THE PROTECTED ALPHA

The first time I had the nightmare, I woke up gasping for air, convinced something was coming for me. Something dark. Something real. I was ten. My name is Emily Parker. I’m sixteen now. Technically, I’m a twin, but my sister didn’t make it. She died in the womb. I’ve been alone ever since. It’s just me and my dad. My mom died when I was six. My dad told me it was a car accident on her way home, but I don’t remember much—just the sound of sirens and the way my dad held me that night, like he was trying to stop the world from falling apart. After she died, I changed. I stopped talking to people. Stopped smiling. I became quiet, withdrawn, like a shadow of who I used to be. My dad did everything he could—he became both parents, gave me everything, even when he was clearly breaking inside. I never told him how much I noticed. That’s when the dreams started. At first, they were rare. Then they came more and more. Flames. Shadows. Red eyes watching me from the dark. I’d wake up trembling, soaked in sweat, heart racing like it was trying to outrun something. Then came the whispers. People in town said I was cursed. That I brought bad luck. Some even said my mom died because of me. I tried to ignore it, but when I found out my best friend was the one spreading those rumors... that broke something in me. My dad wanted to report it—he was furious—but I begged him not to. I pretended it didn’t bother me. But it did. For my thirteenth birthday, Dad got me a dog—Storm. He said it was a gift from my mom, something she arranged before she died. Storm is massive, pitch-black, and looks like a wolf when he growls. But to me? He’s soft, protective, and the only friend I trust. He’s been with me ever since. --- This morning was chaos. I overslept—classic—and barely had time to shower and throw on my usual outfit: hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. I don’t bother with makeup or fancy clothes like other girls. I don’t want people noticing me. Not my face, not anything. Downstairs, my dad was already flipping eggs. “Morning, Bun,” he said with a warm smile. That’s his nickname for me. “Morning,” I replied, sitting down at the table. He placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of me. “Nervous?” he asked gently. “A little,” I admitted. “New town, new school… yeah.” “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just remember what the therapist said—try to make a connection with someone. A friend.” I rolled my eyes. “Dad, I have Storm. And you.” He gave me a look. “Emily…” “I’ll try,” I lied. We finished breakfast and drove in silence. As we pulled into the school parking lot, he turned to me. “You know you don’t have to hide forever.” I tugged my hoodie over my forehead, tightening the drawstrings. “Maybe someday.” He gave a soft sigh. “I love you, Bun.” “I love you too,” I said, grabbing my backpack. --- Walking through the school doors felt like walking onto a stage. Every head turned. Whispers followed. I kept my eyes on the floor and made my way to the principal’s office. The secretary greeted me with a smile and handed over my schedule and locker number. “Need a student to show you around?” “No, thank you,” I replied quickly. I didn’t want a babysitter. First period: Biology. I got lost. After wandering the halls for what felt like forever, I finally asked a girl with dark brown hair for directions. She pointed to the first door on the left and smiled. When I walked into the classroom, all eyes turned toward me. I froze. The teacher asked who I was, and I muttered my name. He nodded and pointed to a seat in the back by the window. Perfect. Out of sight. I sat down, pulling my hood lower as the whispers started again. I stared out the window, watching trees sway in the wind, wishing I could disappear with them. Second period rolled around, and I slid into my seat quietly—until the same girl from the hallway sat beside me. “Well, look who it is,” she grinned. “We meet again.” I didn’t respond. “I’m Teresa,” she said, holding out a hand. I didn’t take it. She shrugged and smiled anyway. “That’s cool. I like a challenge.” She talked through most of class. I stayed quiet, only half-listening, until she asked the question I’d been dreading. “So... what’s with the hoodie?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “Like... do you ever take it off?” My heart thudded. I hesitated, then mumbled, “I have a scar.” It wasn’t true. But it was easier than explaining everything. “Oh,” she said, caught off guard. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” “It’s fine.” She was quiet for a moment, then smiled again. “Well... maybe someday you’ll show me anyway. Hoodie or not, you seem kinda cool.” I didn’t respond. Because the truth is, the only scar I carry... is the one people can’t see. hope everyone enjoys my story 😊😊😊 and don't forget to like and follow me.