Broken Beyond Belief

Chapter 10: Invisible Wounds

Mira’s POV:

The rest of Thursday unfolded like a slow, steady descent into hell... with the hounds all having starring roles in my annihilation.

Classes dragged. Five of them shared with the girls—Mya, Emily, Chloe, Tia, and Chantelle. They never left me alone. Chantelle, especially. Her voice was always the loudest, the cruelest.

"Did you sleep in a puddle again, Mira? Or is that just your hair?"

"No, no, she’s clearly discovered this year’s hottest trend: mould chic."

I kept my eyes down, lips pressed tightly shut, hands shaking as I tried to take notes. The words on the board barely stuck. Everything blurred, swirling in my head at a million miles a minute until it made me dizzy. I couldn’t focus—not with the ache in my ribs, the scratch of denim against the bandages underneath, and their whispers seeping in from every direction.

In Chemistry, they spilled a beaker of acid across my desk, soaking my notes and burning my hands. Mr. Danvers glanced over, saw the mess, and turned away with a huff and an eye-roll.

In History, Chantelle "accidentally" knocked my books off the desk with a flick of her hair. The teacher stepped over them without a word.

By the third class, even raising my hand felt like a risk. I was invisible—but somehow still the target.

The guys joined in during PE and Algebra. Jacob and Joshua made a show of laughing every time I tried to run laps. I didn’t have a change of clothes, so my jeans were getting covered with mud each time I took another step on the track. To make things worse, Cole shoulder-checked me hard into a wall during warm-ups, and Grey snatched my water bottle, dumping it just out of reach.

Mr. Sullivan saw the whole thing and told me to stop causing distractions and clean myself up at once.

This only brought more comments... other kids started chiming in: "Yeah, swamp monster, disappear." "Why won’t you die already?" "Do you think she’s ever had a shower?" "What moron runs track in jeans and flat trainers?"

People just laughed or cheered in agreement. It went on the entire class... the full day, really.

But the worst was Caleb. He didn’t always speak. Sometimes, he just stared. Like he was daring me to speak up. Daring me to breathe too loudly.

I hated how I still noticed him. How I couldn’t escape his gaze.

In our last shared class, English Lit, the seat next to me was always mysteriously empty. Chantelle once wrote "TRASH" across my desk in sharpie. I tried to scrub it off with tissues and spit before the teacher came in. She noticed. Smirked. And then, I got into trouble for the sharpie. The teacher even called me out in front of the whole class for being disgusting because I had tried to use my spit to clear it up. I was so ashamed.

At lunch, I tried to hide in the toilets. I hadn’t packed anything to eat anyway—I couldn’t. The smell of pizza, waffles, cakes, and paninis overwhelmed me. My stomach growled so loudly I winced and curled forward, trying to muffle it.

“Why don’t you just eat out of the bin where you belong?” Mya sneered as she walked past with her tray.

No one stopped her.

No one ever stopped them. People cheered instead.

I tried to study during the free period, but I could barely keep my eyes open. The letters danced across the page. I wasn’t stupid, not really, but trying to concentrate with bruises lining my back, a swollen cheek, and no food... it was impossible. I didn’t even feel hungry; the pain was a background noise compared to everything else.

In the bathroom after sixth period, Tia and Chloe cornered me.

"Your stench is like... next-level."

"Do you think she even owns soap?"

One of them shoved me lightly, sending me stumbling into the sink. My bag split open, books and pencils scattered across the tile. I went to pick them up when Chantelle stood on my fingers, digging her heels in until she heard a crack. I cried out in pain, tears streaming down my face, but they laughed.

"I’ll teach you to cry, you little b***h," Chantelle yelled. "You want to know what real pain is? What it’s like to be powerless?"

I was about to shake my head or even try and make a run for it, but the rest of the girls emerged from the toilets. Together, they dragged me to an empty stall. There was still urine in the toilet bowl. I tried to pull away, but I didn’t stand a chance. Chantelle grabbed the back of my head and plunged my face under the urine-filled water.

I tried to hold my breath, but panic set in. I couldn’t breathe. She wouldn’t let me up. My heart raced and I began flailing, choking and gasping, pushing to get my head out but it was pointless, each attempt at new breath just sucked more filth into my lungs… I could feel it, the urine and water burning in my chest as I started to lose consciousness. Just then, the bell rang for the next class, and they quickly grabbed their bags, dropping me to the ground.

They left, laughing.

I gathered my things slowly. One of the cleaning staff passed by, glanced at the mess and my dishevelled state... she just lifted her head and walked on. I didn’t blame her. No one wanted to get involved.

I barely made it through the rest of the day. By the time the final bell rang, my body throbbed, and every step felt like fire. The last two classes had been a constant stream of toilet-themed jokes. I took the long way out, avoiding the front entrance.

It didn’t help.

Nathan and Grey were waiting near the bike racks. They didn’t speak. Just stared, arms folded, until I passed. Grey spat on the ground in front of me. I stepped around it.

I walked home slowly. The air had warmed, but the ache in my legs was getting worse, and the cuts on my face were stinging again after the incident. I was really worried about infection... The pain from my ribs, bruises, and cuts was overwhelming, but I kept going.

When I reached the house, the boys were gone again. I went straight to the laundry, started the machine, prepped dinner, tidied up this mornings dishes that the boys had left, and vacuumed the living room. The hum of the vacuum filled the silence, and I focused on it, the steady sound grounding me, helping to block out everything else. I zoned out as I moved from room to room, pushing the vacuum back and forth, the motion mechanical. I didn’t think. I just moved, feeling the brush of the carpet beneath me and the distant hum vibrating through my arms. Every movement was automatic, every sound muffling the chaos in my head. I focused on the rhythm, hoping it would get me through.

As I started making dinner, my mind wandered… I thought about him again. The one who might understand... who might see through all the pain. My mate. I was so sure he was out there. What would he be like? Would I be good enough for him? The thought of him, even as a distant, fuzzy image in my mind, was the only thing that kept me from breaking completely. I prayed for my escape, to be free, even if it were just for a moment.

I ate nothing. Too exhausted after the day to stand much longer, I crawled upstairs to bed, every part of me aching, trying not to cry.

But then the dream came.

The battlefield.

The ground was slick with blood, packs tearing each other apart, fangs sinking into fur and flesh. Screams echoed in the air, and I could feel the tension, the desperate urgency of the battle. And then I saw it—David Sanders, the Alpha of Bloodstone, a giant of a man. His eyes glinted with ruthless triumph as he rushed toward Michael Owens, his pack’s strength behind him.

David struck Michael with a vicious blow, sending him to the ground. My heart clenched, my stomach lurching as I watched Michael struggle to rise. But it was no use. He was pinned down. Caleb, struggling against Bloodstones warriors—Beta, Gamma, and our pack's strongest warriors—were held down, Calebs face twisted with rage, unable to help.

Then, with a brutal twist, David ripped Michael’s heart from his chest, holding it up for all to see. Michael’s final cry rang out across the battlefield, sharp and agonizing. His pain, his final breath, echoed in the air, but David was proud, triumphant. Bloodstone’s pack erupted in victorious cheers as they circled around their Alpha.

David held the heart aloft, the light of the setting sun reflecting off the bloodstains.

It was all too much.

“Micheal!!!”

I woke screaming, chest heaving, soaked in sweat.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. My door slammed open.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Jacob snarled.

I couldn’t speak. I just curled into the blankets, trembling.

"Next time you wake us up, Mira, you won’t wake up at all. Got it?"

I nodded, afraid to even breathe.

He slammed the door. I stayed awake until the sky turned grey.

Friday would be worse.

Because now they knew I screamed in my sleep, and they would not forget who’s name I was screaming.

Nothing made you a better target than fear and humiliation.