Against The Alpha's Rules

Willow POV The snow always finds its way back to me. It was Christmas at that time and it doesn't matter what season it is or how many years have passed since that day, it lingers at the edges of my mind, waiting for the moment I let my guard down. And when I do, it returns exactly the same. It was cold, quiet and unforgiving. In my dreams, it is always winter and it's always that day, that stupid cursed day. “Eloise, hurry up.” Matt’s voice carries through the stillness, warm and careless, untouched by the kind of endings that haunt people like me. I see him standing just beyond the orphanage gates, a hockey stick slung over his shoulder as if the world has always belonged to him, as if nothing could ever take that away. He’s smiling, and I smile back at him, he was always smiling. Oh my those dimples!!. “Wait,” I call out, tightening my grip around the watch in my hand as I run toward him. “You forgot this.” He turns, walking backward now, his grin widening like I’ve just said something amusing. “Keep it,” he says. “Looks better on you anyway.” I almost roll my eyes, even in the dream. It had never fit me properly, too large, too expensive, too much for him. Still, I don’t slow down. “I’m serious, Matt. Take it back.” The gates are only a few steps away when the world changes. At first, it’s just a sound, sharp enough to cut through everything else. Wrong enough to make my chest tighten before I understand why. Then everything happens at once. Suddenly I hear the screech of metal. The shattering of glasses. The violent, jarring shift from something ordinary into something irreversible. The car is upside down, I don’t remember crossing the gates. I don’t remember dropping the watch or screaming his name. One moment I’m running toward him, and the next I’m standing there, staring at something my mind refuses to process, The snow isn’t white anymore. There’s smoke curling into the air, thick and suffocating. The front of the car is crushed beyond recognition, twisted into something that no longer resembles what it once was. And the blood…There’s too much of it. It's Far too much, the sight was gruesome, I try to move, but my body won’t respond. It’s as if I’ve been rooted to the ground, forced to witness something I was never meant to see. But my eyes… they find him anyway. Matt. He’s still inside the car, motionless, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. Blood runs down the side of his face, disappearing beneath his collar, staining everything it touches. And yet….His lips are still curved. He’s smiling at me, even in that condition how can he smile? He is suffering and in pain. I wake up with a sharp intake of breath, my body jerking upright as if I’ve been pulled out of something deeper than sleep. My chest rises and falls too quickly, each breath uneven, strained, like my lungs are struggling to remember how to function. For a few seconds, I don’t recognize where I am. The dream clings to me, thick and suffocating, refusing to loosen its grip. It takes effort…too much effort…to remind myself that I’m no longer there. That the snow is gone, why do I remember this??, I wish if i could forget that and only remember the happy memories with him, not his funeral and his body in that coffin. I drag a hand down my face, pressing my palm briefly against my eyes before letting it fall. When I look at my fingers, they’re damp, of course they are! Because they are always damp whenever I wake up like this. A quiet, humorless laugh escapes me, barely more than a breath. “Unbelievable,” I murmured to the empty room. “Nineteen years, and you still don’t know how to leave.” My gaze drifts toward the window, expecting, just for a second, to see white covering everything outside. And what I expect happens, the entire place is covered with snow beyond the glass. I swallow past the tightness in my throat, but the words come anyway, slipping out before I can stop them. “The last time I saw him…” My voice falters, softer now, almost distant. “…he was smiling at me through a shattered windshield.” Silence answers me, heavy and familiar. It always does, by the time I step out of my room, I’ve already pulled my hood up, letting it cast a shadow over my face. It’s easier that way. Easier to exist without being seen and it's easier to feel nothing. The living room is warm, filled with a kind of softness I’ve never been a part of. “Careful, sweetheart,” my mother says gently, her voice laced with a tenderness that has never once been meant for me. My little sister sits curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a glass of warm milk cradled carefully in her hands. “You’ll spill it,” my mother continues, brushing a strand of brown hair away from her face before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Let me help you.” There’s a quiet laugh that follows, soft and affectionate and then suddenly her eyes lift and in seconds everything changes, her demeanour and her behaviour. “You’re finally awake,” she says, her tone sharpening instantly. “The kitchen is a mess. Clean it before you leave.” I give a small smile so used to this, no greeting, no hesitation, what's just left is expectation. Whenever she behaves this way I don’t respond because there's no point, there never has been. I’ve barely taken a step forward when my father’s voice cuts in. “That’s enough.” It’s firm, but there’s a weariness beneath it that I’ve come to recognize over the years. “She just woke up,” he adds, his gaze fixed on my mother. “Stop treating her like she’s your maid.” She scoffs, unimpressed. “Oh, please. If I don’t, who will? She certainly doesn’t act like she belongs here.” Something tightens in my chest, but it’s not the sharp kind of pain it used to be. That faded a long time ago along with my emotions. I don't feel pain anymore. I am so used to this. Even if someone speaks rudely I don't feel bad I just take it. Take it all inside and bury it What’s left is quieter. Colder. Easier to ignore. My father finally looks at me then, and for a brief moment, something flickers in his expression, regret, perhaps but it doesn’t last long enough to matter. It never does. “You should get ready,” he says instead. “Didn’t you say you had something important today?” Hockey, that word settles into me slowly, like something waking up after being buried for too long. My fingers curl slightly at my sides, and for the first time since I woke up, there’s something beneath the emptiness. It's not warmth but it's hope, hope it doing something that I love But something close enough to matter. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do.” And this time, I’m not going to let it slip away.