I hate the colour orange.
It's all I see when I close my eyes and all I see when I open them. The window is small and looking out it means looking at the massive wolf sitting guard outside it.
I'd much rather have the pale orange colour of the walls seared beneath my eyelids.
The lacy white duvet is thick and my entire body feels just a little too warm. But it's easier to fake sleep than it is to listen to Jon ramble out apologies that quickly turn into frustrated warnings.
My backpack is at the foot of my bed, in the same spot it was in the first time I woke up here, but my lighter is missing. They decided they would hold on to it until I was feeling more "compliant." Even the thought of it makes me snort.
Yeah, right.
For what it's worth, I've gotten lucky. None of them seem to realize who I am. I'm free to roam the house if I choose—I'm just not able to leave it—so instead I've gone on a hunger strike.
The last two days I've refused to leave the room, the bed even, with the exception of a few brief bathroom breaks, and I feel as though I'm going to lose my mind. But I'm certainly not going to give into them. You can't just lock someone up and expect her to bend to your will. That's not how life works and it's not in me to just sit back and let someone else take over my life.
As far as it goes, the hunger hasn't even started to bother me. Jon, on the other hand, looks worse and worse every time he enters the room—call me a sadist, but that brings me a welcome kind of satisfaction.
The wolf outside doesn't move. In all the time he's been out there, I doubt he has even blinked. To be honest, it's a bit eerie. The fur on his back and snout is a deep black that blends into the dark at night, but his belly and forepaws are white. He's, somehow, bigger than both the wolves I encountered in the woods. If I stood next to him he'd probably stand just taller than my elbows, made up of thick, strong muscles.
The first time I tried to flee out the window it was dark; my first night trapped in this house and he was laying down, disguised by the dark. That is, until I got my leg over the window ledge and he started snarling. Just the sight of his teeth had me scrambling back into the room. He took to sitting after that.
I try to avoid looking at him now; his teeth remind me of too many things I would rather not think about. Avoiding him, however, gives me nothing else to do but stare at the dull orange walls or pick at the lace on my blankets.
The boredom might be what does me in. But I've been bored before and it'll take at least a few more days until I crack. Hopefully by then I'll already be free.
The knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts and I throw myself backwards on the bed, yanking the duvet up and over my head. Jon's voice rings out before I've settled beneath the covers and I groan loudly as they are slowly pulled away.
"Really Clara? Twenty years old and you're acting like a child?" I guess he's no longer in the mood to apologize. Jerk.
I glare back, "Really Jon? Abducting your baby cousin? Don't you have better things to do?"
Jon sighs, running a hand down his face as I cross my arms across my chest. "Look Clara, no one is forcing you to stay in here. Punishing yourself is not going to help any." He crinkles his nose and frowns, "it wouldn't kill you to take a shower, would it?"
I roll my eyes. "I'm not leaving this room until my freedom of choice is fully restored to me. So it looks like you're just going to have to deal with the smell." My stomach growls loudly and my glare deepens, daring him to comment.
He just shakes his head and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I slump forward and take a deep breath the moment the door closes. My stomach growls again and I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, so maybe I could use a sandwich.
Two more days pass in a similar manner. Jon comes in and tries to convince me that I'm an idiot for not eating; I worry about the wolf in the woods, the wolf outside my window, and even, occasionally, Aunt Flora and Jon: the wolves inside the house. When I'm not worrying, I stare blankly at the wall.
Deep down, I know that Jon isn't my biggest problem. My biggest problem is the wolf that chased me through the woods. It's only a matter of time before he comes back with the rest of them. I can't be here when that happens.
The room is growing dark, and despite the lazy haze of my last four days, fatigue from not eating is beginning to make my eyelids droop. I lean back in the bed, yawning and resting my eyes.
Before I fall asleep, however, the door slams open, ricocheting against the wall and slamming shut again behind Tiberius as he storms in. I jump upright, watching as he turns on the light and glares down at me. His boots thump loudly against the carpet and his eyes keep shifting from green to black and back again.
He crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at me.
I haven't seen him since I was told to pick where I would be held hostage—though I have a sneaking suspicion that he's the horse-sized wolf who was on sentry-duty outside my window the last four days—and he looks just about as bad as I imagine I do.
His blond hair is greasy and unkempt and frown lines have creased his forehead. There are deep purple bags under his eyes and his jaw is clenched.
Everything about him seems wild and furious, but for once, I'm not afraid of him. If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead. He's one of the most dominant wolves I've ever encountered, but he obviously isn't too concerned with harming me. He just has a strange infatuation with me and a disturbing fetish for biting.
I've dealt with weirder.
I don't notice the apple in his hand until he extends it in front of him. "Eat," he growls out.
"I'm not eating," I tell him, regurgitating the words I've been say to Jon every time he makes the same demand. "If, when, and what I eat are my decision, just like it is my decision whether I want to stay in this house or not. That is not for you or Jon to decide." I glare back at him as he begins to growl again, "So I'm not going to eat until it becomes my choice again."
He doesn't say anything immediately, so I lay back and roll on my side so I'm facing the wall. After four days without food, I don't have the patience for a staring contest. He can get to the point or he can leave.
Tiberius sighs loudly and I feel the bed dip as he sits down next to me. I don't turn back to look at him. When he places his hand gently against the covers over my leg, however, I can't help but wonder if his eyes have settled on black or green.
His thumb rubs circles on my thigh as he lets out another long drawn sigh, tempting me to roll over and face him. I don't.
"Is it really so terrible staying here?" I don't answer, but I don't think he is expecting me to either. "If you're so desperate to leave," his voice seems to tremble for a moment, and I hold my breath, "then go, but for god's sake eat something first."
I roll over, eyes wide, "I can leave? Just like that?" A smile tugs at my lips, but I hold back, waiting for the catch.
Green eyes meet mine as he shrugs in defeat, "Just like that." He pauses, before mumbling bitterly, "the only thing worse than a runaway mate is a suicidal one." I don't comment, unsure he wanted me to hear his last remark, as I lurch out of the bed, fresh with adrenaline.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder I face him once more, trying not to let his tired, downtrodden expression influence my feelings. "I'd like to get my lighter back, please," I hold my hand out in front of him expectantly.
He blinks, considering. "I don't have it on me," he tells me, a slow smile spreading across his features. "But I can get it to you tomorrow if you're willing to wait."
My smile sags in return and I grumble to myself, "Looks like I'm stuck here for another night then."
Tiberius's newfound grin only widens.
*
The fatigue settles in again as I make my way to the kitchen and, unfortunately for me, Tiberius is there to catch me when I stumble. He spends the rest of the way hovering just behind me, with his hand pressed gently against the small of my back. When we enter the kitchen, he even goes so far as to pull out a chair for me, before asking what I'd like him to cook.
I'm not really sure what to say to him. Do I want the man—animal—that was holding me hostage to cook me dinner? But my mouth is watering at the very thought of food, and I'm not sure I have it in me to get off the chair now that I've sat down.
"Bacon and eggs," I say. "Oh, and blueberry pancakes!" Aunt Flora is always good for fresh fruit and I haven't had real pancakes in years. My stomach growls loudly as I add, "make enough for at least thirds."
In the end, I barely make it through two pancakes and a piece of bacon before I feel like I might throw up. I push the plate away contentedly, pointedly ignoring Tiberius's heated stare. He hasn't stopped watching me since he set the food down in front of me.
The kitchen looks the same as it did just days ago when I saw Aunt Flora. The large window is dark this time, but a half-moon is visible above the dense foliage of the trees. The yellow walls and white cupboards are still sickeningly bright and I can't help but wonder where Aunt Flora is. I haven't seen her since I first woke up here, and in spite of myself, I'm beginning to grow worried.
Begrudgingly, I glance back at Tiberius. He hasn't looked away from me once and meeting his eyes feels like a challenge. I blink, taken aback by the intensity of his stare, but allow myself a few moments of admiration. Little rings of hazel surround his pupil, darkening into a dark emerald colour with little specks of brown in them. Beautiful.
I bite my lip, breaking my gaze away and standing up. "Where's Flora?"
"Out."
I roll my eyes, "Out where?" Tiberius just shrugs, his eyes flickering to something behind me.
"She went to go see Aunt Evelyn."
Slack jawed, I spin around to face Jon. He stands in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe as he stares coolly at me. I take a deep breath, trying not to panic as tears sting my eyes. "What do you mean, she went to go see my mom?" My voice is a sort of deathly calm I've never heard it before, which is good, because my head is spinning.
"She left while you locked yourself up in that room. We figured your mom had a right to know where you were." His brows crease and his eyes seem to grow dark and feral like Tiberius's so often do. "Do you know what you did to her, just leaving like that? Ma wanted to let you explain why you ran away before we did anything drastic—but then you went and starved yourself. What the hell were you thinking Clara?"
"I-I..." I stutter. The world seems to have shifted on its axis and I struggle for balance. Everything around me is blurry and spinning.
Jon doesn't wait for an answer, doesn't notice my struggle. "That's right," he says. "All you thought about was yourself." I shake my head, the nausea hitting me full force. That's not true.
My breathing comes out fast and raspy and my head feels like it's about to explode. I collapse on the floor holding my head and rocking back and forth, "No, no, no. She can't. No."
I can't breathe. It isn't an asthma attack—just pure, unadulterated panic. My heart is pounding against my ribs and my head grows heavy. Not mom too. No. All of my surroundings fade away and all I can see are Charlie's lifeless eyes. Not mom. Not again.
A warm hand rubs soothing circles onto the flesh of my back from beneath my shirt. Unconsciously, I lean back, feeling warmth spread away from the spot and work its way throughout my body. Slowly, my breathing deepens and the pain in my head lessens to a dull throb.
The world comes back into focus, and I can see Jon just a foot away from me, worry replacing his anger. The hand I'm leaning on moves to rest on my hip, pulling me back against a broad chest as Tiberius growls at my cousin.
"Do not speak to her that way." There's no mistaking the animalistic tone to his words, and if it weren't for his gentle touch, he'd probably have me shaking in fear.
Instead of arguing back, Jon bows his head in submission and backs away.
"Wait!" I shove myself away from Tiberius and try to stand up on my own. I sway a bit, until Tiberius wraps an arm around my shoulders to steady me. For once, I don't shrug him off. I need all the help I can get right now.
"Is Aunt Flora already there? She hasn't seen my mom yet, has she?" The words tumble quickly out of my mouth, and at Jon's mildly concerned expression, I repeat them deliberately slower.
"Last time I talked to her she was about an hour from Boston, just about to go to a motel for the night." I let out a sigh of relief.
"You have to stop her. She can't tell my mom where I am."
Jon's angry glare returns, "Why should I? Do you know how much pain you've put that woman through? Jesus Clara, if she didn't still have Callum the poor woman probably would have died of grief after all that you and Charlie have done to her."
"Don't ever talk about Charlie."
"Why, she ditch you like you ditched the rest of the family?"
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying, drawing blood. "You have no idea what you're talking about." I narrow my eyes angrily, "You let Flora tell my mother where I am, and you're signing her death warrant. If you let anything happen to her or my brother, I don't care what you are, I'll kill you both."
The light above our heads begins to flicker violently as my anger rises up. I can't hold myself back—I've been holding it back for too long. They can't pull my mother into this, not after I've managed to keep her away for so long.
Tiberius pulls me into him again, this time leaning toward my ear and mumbling into it. I have trouble processing what he's saying, but his voice is soothing and slowly the light returns to normal. A deep exhaustion settles in my body.
Jon looks a bit like he just sucked on a lemon. His brown eyes are squinted at us and his face is scrunched up in either anger or shock. Maybe both.
Other than the day I met Tiberius, I've never been the threatening type. I've never spoken to Jon that way before and maybe that's why he's so shocked. Really, I've never spoken to anyone that way before.
"What happened to you?" Jon is quiet now, serious.
"You don't need to worry about that. What you need to do is call Flora and tell her to come home. Now."
Jon nods silently, but I can see the questions in his eyes. He isn't done with me yet, that's for sure.
I step away from Tiberius and let my shoulders sag. I don't feel strong, I feel worried. What if Aunt Flora decides to go to my mom anyway? What if they hurt my family?
Tiberius moves toward the table and pulls out the chair I was just sitting in, gesturing for me sit there again. I do, uncertain how long I'll be able to keep upright.
Everything falls silent for a few long moments, until Tiberius pulls a chair up next to mine and sits down. "If you're hiding from your family, then why would you come here?" His voice is soft and when I look at him, his eyes are gentle.
That's exactly what I've been asking myself since I got here.
I'm not sure why I feel the need to answer him so strongly, but something tells me he only wants to understand. And somehow, I want him to too. "Desperation? Familiarity?" I pause, "I've been away from my family for so long I think I just wanted to feel safe again. I wanted to stop running, even if it was just for a day or two. I wanted to go home—and this has always been the next best thing."
When I look back at him, his features seem to have softened. The sadness in his expression makes my own well up. I bite my lip, unsure what else to say. I know I've said more than I intended to, but for some reason I don't find myself regretting it.
It isn't long before he breaks the silence again.
"Then why do you run?"
I just shrug, leaving the kitchen.
Not tonight.