Broken Beyond Belief

Chapter 9: Treading Water

Mira’s POV:

Thursday morning came like a slap in the face—cold, sharp, and cruel.

I woke with a jolt as six buckets of ice water crashed over me, soaking straight through my pyjamas and blanket. I gasped, and hit the floor hard as I began flailing against the weight of the drenched blanket as it clung to me like a second skin. My body froze in place, shivering violently as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

Above me, I heard them—Jacob, Joshua, and Nathan— laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

“Wh… wha—what’s going on?” I stammered, shivering, trying to free myself from the cold, wet cocoon.

“Enough, you little b***h,” Jacob snapped.

“Stand the f**k up,” Josh hissed, grabbing my arm and yanking me upright like I weighed nothing. My legs buckled slightly, but I kept my head down, trying to stay upright.

“You should know to bow your head with respect when we’re talking to you,” he sneered.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my gaze as my teeth chattered.

Jacob folded his arms, his expression blank but his voice cold. “Luna was going over the school attendance records last night at the pack house. She’s starting to notice your absence.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Bruises or not—you’re going to school today. Or you won’t be seeing tomorrow.”

I didn’t respond. I knew better than to question them, and I knew those words were more than justa threat, they were a promise… I didn’t understand why the Luna would even care. I didn’t think I’d even met her—Luna Madaline, Caleb’s mother, the so-called ‘mother of the pack’. People said she was kind, gentle, fair. That she made everyone feel valued.

Rubbish, if you asked me.

People here didn’t believe in kindness. Not for someone like me. My father used to protect me, and Ruth and Scott seemed like they cared… but even he had let me down in the end. They all would, eventually. You can’t trust anyone for long. Especially not in this pack.

Jacob tossed my tattered school bag to the floor with a thud. “You’ve got two minutes to get up and get ready. We’re heading to training. Breakfast better be done when we get back. And don’t even think about hitching a ride. I wouldn’t let your flea-ridden carcass in my truck if someone offered to blow me every day for the rest of my life.”

With that, they left, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

I stood in silence, clothes dripping, skin raw and frozen. Then, once I was sure the coast was clear, I hurried. I peeled off the wet pyjamas and used a corner of the blanket to pat down my skin as best I could—not that it helped much. Everything was freezing. It stung to move, and the fabric clung to the lacerations on my back like glue. I wasn’t allowed towels when the boys were home so that would have to do. I squeezed as much water as I could from my hair and began putting on some of my dry clothes—a pair of stiff jeans and a cotton top ( things that ruth had given me)—and winced as the denim scraped over the raw cuts on my leg and thigh. I stuffed my hoodie into my bag to put on later—when the bruises needed covering. For now, I let the morning sun try to warm me as I quietly crept out of my room.

Before heading downstairs, I darted into the bathroom and dug into the small wooden box hidden behind the loose tile beneath the sink. Inside were the last of my first-aid supplies—gauze, bandages, and a little antiseptic. I cleaned and dressed the cuts on my leg and shoulder as quickly and carefully as I could, biting my lip to keep from crying out.

I had just enough left to cover what needed it most—but only just. Tomorrow, I’d have nothing. No antiseptic. No clean bandages. And with how filthy the beatings had been—gravel, dirt, whatever they dragged me through—I was starting to worry about infection. Again.

Once I was dressed and wrapped, I crept downstairs and made the usual breakfast spread—bacon, eggs, toast, sausages, hash browns. The smell of grease and smoke clung to the air, warming the kitchen but turning my stomach.

When the house was silent again, I stole a single egg and a potato scone, eating as quickly as I could. It felt like a stupid, reckless risk... but I needed something, anything, to fill the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I usually allow myself. The tiniest piece of rebellion. I was still terrified… but something in me had started to shift.

Maybe it was because my shift was coming soon? I never thought food was worth the risk before, not worth the beating id get if I got caught but I needed to risk it… I needed the energy… to heal and try and be stronger… I had to be. For me. For my mate.

I scrubbed the pan clean, washed the dishes, and wiped down every surface. Jasper hadn’t stirred yet, passed out drunk upstairs, I rolled him onto his side and slipped out the back door and into the morning light.

The sun was still low, casting long golden streaks across the horizon, and the air was thick with the smell of dew, damp earth, and distant smoke from the pack’s training grounds. My shoes squelched slightly with each step— my feet still wet from the earlier dousing—and my legs ached with every movement.

The path to school wound through the edge of the forest. Towering trees cast long shadows across the dirt trail, the morning sun threading golden light between the branches. I walked with quiet urgency, the damp air clinging to my clothes and skin, and every step sending a dull ache through my legs. The forest floor was soft beneath my feet, but the silence was heavy—like the world was holding its breath.

Eventually, the trees gave way to manicured fields and clean walkways, and the towering silhouette of Black Moon Secondary emerged through the haze. The school was vast—three stories high with sleek glass panels, pale stone walls, and deep green ivy climbing in neat lines along its surface. Its structure was modern and grand, standing with the elegance and intimidation of a castle.

Perfect lawns surrounded it, trimmed to perfection, dotted with benches and tall silver flagpoles that glittered in the sun. Students swarmed in through the wide arched entrance beneath a carved crest—our pack’s emblem etched proudly in the stone like some sort of legacy I would never belong to.

Everything here was pristine. Immaculate. Expensive.

And I—soaking wet an hour ago, bruised and limping—was the only thing that didn’t fit.

I paused at the edge of the road, heart thudding. My fingers fumbled as I pulled my hoodie from my bag and dragged it over my head, forcing the sleeves down to hide the fresh bandages and purple smudges along my arms. My hair was still damp and hung in tangled strands down my back, but at least most of the bruises were hidden now. I could blend in from a distance. If I kept my head down. If I didn’t speak.

As I approached the gates, the atmosphere changed. The laughter that filled the courtyard dulled slightly, replaced with sneers and muttering.

“Ugh, what is that smell?” someone muttered.

“Disgusting.”

“She looks like she crawled out of a bin.”

“I can’t believe they even let her in here.”

“Did you see her hair?”

“She must sleep in a drain or something.”

“Why’s she still coming? No one wants her here.”

Some didn’t say anything at all—they just turned away, noses wrinkling, like I was something rotten left in the sun. A couple laughed outright. Most didn’t even look. I didn’t know which was worse.

I kept my eyes on the ground and walked straight through the crowd like a ghost.

Inside, the halls were wide and lined with polished marble tiles that gleamed under the soft lights above. Lockers lined the walls in perfect rows, their doors un-scuffed and silent as students moved smoothly through their morning routines. The air smelled like clean linen, fresh coffee from the teacher’s lounge, and lavender wax polish.

I felt like a stain in the middle of it all.

A few teachers walked by, perfectly dressed in crisp shirts and sharp shoes. Mr. Hale brushed past hard enough to jostle my shoulder, but he didn’t glance at me. Ms. Simmons glanced at me during registration, then moved on without even marking me present. My name was skipped. Just like always.

I slipped into my first class and sank into the corner seat—back row, farthest from the board. My desk wobbled slightly, the only one that wasn’t completely level. I didn’t mind. At least I was mostly hidden. I opened my book, even though my hands were still trembling slightly, and the page looked more like fog than anything I could understand.

Still, I pretended to read. I always did.

Because maybe if I stayed quiet enough, still enough, they’d forget I was there.

Maybe if I endured long enough, I’d survive until the day I shifted.

Maybe then, I would mean something even if it was only to one person. I had to believe it was possible.

Even if no one else did.