LOST LOVE, LOST SELF

Fragmented Pieces

Clarice.

My new existence began slowly, like a wound that wasn't sure how to get well. Each day was an odd combination of relief and sadness, and the days flew by. Relief because I was able to breathe and felt like I could put myself back together since I was no longer with my old pack. Still, grief hung over me like a shadow, a phantom of what was stolen from me and what could have been. Furthermore, it refused to let go no matter how hard I tried.

I was plunged very quickly into the daily pattern of pack life by Aunt Lydia. Not as a daughter of an Alpha or as someone deserving of preferential treatment, but as a typical pack member. It kept me occupied from morning to sunset and was both humbling and a necessary diversion.

I ended myself training and conducting exercises with warriors and scouts under the watchful eye of Aunt Lydia's second-in-command, Rafael, a fearsome wolf. Even though he was big, rough, had salt-and-pepper hair, and had a no-nonsense attitude, he never made me feel weak or broken. I needed strength badly, and that was what he wanted from me.

As I staggered over the mud, gasping for air, Rafael growled, "Again." Despite my muscles screaming in protest and sweat trickling down my back, I forced myself to stand. Because they were used to Rafael's strict standards, the other fighters hardly gave me a look.

To stabilize myself, I inhaled deeply. Because my wolf was restless and in need of release, the physical training gave me a short-term outlet and a means of letting out all the rage and pain that still gnawed at me. As I faced my sparring partner, Elara, a wiry she-wolf, I slid into a defensive position. Her blue eyes glowed with a playful sense of rivalry as she smiled.

She taunted, "Clarice, come on." "Explain what you have to me."

Despite the lightness of her voice, I accepted the challenge because it was genuine. Even if the training was just training, I craved the struggle and the feeling of purpose. I surged, and we slammed into one another, our actions blending into a flurry of blocks and blows. I had an advantage since I was desperate, even though Elara was quick.

I forced her to retreat, my attention shifting to the point of touch and the instinctive desire to prevail in this one little conflict. I crashed hard on the ground, my teeth snapping as Elara turned, using my momentum against me.

Rafael said, "Enough," as Elara took a step back and offered to help. Trying not to flinch, I accepted it and stood back up. My body hurt, and I could already feel the bruises, yet the agony was satisfying. It gave me a sense of life.

Grinning, Elara remarked, "You're getting there." "Remain strong."

With a faint, weary grin, I nodded. My lifeline, a source of strength when I felt shattered in every other way, had become training.

After Rafael sent us out, I picked up a water bottle and drank it quickly as I walked to the training field's edge. With the unrelenting noon heat, I wiped the perspiration from my forehead and sank down a fallen log. Even though my muscles were shaking from strain and my limbs were heavy, at least I was experiencing something other than sorrow.

I glanced up to see Lucas coming, and I heard an acquainted voice say, "You've been given a number of combat skills in you." His inexperienced eyes were inquisitive, his black hair disheveled, and he changed into wearing shipment trousers and a saggy T-shirt. "Not bad considering that he has only been here for a week."

I said, "Thanks," even though the praise was like salt on a wound. I used to train to be more than simply a warrior—I used to be a Luna. The broken recollection of that dream made my stomach turn. "All I'm doing is trying to stay up."

Lucas was sitting next to me, his presence steady and reassuring. "That's not all you're doing," he remarked. Rafael is not one to give out praise carelessly. If he believes you're becoming better, it speaks volumes.

I checked out him, looking to determine what he had changed up to. Lucas has been a type since I was given there, however I could not take away the want to be on guard. After all I had lost, trust was something I couldn't afford to quickly lose.

"What's up with your kindness toward me?" I inquired, sounding harsher than I meant to. I wished I could retract the inquiry, but Lucas didn't appear to mind.

With his lips quirking into a little grin, he raised an eyebrow. "Because I understand the feeling of starting over," he said plainly. "To lose everything and feel as though you will never be whole again."

For a brief period, the barriers I had erected around myself broke down as his words struck me more forcefully than any blow I had ever received during training. "Are you aware?" I muttered, not believing I could say anything more.

Lucas tightened his jaw as his eyes got aloof. "My friend passed away," he continued, his voice raw and unadulterated with anguish. "Two years ago." I was broken, almost ruined. But I made it through. And I discovered that giving kindness to others might sometimes be the only thing that keeps one going.

I was unsure of what to say. His death weighed heavily on us both; it was a sadness that was completely different from mine yet somewhat similar. The anguish was still very strong even though my partner was still alive and living a life apart from me.

My voice became husky, but I tried to say, "I'm sorry." The apathy that had descended on me became pierced by way of means of the unexpected and acute empathy I felt for Lucas.

His eyes showed a glimmer of appreciation as he nodded. "I'm not saying it to get sympathy. Just know that it's OK to feel broken. Not being alright is acceptable.

Something in me broke down at the honesty of his words, and I averted my gaze while fighting back tears. I had made a great effort to seem strong and to act as if the rejection hadn't broken me. Lucas could have been correct, however. Perhaps it was OK to recognize the fractures and allow myself to experience the anguish.

For the first time in days, the pain in my chest seemed somewhat less oppressive as I mumbled, "Thank you."

I saw the sky become scarlet and gold as the sun sank that evening while sitting on Aunt Lydia's porch. Its stunning beauty served as a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there can be moments of enchantment in the world.

Earlier, my mother had phoned in a worried tone. She inquired whether I was eating or sleeping. Although we both knew it was a lie, I told her I was okay. I couldn't bring the truth to her, however. My suffering was already too much for her to bear.

Behind me, the door creaked open, and Aunt Lydia emerged with a warm cup of tea. Her eyes were kind and observant as she smiled and gave it to me. "How was her training?" she said as she took a seat next to me.

I drank some tea and muttered, "Grueling." She always used a mixture of herbs to calm me down, and it was delicious and soothing. “But good.”

She glanced toward the horizon and nodded. It seems like Lucas thinks you're doing well.

The little grin that pulled at my lips was unavoidable. "He's... been helpful," I said. "And good."

Aunt Lydia's face softened. "He's a decent man," she said. "Gentle but powerful." He has also experienced more than most people can fathom.

Something between interest and want struck me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I was both comforted and alarmed by Lucas's generosity. It seemed hazardous to let someone in, even a little one.

I replied, my voice just above a whisper, "I'm trying." "To recover." in order to proceed.”

Aunt Lydia squeezed my hand as she reached over. "Clarice, healing isn't linear. There will be good days and terrible days for you. But as long as you continue to go ahead, even if it's only a single inch at a time, that's plenty.

I clung to her statements in the hopes that I would eventually come to believe them.