The lone wolf

Blow after blow showered down upon Annabelle, as she curled up into a ball. Not once did she yelp, howl or even cry, she was numb. As this was an everyday occurrence her drunken father took pleasure in, Annabelle had become used to the pain. She knew that any sign of weakness such as tears would only spur her father on. At least if she accepted the beating with zero complaint, the torture would be over quicker. Her father began to tire in his drunken haze, after one last firm kick into her ribs, he sauntered off to the kitchen to retrieve another bottle of beer. Annabelle, silently uncurled herself and gingerly made herself upright, wincing as she whispered up the stairs like a ghost to her room. Thanks to the wolf gene, healing would be quick, however; the bruises would linger. She cleaned herself up, wiping away the blood that trickled over her skin and wished for the countless time that day that she could breakaway from this family, this pack and even a darker thought - from life itself. Annabelle, felt she only existed rather than lived: she had nothing in itself to live for… A drunkard for a father, and brother that barely registered her. Annabelle’s mother died three years previous and since then her life dramatically changed. Her father turned to drink, anger boiled inside of him. Anger that his beloved mate had been taken from him, anger that he wasn’t there to protect her, defend her when the war between packs erupted. Instead he had been with Annabelle at the time, in the meadow far away from home. When they returned, they were greeted with the aftermath, the chaos and destruction. They urgently searched for Annabelle’s mother and brother within the wreckage. Finally; a little distance from their home, a strangled sob reached their ears. They stumbled towards the sound, Annabelle’s brother, cradling her mothers beaten body. The wail of grief her father had made at that sight, still haunts Annabelle to this day. From that moment on - everything changed. Annabelle’s existence at home consisted of daily beatings, unjust punishments, cruel words. School was no improvement, no one spoke to her, she was treated as if she was a ghost. Loneliness and bitterness ate at her very soul. She walked over to the mirror, the sight of her reflection made her shoulders slump in defeat. What was once a healthy ivory complexion, was now sallow, and littered with bruises. Her long, dark blonde hair, was tangled and knotted, bruises covered her arms and legs. Her eyes, that strange, almost violet hue filled with tears. Yet her resiliencey, her determination never to let a tear fall. Annabelle blinked them away furiously, willing the lump in her throat to pass and did all she could do to salvage her appearance. Changing into yet another basic long sleeved, black top and dark jeans and then braiding her hair. She grabbed her school bag and snuck out of the house without drawing her fathers attention. To start with, Annabelle had every intention of making her way to school, however around mid point of her journey she paused. To the left of where she stood was a path through the woods that led to the high cliffs, which when stood at the very top offered the luxury of viewing the cascading waterfalls, splashing into the lagoon encompassed by rolling, lush green hills dotted with summer flowers. Without any further hesitation, she led herself up the path. Sitting with her back against the rough bark of a tree, contemplation flickered through her mind. Tommorro was Annabelle’s 18th birthday, not that it mattered to anyone else but it was the day she was to become of age. The significance being, that upon the 18th birthday, the mate gene kicks in, generally - this means that the person destined to be your mate searches for you and in most cases a happily ever after ensues. Annabelle felt like it was her only hope to escape this dreary existence of hers. But what if she never found her mate? What if he wasn’t a part of this pack? These unpleasant thoughts swirled around her mind. She decided that eventually enough was enough, she didn’t want to think anymore. Pulling out of her bag, her sketch book and pencils she decided to draw at least for a few hours she could allow herself to be distracted.