~•~
Extreme high pitch sounds ring in my ears, a pain striking the side of my head creating a dense, compressed feeling. Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, down my right cheek. Heavy blankets lie atop my body, my attempts to escape futile, due to the tear jerking pain. I squirm beneath them, finding the edge of the bedding. I yelp as I fall from the bed to the floor, soon realizing it is much higher up than originally thought.
"You're awake." A voice from the opposite side of the room blurbs. I freeze in my place, terrified of the possibilities that could be an outcome of my recent decision. I don't know where I am, what I'm doing here, or who is on the other side of this mattress. Suddenly, the bed that felt so big and so hard to escape now feels endlessly small, not putting nearly enough distance between the stranger and I. Light steps sent vibrations into the cold floor, reaching the palms of my hands, situated flat on the ground. They step closer, my heart racing faster with each moment.
A woman, by the feel of their steps, saunters to my side. Even if she was smaller than me, I couldn't fight her. I can't escape. She takes my hands gently in her own, lifting me onto my feet. A thought pops into my head and my hands run over my body, causing a sigh of relief to exude my lips. I'm still wearing the nightgown I've fallen asleep in. I haven't been prodded with.
"Monet, right? I brought you clothes," her voice is tender, a misuse for the circumstance we are in. I'm not supposed to be here, she should know that. I stand unmoving, glued to my post at the bedside. Chills in my bones send me into a shock, though I decide it is wise not to perceive my vulnerabilities any more than I already have. If the woman beside me, speaking my name and uttering words I refuse to hear, is about to strike me down, I do not want to look like a coward; not like the coward I am when my mother is hurting me.
"Monet, I'm not going to hurt you," the woman speaks again, placing a hand on the wrist of my nightgown. "You look scared." She states my fear as if I don't feel it myself. I am, I'd say to her. I'm terrified and I don't know what you'll do to me. Still, I say nothing. I can imagine her frustration that her pleas aren't working.
My father taught me to speak when spoken to. My mother taught me to keep quiet. It will take more than desperation for me to comply. Until she starts to pose as a threat, I will do nothing in her favour.
"I have a bath drawn for you. I'm on order to help you, but if you don't want it, that's okay." Her words catch me off guard. A bath? Why would she do that for me, I could barely clean at home.
I nod, unsure if she is looking, but I assume she is. My thoughts are confirmed as she says alright and leads me to an entirely new space. I feel the heat radiating from the surface of the steaming bath. My stomach bubbles in anticipation, the rarity of having a bath in my home was immense.
She offers to help me, but I evidently say no. I don't trust this woman and don't know what her intentions are. I try and think myself through the situation, having never bathed on my own. I am entirely dependent on my parents, having never learned or been taught how to do anything in my life. I've been told so many times that blind people can't do anything on their own.
I feel around with my feet, which eventually meets the edge of the tub. The hot water soothes my sore feet as I stand calf-deep. I'm not sure how to get myself from a standing to a lying position, so I lean back while holding onto the shelves. I instantaneously lose my balance on the soapy bottom of the bathtub, falling backwards and hitting my back on the edge. A face shifting ache follows after, as well a knock on the door.
"Are you okay in there?" The woman questions in a benevolent tone. She insists on waiting for me outside, despite my desire for wanting her to leave. I don't know if she is genuinely here to help me or not. I wait a minute, saying nothing all the while.
I think about where I am and the way I got here. I don't recognize anything around me, especially no familiar scents. The possibility that I'm no longer in Silver Rock Pack territory is likely. Could I be in Sanguine pack territory? The thought makes my body shiver, despite the steamy water. Sanguine pack is known to be one of the most fatal packs there is.
Unable to suppress them any longer, floods of questions swarm my mind. Who brought me here? Why do they want me here? Maybe my family sold me off and finally got rid of me. Another shiver. This could have something to do with the festival.
I pick up a bottle and thoroughly spread it through my hair, rinsing it in the water. I do the same with a second bottle, and then a third. I scrub my entire body, head to toe, with what I found was soap. None of these products are scented, leaving room for my natural aroma to surround me, once again.
Standing, I step easily out of the bath. From here, I'm utterly clueless as to what I do, so I cover my body with my arms the best I can, and say, "I'm done", in a stutter.
As quietly as I said it, she still heard. She enters with a towel, guiding me to where my clothes are on the counter, then leaves. Wherever I am and why I'm here, I'm appreciative that a female was sent to aid me.
During my struggle to find the arm and neck hole, I hear a conversation though the door. A voice so authoritative forces me to listen in, their accent slightly differs from my own. The voice comes with that sweet yet bitter smell.
I have on a slightly big top that droops over my hips, along with a cozy pair of pants and big warm socks. Almost unable to re-enter the conversation, I stand expectantly at the other end of the door. My eyes expand the more I inhale the scent, expecting the culprit of it to be on the other end of the door. Maybe it wasn't a dream. I don't think I can remember a scent from my dream.
The realization hit me that this has everything to do with the Alpha of the Sanguine pack, and the fact that he is mere feet away from me for a second time is enough to crawl out of my own skin. Why he let me live the first time is something I'm unable to answer, but how will he react to me now?
I knock on the door as light as possible, hoping they didn't hear. The door opens, my arms going limp at each side. Why did I make my presence known.
"There are things I will be needing to discuss with you before my day's work." He explains as a matter of fact. It's like he trained all his years to become the perfect pack leader. His etiquette is absolute, which makes me feel mentally underdressed. Probably physically, too.
"I did not expect to find a mate," he drawls, choosing his words carefully. "It is quite inconvenient for me, to be honest." His words crumble me, my body feeling as if it decayed inside of itself. He truly believes I am his mate.
"In fact, you should be thanking me for going out of my way to keep you." I don't say anything, yet his words cause a paroxysm in my head, a burst of anger pushing through my mind to the forefront.
Pure anger meets the forefront of my mind, and just like on that gazebo, I feel myself being thrown to the back of my own mind as if I'm not the one in control of my own body. Instincts take me over, basic feelings such as anger and attack are left behind. These are not my own emotions that I am feeling. The danger of the moment sends me into a fury, my fight response triggered by his implication of my demise. I battle myself to stand still, my entire body vibrating through the exertion of my internal war.
What's happening?
I fall to the ground, holding my head between my hands. My eyes squeeze open through the commotion, depictions of what I can only describe as bright and burning waves of saturation appear around me. Everything is blurry and almost non-existent, as I wish it all was. Everything retreats to the corner of my vision and I force my eyes shut from the partial control I have over my body. I feel myself being pulled back to my body in a grounded state where I can control my own movements. My head feels compressed in a wrenching headache as I riot to desperately keep myself present at the forefront of my own consciousness.
A flurry of images explode in my mind, as I feel myself getting suppressed further down. Clearer this time, a man in front of me stares bewhildered at my possessed form. An excruciating forced glance up and I'm met with a confrontation of the eyes, his a blend of golden and green; a whimsical meadow on fire, burning through his soul, he is the meadow, but what is the fire?
The conflict of his eyes appearing in my line of sight forces my second presence down, allowing me to the forefront in a victory. I open my eyes in a pained ache, and everything is back to normal.
I'm now in control, the pressure in my head fading. I stay on the floor to recover, a stationary body, a mess of itself.
"As I was saying. . ." He continues, ignoring my dejected state as if it meant nothing.
~
Word Count: 1735