Broken Beyond Belief

Chapter 4:The Village

Mira’s POV

As I continue walking toward the village, I decide to cut through the forest. The pack’s land is surrounded by thick woods, a shield that hides us from the human world—and from other prying eyes. Today, I hope it will hide me from the pack while cutting my journey time in half. I’ve got a list of chores waiting for me, after all.

I push through the dense branches, the sharp edges biting into my already tender feet. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my body, but I keep moving. It’s only 5 miles, I tell myself. I can do this.

A few miles in, my stomach growls loudly. I clutch it, my breath hitching as sharp pangs shoot through me. It’s nothing new. This happens every so often. Two days without food—and I’ve been busy enough running on adrenaline that I hadn’t even noticed. But now it’s hitting me.

I’d hoped for leftovers this morning after the boys left. But when I noticed the blood, I forgot about food completely. There were more important things to focus on: clothes and warmth first, then food.

But food is always an issue. I don’t steal food—I sneak it. Sometimes I scrape what’s left over after they’ve eaten, sometimes I get scraps from the kitchen when no one’s looking. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep me going for a while longer.

It’s always a battle. A fight for the barest crumbs of normalcy. And it makes my stomach ache even more, knowing that I have to hide, to feel ashamed of wanting to eat.

I let my mind wander for a while, imagining leftover pancakes and figuring out how I’m going to tackle the to-do list. But my thoughts snap back to the present when I spot the clearing ahead—finally, the village.

I glance at the village ahead, trying to block out the sting of that realization. It’s a quaint little place, almost picturesque, with a bakery, a few grocery stores, a boutique, a butcher’s, a knitting shop, and two cafés. For anything else the pack members must drive to the nearest city. I’ve never been to the city, I’ve never even seen the Pack house.

I’ve been in this pack, lived here for fourteen years. The building is the heart of the pack, the place where everyone belongs—supposed to be, and I’ve never stepped foot inside. It’s a place where my brothers go every day, but not me. No, I’m not worthy.

That fact should bother me more, shouldn’t it? But I’ve long since accepted it as my place in this world: the outsider, the hated, the one who doesn’t belong.

I slip into the village, moving swiftly but carefully. I keep to the shadows, knowing I can’t afford to be seen. Not with the bruises, the cuts, the bloodied feet. The boys will be furious if they find out I’ve slipped away. They’ll be even angrier if they know I’ve left the house with the chores unfinished.

I pause, ducking behind a tree near the clearing and scan the grocery store to my left. The one that handles donations. It’s the smallest of the shops, run by an old woman—more of a battle-axe than a shopkeeper, really. Cruel, vindictive, and with a penchant for tossing donations in the trash if they don’t meet her standard. She doesn’t like me—thinks I’m too filthy to even step foot inside. Her words, not mine. I’ve had to fight her just to get a couple of things before.

But today, I have no choice. I need something—anything—to cover my body, to keep me from freezing, to at least look somewhat human.

I wait until the store seems empty, then dash inside. The bell above the door chimes softly, and I move quickly, almost blending into the shadows. My heart pounds in my chest as I head toward the back of the store, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, watching for anyone who might walk in. I can’t afford to be seen.

But then, with a sudden crash, I collide with someone.

"Whoa—"

Before I can regain my balance, a pair of strong hands grab my arm, steadying me.

I flinch at the touch, wincing involuntarily, and the man notices. He looks at me, concern etched across his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently.

I blink, still disoriented. “Erm, yeah... I’m fine,” I say quickly, trying to pull my hood lower to hide the cut from this morning.

Just then, a voice calls from around the corner.

“Oh no…” I think. The dreaded battle-axe herself.

When out steps a young sweet woman, it’s not her?

“Is everything alright here?” the woman asks, her tone sweet but laced with suspicion.

The man behind me gives her a reassuring smile. “Yes, everything is fine.”

She notices me, her gaze softening. “Oh, my dear, are you okay?”

I look down at my feet, and it hits me all at once—the bandages have fallen off, and blood is pooling on the floor, staining the pristine tiles. Panic floods me. I can’t be seen like this.

“I’m so sorry…” I start to say, my voice trembling. I reach to clean it up, but before I can move, the woman is there, pulling me into a gentle hug.

“Oh, dear, you’re fine,” she murmurs, almost as if she’s trying to calm me. “Don’t worry about it. Let me look at you.”

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t do this, can’t let anyone see me like this. But she doesn’t give me a chance to protest. She gently guides me toward the front of the shop.

“What’s the matter, dear?” she asks softly, her brow furrowing as she looks at me.

“I can’t…” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I can’t be seen like this.”

The woman and the man exchange a glance—one filled with unspoken concern.

“Then I’ll shut the shop,” she says firmly, turning toward the door.

“No, you can’t!” I protest, panic rising.

But she’s already locking the door and turning the sign to “Closed.”

“It’s too late,” she says with a smile. “We’re closed now.”

She looks at the man, her voice soft. “I’m sorry, sir. You don’t mind, do you?”

He shakes his head with a polite smile. “Not at all, Miss.”

“Good,” she says. “Then let me take care of you.”

I try to protest, but she’s already leading me to a chair. “Sit down, dear. Let me look at you.”

I resist, but my body betrays me, and I sit. The man kneels before me, gently lifting my feet to examine the damage.

The man kneels at my feet, taking over from the woman. “If you don’t mind, Miss, I’ll take over,” he says, his tone kind but firm. “I’m the new pack doctor. I’ve just returned from abroad.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman replies, stepping back with a soft chuckle. “You’re much more qualified than me! I’ve only had basic training to help with war casualties.”

“War casualties?” he asks, looking up in surprise. “I thought you were the shopkeeper?”

The woman laughs. “Oh, heavens no! That’s my aunt. She’s a horrible woman, really. I’m just filling in for her, she’s not feeling well at the moment”.

I stay quiet, my heart pounding, as I listen to them talk. The pieces are falling into place now.

I just sit there, still frozen, trying to push down the panic rising inside me. But then—

“OW!”

I wince as the doctor gently pulls off the last layer of bandages. My hood shifts with the movement, revealing my face.

He pauses, eyes widening as he looks at me.