Her Rejection's Revenge

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: OFFICIALLY ROGUE

Pain was my only loyal companion for the following days. Unfortunately, behind the red door, I didn’t find the infamous Everett Becker. By the time I reached the Rogue’s club, I was half dead with my body shattering like a lifeless rag doll.

When the rogues in the club found out that I was being hunted by a strong Alpha, they sent me to Neverlands which was a secret hiding place for outcasts like me. Other werewolves which had been ousted from their packs for one reason or another.

As part of a pack, we were always taught that rogues were malicious creatures who fought against their own pack members to spread evilness into the world. Being on the other side of the fence gave me a new perspective. Most of the rogues were werewolves who were trying to make a new life for themselves.

Hidden among rogues in a nameless land, I nursed myself back to health with the help of the medic and moderator. Well, they had lost their ranks, but their skills came in handy, especially to freaks like me. From their diagnosis, I was informed that I was lucky to still be alive, that I would have been dead a long time ago.

It was hard for me to focus because I was caught between severe panic attacks as I dreamt of the pack coming after me and acute agony as I relived the nightmare over and over again. I longed to go back to my family as I felt lonely amongst the rogues. Although they were helpful to me, I found them apathetic and unwilling to engage in warm relationships.

Besides, I missed my life in New York. I could no longer pursue my medical courses and I no longer had access to my money. Broke and with no plans for the future, I was trying to make the best of what life had to offer me. Which was learning healing techniques from the medics. That was the best I could do given the circumstances.

I knew Zendaya would welcome me with open arms in her home, but I wasn’t willing to endanger her life. What if they tracked me down in her hometown and kill her as well? How the hell had my werewolf pack turn into ruthless murderers?

That was all that b***h’s doing. Beatrice Larson would not rest until I am dead. All that had happened so far was her doing. Planning an attack on Alpha Fynn to make sure that when Braxton became Alpha, he would be the sole ruler of the pack. Taking my place by proving that I was physically too weak to save the pack from an attack. The medics in Neverlands suspected that I had been given a heavy dose of wolfbane, which would explain my lack of reaction during the attack.

A perfect plan to intervene right on time to become the hero and take my place accordingly. Locking me up with the rogue was a master stroke because it ensured that anything Isaac would say would be discredited for it would mean that we conspired together. They both knew that I was too weak to escape and kept me safely in the basement until the next moonlight.

Making Beatrice the Luna would ensure that I had no resources remaining in me before they did the final act of killing me. But then, remained the risk of Isaac divulging the truth and cause doubts with his version of truth. So, they were planning on murdering us both together.

What I could not understand was why no one in the pack protested against such a brutal treatment. It didn’t make sense that they would oust someone from the pack only because someone failed to save the Alpha. Even after Isaac’s distorted truth. Why didn’t anyone stand up for me?

While I was tying to get better, I tried not to think too much of my family. How little I mattered to them, and how they treated me. My mother always found me lacking in every department, so I wasn’t going to be a great loss for them.

It hurt. It just hurt that my own blood would treat me like that. I would wake up during the nights covered in sweat and convulsing as my sick mind would conjure different scenarios as to why my parents would have acted that way.

Maybe Braxton had kidnapped my brother Zian and my parents were forced to protect him. Or maybe he’d threatened to kill Zendaya in exchange for their silence. Anything which could explain the cold and soulless manner they had behaved. I was so desperate that I was willing to accept any plausible explanation that would be offered to me.

“Chica,” a voice sounded from behind me, and I whirled around to face Mama Juanita, a gentle Mexican lady. “It’s time for your massage.”

I nodded gratefully. In exchange for the services that they were offering me, I had pledged my undying loyalty to them after my health was restored. I removed my shirt to lie on the metal casing to allow her to touch me. It was an impersonal touch, it shouldn’t bother me.

However, when I closed my eyes for a moment, a vivid image of Braxton’s scrunched up face appeared right inside my mind. It was creepy and I clenched my jaw to prevent myself from reaction. I was safe, I told myself repeatedly. Yet the bad memories plagued me, and I felt his dirty hands everywhere on my body, everywhere the woman was touching me scorched me like a curse.

I was soiled. Resisting the urge to vomit, I bore with it until the woman informed me that she was done. When I stood up, my stomach growled, and I emptied the content in a bowl. That was our usual ritual.

We never spoke about it before. But that day, she looked at me with sympathetic brown eyes. “How bad it was, sweetheart?”

Her genteel manner bothered me on a fundamental level which I was not ready to explore. I quickly donned my shirt on my back to hide my ugly bruises. They were fading but those were only the visible ones.

The scars inside remained fresh and as vivid as from the day I got here. I shrugged insouciantly to the woman’s concern, not appreciating the fact that she pitied me. The other medics offered me potions and ointments – Mama Juanita was the only one who touched me. Therapeutic massage was primordial for my bone structure to heal so that one day I might get my wolf back.

An argument I couldn’t refuse.

I was prepared for everything to have Itzel back – a werewolf without her alter ego was an incomplete human being. But no matter how much I called out to her, no matter how much I craved to have her back, my wolf was as good as dead.

At a certain extent, I resented myself for having let her down. I wished I could have prevented the rejection. I wished that I had read the signals much earlier. With hindsight, every one of their touches and conspiratorial glances made so much more sense. Had I really been that blind?

“Chica, you’ve been badly burnt,” Mama Juanita commented when I remained silently perched on the metal casing. “I understand that you need time to heal your wounds, but you’re cutting yourself off from the world. That’s not a good thing.”

I averted my eyes and stared into space not even reacting to her words. Whatever she was saying had a modicum of truth, but I was really not interested in socializing with anyone. Relationships were like a scourge to me.

“I cannot trust anyone after what happened to me,” I said between clenched teeth as I withstood the attack on my heart as the nightmare plagued me yet again. “I don’t even w…want to live anymore.”

There was a moment of loaded silence during which I squirmed uncomfortable in my own skin before meeting the woman’s eyes heads on after my blasphemous statement. A werewolf giving up on his life was akin to disrespecting the gift that the Moon Goddess had bestowed upon it.

“Come,” the lady said after the prolonged silence, and I frowned at her retreating back, unsure of what was going to happen to me. Even though I was not very willing, I wore my denim jacket over my shirt and followed the woman. I was covered in more clothes than necessary despite the warm weather to cover my purple bruises.

When we reached to a clearing inside the forest, I blinked against the brightness to adjust my eyes to the surrounding. There was a rock which looked carved into a sitting place, but other than that, nothing was special in that place.

“This place is legendary for us. It is where we come when we’ve given up all hopes,” she informed me in a dull voice, and I sat beside her as she took a seat on the rock. What miracle could a lifeless stone bring to my pathetic life?

“It’s not about the rock,” she explained suavely, seeming to read my mind.

I waited for her to give a more ample explanation for I was confused. For a long moment she didn’t speak at all, and I found myself enjoying the amiable silence between us. There was something peaceful about that place which was getting to me.

“Everybody who comes here has a sob s********e worse than you. But…” she paused dramatically. “…everyone thinks their own burden heaviest. I have seen enough to be a good judge of character.”

That cryptic remark was intentionally said for me to probe for more, something which I didn’t fancy, yet I found myself asking. “What are your conclusions about me then?” I was grossly blunt, a characteristic I didn’t possess in the past. My tolerance level was low, and I refused to play along with mind games or fakeness anymore.

“You’re too honest for your own good,” she muttered gruffly.

I smiled cynically at her astute observation. Indeed, I wore my heart on my sleeves and that was what had gotten me in this situation in the first place. Had I been facetious and cunning, I would have gotten away from that atrocious injustice. But I was so truthful that lies did not spill easily from my lips. “Is that even a choice? I don’t opt to being so straightforward – it’s in my nature.”

“Be yourself by all means,” she surprised me by responding fastidiously. “The only mistake is to expect same from others.”

I frowned as I assimilated her words of wisdom. It was true. I did have the tendency to weigh others on the same standards as myself. I expected Braxton to be faithful to me despite our salient differences because I would never have cheated on him. I expected Beatrice to defend me with her life because I would have willingly given mine for her. I expected my parents to stand up for me because if our places were reversed, I would have fought for them.

A famous quote from John Spence came in my mind. If you expect the world to be fair with you because you are fair, you’re fooling yourself. That’s like expecting the lion not to eat you because you didn’t eat him.

I flashed Mama Juanita with a rueful grin. “True. I do expect the world to be as fair and honest as I am. But we’re living in one with no morals and values. Kinship, friendship, and love no longer mean anything.”

She sucked in a breath at my words, and I realized belatedly that I had revealed too much in that lapse of second. It wasn’t my intention to confide in the woman, but there was something about her which melted a chip in my frozen heart.

“I’m sorry pequeña,” she offered quickly, squeezing my hand in a comforting gesture. “All I can say is that I’ve seen worst than you. Basically, there ae two types of people in the world. The victims and the survivors. Which one do you want to be, sweetheart?”

My wry grin faded, and my face fell in front of the choice she was asking me to make. I was not ready yet to become strong again. expose myself to more lies and wounds. I was content licking my wounds in my shell, and if it were up to me, I would never crawl out of the small haven I was starting to build around myself.

Mama Juanita’s hands pressed harder like she could read me like an open book. “I understand that it’s too soon. But you’re a survivor, Chica. You will rise like a phoenix resurrected once you surmount this. Just hang it there, will you?”

I nodded vigorously, wishing I had her conviction. How could she tell that I would surmount this? That I would not fall victim to my own weakness once again?

She shook her head gently to deny my last thought. “Kindness is not weakness, Chica. It’s your strength. It’s what distinguishes the heroes from the monsters. And you, my darling girl, is meant to be a hero.”