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My face smashed into someone's hand—no, their hand smashed into my face. Blood flew from my mouth and hit the pavement, staining it red. I looked back at the person who would have the nerve to force blood from me. Maybe they were from a very rude blood bank. Anything was possible.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I brought my gaze to meet the eyes of this asshole.

He growled and it made me pause, wondering how awfully similar that growl was to that of a wolf. Was this person a lunatic? Did they raise wolves or were they raised by them? The aggression combined with the growl told me that had to be the case.

"Let's fight." I narrowed my eyes, putting my fists up as I prepared for a fight.

His hand wrapped around my neck, but I quickly brought my hand down on his arm, causing him great pain.

My right hand grabbed his collar as I used my free hand to squeeze my nails into his arm. "Don't ever mess with me again. They always say rumors are made with a little bit of truth." I dropped him, wiping the blood on the fabric of my red cloak. Some of the blood had gotten under my nails. I'd have to wash them later.

I walked away, hearing a scream erupt from his vocal cords. I rushed back, peeking around the corner of the building to see what had made him scream out. A sigh escaped me as I watched his lifeless body spill blood on the concrete without any care.

Unfortunately, rumors also came with a few lies and those lies could destroy your reputation.

I left the scene before it spiraled out of control. Of course, the town would blame me for his murder. After all, his blood was under my nails and on my sweater. They blamed me for every murder but the cops could never prove it was me.

I shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked back to the cabin, through the thick forest of trees. The branches filled with leaves hung low, nearly getting in my face. If I hadn't shoved them out of my way, they would have scratched up my skin.

My eyes shifted to the cabin as it came into my view, looking as lively as ever. Note the sarcasm.

Walking inside, I listened to the silence that told me I was alone here. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a package of bacon, putting a pan onto the stove. I poured in the oil and turned on the burner, dropped pieces into the pan.

The sizzle was a pleasant sound for my ears but the smell was even better for my nose. Meat was a part of my life. I could never live without the savory taste of meat in my mouth. Bacon was the best meat of them all.

As I cooked the entire package, I ate some of the cooked pieces from the plate as I waited for the rest. I was far too impatient to wait to eat all at once.

The crunch was the best part of the bacon. It was crisped to perfection.

When the bacon was in my stomach, I made my way to the bathroom to check on my face. A bruise was very obviously forming on where he had hit me. "Shit."

His blood was on me, and his doing was appearing on my face. There was no way to deny I had some sort of connection to his murder, even if I wasn't the one who actually killed him.

I opened up my mouth as wide as it could possibly go, studying the inside of my mouth. I lifted my lip to check my gums, seeing obvious blood that was no longer bleeding out from where my teeth met the flesh.

I turned on the faucet and took a big drink of water, swishing it around my mouth. I spit it out, the water now tinted a faint pink.

It wasn't unusual for me to see bruises or blood. People always loved to get into fights with me for unknown reasons. I never understood what was so luring about fighting me. I didn't want to fight but I couldn't not defend myself. It was as if people were itching for more rumors to spread about me because drama seemed to fuel the town.

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