay there, on the cold tile. Eyes wide open, never closed. Mouth still shaped like she had tried to call his name. No blood. No warmth. Nothing left. > “Mom… get up… I’m home… Mom, please…” His breath hitched, hands trembling as he touched her cheek. Cold as steel. And amid that broken grief — the whisper returned: > “Now you understand… why you don’t belong among them.”