Tomatoes And Ghosts.
1053 Words
An unknown car hit her. I rushed to the hospital the moment they called.
But I came too late.
All I found was her cold, pale body on the hospital bed. My heart shattered that day.
Irreparably. I wish I had stayed home. I wish I hadn’t trusted Jonathan to keep her safe. If I had just taken her with me… maybe she’d still be here.
Forgive me, Lucy. I’m so sorry.
Mommy was young. Stupid.
I never should’ve left you.
I cried silently into my hands. My abdomen pressed to the counter like it could hold me together.
I carried you. Birthed you. And then I left you for monsters who told me I was unfit to be a mother if I didn’t act like Luna first, before anything else.
I’m drowning in guilt.
I want to go to her.
Wherever she is.
I want to hold her and say I’m sorry. And beg her to forgive her mama for being reckless. What’s the point of being alive if she isn’t with me? What’s the point…when no one here loves me?
I wiped off the falling tears from my face after sobbing and grabbed a chopping board from the shelf on the counter to slice some tomatoes and prepare another food for dinner.
My husband said he craved tomato sauce. I married a cold-hearted Alpha against my will. I bore his child, raised our daughter, only to lose her in a tragic accident. And yet, he doesn’t care. All he thinks about is food and s*x. That’s the kind of wife I was to Jonathan: a full-time stay-at-home mother, a submissive Omega, and a body for him to use at night.
What a useless piece of s**t. If I had known this was the life I was walking into, I would have run the other way. Was this how I would end up for the rest of my life? What the hell am I doing here?
I picked up a knife and a ripe tomato, staring at them. Strangely, slitting my wrist seemed more exciting than being alive. Would dying feel good? I wondered.
“That tomato in your hand looks plump and delicious,” he said behind me.
I froze and turned to the figure behind me.
He stepped forward with both hands in his sweatpants and grabbed a tomato from the chopping board and took a bite. I saw how tasty it looked when he slowly took a bite from the tomato and nodded as he chewed it. When did he get back? I thought they said he couldn't make it?
“Pierce.” I whispered out unconsciously.
My heart jumped a little when he drew his face closer to me. The long strands of his hair got in the way.
“Merry Christmas, Luna.” He softly uttered a little smile.
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Pierce.” I muttered and swallowed at how close his face was.
I thought he wasn’t coming back from abroad until New Year. I once heard from my husband that he hates the month of Christmas. He said it drags in memories best left buried. I never asked what they were.
Tomatoes, though, he loves them.
He finished the last one and reached for the one in my hand, then sat on the floor beside me. He pulled his right knee up and folded his left leg underneath it. He’s barefoot again. His toes are neatly trimmed.
I’ve heard alphas sometimes prefer walking barefoot, anywhere, anytime, to stay connected to the ground beneath them. They say rogues attack from below, and real alphas like to feel the warning before it comes.
I turned back to the chopping board, unsure of what to do next. I picked up another tomato. Whenever Pierce and I are alone like this, something strange fills the air. Awkward. Heavy. I can’t explain it.
He’s Jonathan’s younger brother.
What is he even doing here?
He looks exhausted, fresh off a flight, maybe? Still, why is he sitting here in the kitchen with me? Shouldn’t he be with the others? The clan is holding a meeting about the rogues. And Pierce... Well, he’s second in command of the Mist Pack. He should be out there, not in here.
Then again, Pierce rarely handles pack matters. He leaves most things to his younger sister, Taila. She, in turn, passes everything on to her most trusted advisor. Pierce only comes home once a year, and when he does, he’s gone again in a matter of days.
I’ve known Pierce for six years, but we’re not close. He’s my husband’s younger brother and Taila’s older one. Pierce is distant and carefree, like someone who’s seen too much to care. Most women are obsessed with him. He’s rich, handsome, and mysterious, the kind of Alpha everyone dreams about. Rumors say he has mistresses all over the world. Some even claim he’s married. I’ve never asked. I didn’t want to know.
But I’ve always admired him.
He’s strong, quiet, and reliable. When he speaks, people listen. He has the kind of presence that makes you feel safe, and small at the same time.
His looks are something else. Sharp features, lean muscles, black wolf tattoos down his arms. His black hair is straight and shoulder-length, parted at the center. His eyes, piercing gray, remind me of misty mornings.
Unlike the rest of the Mist Clan, who all have white hair and pale skin, he stands out with his black hair. Maybe that’s why people talk about him so much.
Pierce walks like a model. He is confident and smooth. Even in a plain black shirt and gray sweatpants, he looks like he belongs in a magazine. When he raised his hand just now, I saw his abs. I looked away too quickly. Taila always warns me about him. He’s dangerous, not the type to fall in love. She means well, but it’s not like I want anything from him.
I’m twenty-seven. Married. Not some teenager with a crush.
And yet… whenever Pierce and I cross paths, there’s something strange in the air. We rarely speak. And when we do, it’s never more than a few words.
“This tomato tastes great,” he said. His voice, deep, rough, smooth, sent a chill through me.
- Writer
