Autumn Blackwood
My name is Autumn Blackwood. I was the daughter of an abusive, drunken father and an emotionally disconnected mother. My parents, Meeka and Jeff Blackwood, were the former gammas of the Red Crescent Pack, our home. My father was caught peeking into the girl's bathroom, and he was demoted. We were not banished from the pack because he claimed that he never actually put his hands on any of the girls, so he was demoted and forced to live on the outskirts of the pack. He wasn’t my father. My mother married him when I was four. I never met my biological father, but sometimes I wonder what features I got from him, like my large brown almond eyes or how I sometimes snore in my sleep. Who knows? My mom claims that he left us, and that is the reason she was so depressed all the time. I knew the reason was because she knew what her husband was doing, and now the pack knew, too. Once the rumors started floating through the pack, my mom stopped leaving the house and stopped speaking unless it was a quick one-word response to questions. When she stopped talking, my stepfather started drinking; this is when the abuse began, and it was all directed towards me because my mother was already broken.
I was 10 when my life was turned into a nightmare that I could not seem to wake up from. It started with making me the maid of the house. Since my mother was out of commission and could barely feed herself, she let the house go, and my father didn’t seem to like that I was not helping around. So he told me to help with some of the chores. He claimed it would make my mother feel better. How did I know this was meant to put me under his thumb? I jumped at the chance to help make my mother better. At first, the chores didn’t bother me, but it started getting to me when the yelling started, and after it began, the hits followed. I quickly learned that he would not have the energy to hit me if I did what he said and stayed quiet. So, for 3 years, my home became a minefield that I had to navigate without flaw, or I would be left with bruises that would take weeks to fade. On my 13th birthday, I noticed I started to blossom, which was late in the werewolf world, but at the rate that my body was changing, I would not be considered a late bloomer.
I started to suspect that the rumors about my stepfather were confirmed when he started to stare at me as I walked around the house. I began to like cleaning at night. Usually, he would be passed out drunk so that I could avoid his eyes on me for a few hours. He started noticing this habit, and he would force me to clean while he was awake. This went on for a week, a week of him watching me clean the house that he would destroy. I guess he needs to devise ways to make my life harder. Little did I know, he thought of all the ways he wanted to discover my new body.
The eighth day after my 13th birthday was when I knew that my life would be forever altered, and I would never be the same. I was cleaning the kitchen after I had cooked dinner. I was doing my best to hurry and complete the cleaning task because I knew my father was watching me from behind while sipping his beer. I finished the last few dishes, dried my hands, and slowly turned around to head back to my closet of a room. I was unaware that my stepfather had made his way across the living room and was swaying in the middle of the kitchen. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the floor. My face was burning, and I knew that my face was going to be swollen in the morning. I tried to get up, but there was a weight on top of me, and I couldn’t move. I turned my head to see that my step-father was straddling me while drinking his half-empty beer. I began to panic; I thrashed under his weight, and a few drops of beer flowed out of his mouth and onto my bare stomach. I couldn’t speak, and I could barely breathe. His free hand made its way under my shirt, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that this moment was just a bad dream and that I would wake up.
I wasn’t sleeping, and I made this realization when I heard his belt buckle clank together and when I listened to my shorts ripping, I knew I was not going to wake up because I was not dreaming. This was happening; my stepfather was going to take the very thing that was meant for my mate to take. I tried to fight, but it only made him more eager to take me; it felt like it went on forever. The feeling of my step-father sliding in and out of me. The feeling of his hands touching every part of me, leaving each spot burning with disgust. The feeling of his breath on my neck as he found pleasure in taking my innocence. I kept my eyes closed and didn't even realize I had been crying until I felt his hands on my face and wiping my stray tears away. He leaned down, and I felt his breath on my neck. I fought the urge to vomit when I heard him grunt. He moved fast to pull himself out of me, and the next thing I knew, there was a warm and thick liquid on my stomach. I don't remember getting off that floor, but I somehow went to the shower and into bed. Somehow, I knew that what had happened on that kitchen floor was not the only time.
That was almost exactly 5 years ago. I was now at least 5 foot 5 inches tall, and my hair was a curly mess that I kept in a bun. My hair, which was once a deep brown, usually mistaken for black, was now the color of ash, and I had no energy to bring life back to my hair. My caramel skin was almost pale from the lack of sun, and some of my bones were visible if I didn’t wear baggy clothes to hide the fact that I was malnourished due to the fact Jeff spent all his money on alcohol instead of food. I had to pick up a night job cleaning the packhouse when everyone was sleeping to put the little food on the table I could. I earned enough money to buy a small amount of food each week. My large brown eyes were sunken in from lack of sleep due to the nightmares that plagued me throughout the night bestowed upon me by my stepfather.
I have grown to call my stepfather by his name, Jeff. r****g me became a game for him, and I lost count of how many times he had fun with me. I will be 18 years old in 2 weeks. I have waited for this day since I found out about my wolf. I dreamed of getting a built-in best friend. Besides finding their mate, we were told that getting your wolf would be the best experience a werewolf would ever endure. It was like a door opening in your mind that allowed your wolf, your other half, to come through. Our wolves were part of us, and we shared memories. I had waited and feared the day because I didn’t know what my wolf would think. Her human counterpart allowed herself to be r***d. But what could I do? I didn't have my wolf yet; he was a gamma, and I was no match for him. Or at least that is what he had told me while he found pleasure in my silent screams.
Before work, I enjoyed brushing my mother's hair and speaking with her. She would never talk back, but it was a way for me to escape. I would tell my mother how my day went, but most of it was a lie. I didn't want her to know that my life was filled with pain, so I lied to her and made Jeff out to be the best father ever. My mother never reacted to what I told her; she just stared into space. I hoped she would turn her head, lift a finger, and do anything. But there was nothing; it was almost like she had slipped into a coma, and there was no way of pulling her out. I used to cry on my way to work after speaking with my mother, but this no longer fazes me anymore. I put the brush down, kissed her forehead, and then began my walk to work. The walk to work isn't long, especially with my only friend in the pack, Wynter Moone. Wynter was my best friend. She is 17, just like me, but her birthday is 6 months after mine. We are about the same height, and she has olive skin with jet-black hair that she keeps cut slightly below her shoulders and eyes so green it was like the moon goddess picked the brightest emeralds and gate them to Wynter to use to see the world. She lived in the pack orphanage due to her being left at the pack border when she was only 3. She wanted to work to save money so that she could leave the pack when she turned 18. She hated the orphanage. She used to say it was a place for pups looking for a family, but she wasn't because she found me, and I was like her long-lost sister. We worked the same night shift for the cleaning crew, maintaining the packhouse. I liked working at night because I did not have to worry about hearing the whispers from my fellow pack members. Wynter liked working at night because she said at night, the orphanage turned into a house filled with horny werewolves that were awakened by the moonlight. We would meet outside the orphanage. I lived about 5 minutes from the orphanage, so I would walk and meet her outside where she waited.
"Good evening, Autumn," Wynter greeted me with her best impression of the orphanage's headmistress. The headmistress was a snobbish she-wolf who believed in teaching the pups and teenagers manners because that is how you will find a family that will love you.
"Hi Wynter, your impressions are getting better". I greeted my overly perky friend without even looking at her. I was in my head, and I knew she would notice, but I couldn't stop myself from my thoughts.
"Oh, Autumn, you need to lighten up. You know I don't like it when you're sad; you know your leaves will make a mess of things while we clean." Wynter always referred to my tears as leaves because of my name. She used to say it was fitting. I started referring to her tears as snow. Eventually, we had different names for our emotions, which were tied into our names.
"I know, but my nightmares are back, and I can't seem to get out of my head," I told Wynter about my living situation about 2 years ago when she caught me crying on the bathroom floor in the common room of the packhouse. She tried to wake me, but the second she touched me, I began crying even harder. I finally woke up, and she explained that I was talking in my sleep and that I could come to her when I was ready to talk to her. About 2 weeks after that night, I told her everything. She didn't ask any questions, just listened, and when I was finished, she hugged me and said I wasn't allowed to let my leaves fall anymore.
"Autumn, you should come with me when I leave this place. Nothing is left for you here, and we can start fresh together". I let her go on her tangent again for the 2nd time this week. She had been begging me to leave with her for months, but I kept telling her I could not leave my mother. I would always tell her that we have no family and this pack would not help take her out of here since she is tied to the rumors that led her to her comatose state. I wanted to leave this place so badly, but how could I leave my mother?
"Wyn, you know I can't leave. Who would take care of my mother if I left? I am the only one who takes care of her. Jeff is a worthless piece of s**t, and he is only focused on making sure his beer is never empty. You know, if I could leave, I would."
"I know." She paused and looked at her feet. I knew that she was upset that I could not leave with her. "Let's get this over with. I don't want to be here all night." She said as she opened the packhouse doors.
