Broken Beyond Belief

Chapter 11: Shadows in the Hallway (Part One)

Mira’s POV:

I lay there awake until the sky began to light with the twinkle of dawn. I couldn’t help but wonder… why was I having this nightmare?

The more this hellish tapestry unfolded night after night, the more afraid I became. My gut twisted, my chest ached, and my head swirled with dread. I felt it — the loss. Each time I had the dream, the pain echoed inside me like a warning. My body was trying to tell me something.

Every time I woke, I would sit up and write in my diary. Sometimes I daydreamed about my mate and the future I hoped we’d share — just to distract myself. Other times I scribbled down the nightmare in graphic detail, praying that if I got it onto paper, maybe it would leave me alone. Maybe if the paper held the memory, I wouldn’t have to.

The tarnished old alarm clock on my bedside cabinet read 5:00 AM. That was it. I’d better get a start on the day before I ended up with more ice buckets… or goddess knows what else poured over me.

I tiptoed into the bathroom. Using an old rag and a cracked bar of soap, I washed myself in the sink as quietly as I could. I rinsed out my hair, careful not to splash too much or make any noise. I’d passed out in my clothes last night — dirt from the track field still clung to my jeans, and the stench of urine still lingered in my hair and on my skin.

After I’d done my best to clean up, I changed into the only other set of clothes I owned — a top and trousers Ruth had given me. I placed my dirty ones in a bag and tucked it under the floorboards where the boys wouldn’t find it.

Downstairs, I started breakfast. I kept my movements silent, but I could hear them above me — the boys getting ready for their day. I focused on chopping, frying, moving like clockwork.

They came down together, as always, chuckling to themselves.

“Sooo, Mira,” Nathan grinned. “Any fun dreams last night?”

“Eh… no?” I responded hesitantly, voice barely above a whisper.

Josh didn’t wait. He grabbed a spoon and held it like a microphone. “Oh, Michael. MICHAEL! RIGHT THERE, MICHAEL. OHH—OHH, THAT FEELS SO GOOD—” he moaned theatrically, humping the air as the other two folded over, laughing.

“It wasn’t like that!” I said, too quickly.

“What’s that, b***h?” Jacob’s voice cut through the laughter like a blade. His face twisted — joy evaporating into something colder. Something dangerous.

I froze. My heart dropped. Why did I speak?

Silent tears spilled before I could stop them. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry… please…”

I backed myself up against the counter, trembling, already curling in on myself before the first hit landed.

Thump.

My back smacked the edge of the counter. Pain radiated from my kidney as I cried out.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Fists. Blows. I lost count. The pain became white noise until—

“AHHHHH!”

I screamed as something cracked. A rib. Again. The agony shot through my chest like fire.

Jacob finally stopped.

“Scream like that again,” he hissed, “and I’ll give you something to scream about. Got it?”

I nodded, eyes on the floor, trembling.

“Now get the f**k up. Get this house cleaned, and get to school.”

They sat down to their feast as if nothing had happened.

I forced myself up the stairs, every step sending shocks of pain through my body. I woke Jasper and brought him breakfast in bed — eggs, toast, coffee. Maybe if I got food into him early, he wouldn’t hit the liquor cabinet or at least if he did, there would be food in his stomach for a change.

Afterward, I made the beds, collected laundry, wiped down the bathroom, and vacuumed their rooms. I loaded the washing machine and slipped out the front door with the last of my strength.

It was 8:00 AM.

I’d have to run most of the way to make registration by 9:00.

Shifting & Self-Control

First class was Shifting and Self-Control. I liked this one. Even if most of the class whispered about me or mocked me behind my back, none of the Hellhounds were in it, and that was a gift in itself.

Some students said I shouldn’t even be allowed in pack-specific classes since there was no proof I’d ever shift. But since there was no proof that I wouldn’t, and I was being raised inside the pack, so the Alpha had insisted I be included.

It didn’t matter. I loved this class. I loved the details: how transformations worked, how each shift got easier with practice, how control was linked to emotion. It made me feel closer to the world I was meant to be part of… like maybe, just maybe, I’d get there one day. Maybe I'd shift. Maybe I'd find him — my mate.

I sat at the back, alone, taking notes as fast as I could manage with my bruised hands.

Pack Strategy & Combat

Second period: Training, Strategy & Combat. Less enjoyable.

Mr. Tremount hated me. Hated having what he called a “miserable excuse of a human” in his class. He never bothered to learn my name. Just barked orders at me with one word: “Human!”

“Human, hurry up. Pick your Bo staff back up — Melissa deserves a better partner.”

“Human, duck faster.”

“Human, move properly!”

“HUMAN!”

Every command made the rest of the class snicker. Every drill left me more humiliated than the last. My ribs screamed with every dodge, every strike. And still, he didn’t stop. No one ever did.

Home Economics & Life Skills

By third period, I was aching so badly it felt like I was on the verge of collapse.

This class — Home Economics and Life Skills — was one my brothers had insisted I take. They said it would “make me a better servant.” Their words, not mine.

It was a practical class designed for future mates — mostly girls who wanted to stay home and raise pups. We learned how to mend clothes, manage a home, cook, bake, clean, care for children… how to be the ideal mate in a pack.

The class wasn’t popular anymore. Most girls wanted to be warriors or healers or ranked. But for me, it was necessary. The only class I wasn’t failing. The only place I could breathe, just a little.

I kept my head down and focused on my stitching, trying not to cry from the pain in my ribs.

The bell rang, and I kept my head down as I made my way through the crowded hallway for break, hugging my books to my chest. I was almost to the stairs when I heard them behind me.

Laughter. Footsteps. Then—

“Miiichaaael... ohhh, Miiiichael... yesss, right there, Alpha,” Cole moaned in an exaggerated falsetto, loud enough for half the corridor to hear.

My stomach dropped.

“Careful, Cole,” Jacob snickered. “You might actually get her attention. You know she only gets off if you say Alpha.”

A ripple of laughter followed. People turned. Heads swivelled. My cheeks flushed crimson as the air tightened around me.

“No, seriously—” Nathan grinned, falling into step beside me. “She’s been having s*x dreams about the Alpha. Michael Owens. Swear to the Goddess.”

I froze.

My body locked in place, panic rushing up my throat like bile. People were laughing, others staring in disgust or confusion. I tried to walk faster, but it was too late.

“Is that true?” a girl nearby whispered. “She dreams about the Alpha?”

“Ew. He’s, like, old enough to be her dad.”

“No—he is the dad! Caleb’s dad!”

That’s when I felt it.

A hand. A slam.

My back hit the lockers so hard the metal rattled, my breath knocked out of me in one sharp gasp. Caleb stood in front of me now, arm pressed across my chest, pinning me to the wall. His eyes were wild. Dangerous.

“Nothing little pack sluts like you, don’t even deserve to mutter my dad’s name,” he growled, loud enough for the entire hallway to hear, “let alone live.”

Gasps echoed. Whispers exploded behind him.

He stepped closer, his body crowding into mine until there was barely an inch between us. I could feel his breath against my face. My skin burned. My chest heaved, not with desire—but panic. My eyes watered. I didn’t dare speak.

Then he leaned in, mouth almost brushing my ear.

Voice low. Private. Lethal.

“If you keep acting like such a w***e,” he whispered, “I’m going to start treating you like one. I’ve been looking for something new to stick my d**k in anyway.”

I choked on air.

Then—he dropped me.

I stumbled, catching myself on shaking hands, the laughter and murmurs swarming around me like bees.

The boys walked away without a second glance.

Behind me, I heard them:

“Did you hear what he said?”

“She dreams about his dad. That’s messed up.”

“She probably liked it.”

“I bet she wants both of them.”

The hallway spun. My face burned. My stomach turned over itself as I pushed through the crowd and ran—tears hot, throat tight—straight to the nearest bathroom and hid there for the rest of break.