Elaina's POV
Thankfully, no one has asked me about all the screaming from last night- I'm guessing Xavier sent out a mind link. Even if they did ask, I wouldn't be able to answer. My voice is pretty much gone, and my throat hurts like crazy. I've just been drinking tea with a ton of honey in it and reading while Xavier works. Luckily not many people come to the library during the day, so hours go by where I'm free to just drown in literature.
I love reading so much, but every time I finish a book, my heart breaks a little because I don't want it to be over. Every time a book ends, I have to come back to my universe, back to my shitty life. As I finish my fourth novel of the day, I wipe away a tear from the last heart-wrenching chapter. I sigh and look up for the first time in a couple hours to see Xavier sleeping with his head in his arms on the make-shift desk. I guiltily furrow my eyebrows as I think of him staying up to make sure I don't have another night terror.
I stretch my limbs, emerging from my little blanket cocoon and standing up. I take a deep breath and examine Xavier's hunched, sleeping form. With incredible effort, I manage to lean him back on the couch and toss a blanket over him. I soundlessly giggle as I see the usually tense, aggressive alpha lightly snoring with his mouth hanging open.
I straighten out my white socks, which got bunched up around my ankles from all my moving. I give a final stretch before picking up the small stack of of finished books to return to the nice lady at the counter that keeps track of all the books. Apparently a lot of kids use books from the library for school, and aren't very good at returning them. I guess they actually had to hire someone to manage the flow of books, to make sure they were all returned, put back in the right place, etc. Mary told me all about it while I was checking out some books the other day. She says she's been working as the librarian for years, and has been since her kids first started school, so that she had something to do during the day.
I softly walk to her desk and hand her my books. "Thanks," I say in a painful whisper. Oh right, I should probably get some more tea. I offer up a little wave and go back to our work area, grabbing my empty mug and checking on Xavier. Maybe I should wait until he's awake to get tea... but my throat really hurts. Hmm. I'll be quick.
I grab my phone off the table, pause my music, and send him a text explaining where I've gone just in case he wakes up while I'm gone- which with my luck, he will. I sigh. I used to live in fear of my family, and now I live in fear of my supposed soul mate. I give another little sigh through my nose and start lightly treading to the kitchen, which I can probably find by now. Okay, down the stairs, a right? No, left. Third door- no that's an office. Fourth door, through the den, avoid eye contact, a right? Oh fuck fuck fuck people fuck don't acknowledge me please panic panIc pAnIc- oh thank god they went a different way . . .
After maybe ten minutes, I finally find the elusive kitchen. I fill the electric kettle and flip it on. I throw out my old tea bag and opt for a new one- peppermint tea. I put the bag in my cute mug (it has a kitten on top of a stack of books on it!) and drown the dry tea bag in a blob of golden honey. I'm just hoping it helps my throat because I can't really talk and it hurts just to swallow or hum.
The kettle finally lets out a little beep, to signal that the water's done heating up. Steam rises from the spout as I tip the kettle, pouring the scalding water into the mug. The water slowly rises, swirling around the tea bag and melting the honey. I give a little hum of contentment as I stir the tea, loving the smell of mint.
I let it cool for a few minutes before taking a minuscule sip, making sure not to burn my mouth. I let the honey coat my throat as I gaze out the window, getting lost in my thoughts.
Xavier's POV
The day is bleak and gray, with clouds promising rain. The whole week has been miserable. Mom was found dead- she got in a car crash after storming out of the house; she and Dad were in one of their rare fights, where they let all a bunch of other things build up and burst at the slightest annoyance. As soon as the police man told my dad what had happened, he blamed himself. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he said I wouldn't understand yet because I'm only ten, but I think he's doing what the therapist lady said people do when their moms die- he's grieving.
I think I've been doing that too. I just cry a lot and miss her so badly it hurts my heart. Like at night I hear Dad cry so I cry too and I feel like I can't breathe from all the Missing Mom in my chest; I cry so hard, wanting Mom to hug me and sing to me like she used to, and then I cry harder because I know she can't hug me anymore. The funeral is even worse.
It's a lot of blank-faced adults and everyone's wearing black, and the man up by my mom's casket just talks and talks. The whole ordeal just feels so insincere and cold, because nobody there really feels the pain that Dad and I do. They cry, but they're not losing their mom. They're losing a luna, or friend, but not the person that hugs and sings to them when they're sad. They get to go home and change out of their sadness, and we don't. We have to live with the empty space at the dinner table, in their room, on the couch; the empty space she left behind, the empty, Mom-shaped space in my life. The funeral seems to stretch on for hours, getting stuffier by the minute.
By the time we get out of the church and start driving to the cemetery, it had started raining. Every second of the long car ride is unbearable. We're driving right behind the hearse, second in the long line of cars in our funeral parade. I feel like there's a big neon sign on our car that says "MY MOM JUST DIED," and it makes me feel weirdly embarrassed. I just want to get back home. The whole time they're lowering her into the ground, I can't watch so I hug Dad and hide my face in his jacket.
I latch on to him tightly, but I don't feel his reassuring arms on my shoulders like they normally would. He's as still as a statue, barely breathing. There's no sign of life from him until we start heading back to the car. We get in, and suddenly sobs burst out of his mouth. I sit in the back, quietly crying along and watching the strongest guy I've ever known break in front of me. Eventually his shoulders stop shaking and he lifts his face from his hands.
"Xavier," he says. "If you find something you love, you hold on to it and you never let it go."
Suddenly time starts rushing forward, past finding Dad hanging, past Dad's funeral, moving in with my aunt, middle school, high school; years go by in a blur until she appears. Elaina. My mate, Elaina. I run forward and hug her, but she becomes intangible and is blown away by the wind. She's gone- she's dead, just like everyone else.
"Elaina!"
"Elaina..." I'm startled awake. Elaina's blanket is over me- in the library... where is she?! She's gone! Her spot is empty, and her scent is faint.
"Elaina!" I shout out. I jolt up, letting the blanket fall. I leave my laptop, papers, and phone and just rush out of the library. I think Mary tries to talk to me, but I just speed past. "Elaina!"
Elaina's POV
I'm snapped out of my daydream by a feeling of panic, but it's not mine. "Elaina!" I hear faintly. I can feel him quickly getting nearer- so I'm guessing he didn't get my message. My chest starts tightening in fear but I take a deep breath- it's okay, he won't hit you, just explain.
I shakily stand up from my half-finished tea and turn, ready to face my mate. He's before me within a second, and engulfing me in a hug, which makes me give a sharp jerk of fear, but I try to gather myself. I'm glad I had some more tea, maybe I can actually talk now.
"D-Did you see m-my message?" I ask timidly, not daring to look up at him. "I . . . uh . . . tea," I explain weakly, trying to shy away from his grip, but there's nowhere to go. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm trapped.
My breathing becomes more rapid as panic starts welling up. Xavier quickly lets go of me, and I ball up on the floor, hugging my legs, trying to form a calming thought in my scrambled brain. Okay, breathe. Breathe. I can't. I'm hyperventilating. Oh god. Fuck. I should've stayed in the library. I should've stayed at the other pack. Tears are pouring out of my eyes as built up stress is added on to by the anxiety of Xavier's sudden intense attention on me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I gasp out hoarsely.
He gets closer- fuck. He puts his arm around me- FUCK. My lungs aren't helping, they're just hyperventilating and my brain can't think and my body can't handle contact and fuck. I eventually calm down, he calms down, I apologize, he apologizes. This same shitty cycle of our anxiety going in circles. I release a big, shuddering sigh.
"God, we need therapy." I don't even need a response to know he agrees; I can see it on his equally exhausted face.
***********
I silently sit back in the library, reading a book as Xavier calls one of the pack therapists, so we both get the therapy we need. I guess I never really considered his possessiveness a form of anxiety, but I felt his panic today; we're both fucked up, I guess.
The sessions are scheduled for the day after tomorrow, and I'm getting a psychological test over the next week to get all my official diagnoses. Apparently it's going to take a few two-hour sessions; hopefully I actually find out specifically what's wrong with me- then to the psychiatrist for meds. Oh joy. I zone out for most of the call, making progress in another novel.
The whole process of being put on hold, talking to a bunch of people, and scheduling the appointments so near in the future takes a couple hours; by the time Xavier hangs up and slumps back in his seat, it's nearly seven.
I soundlessly follow Xavier into the kitchen and make some macaroni and cheese, of which I have none of. I feel so physically uncomfortable with all the fat under my skin, I can't even take a single bite. Just looking at all the melted cheese and carb-loaded pasta, I feel my stomach bloating, a second chin forming. I may not be able to control my dreams, or my depression, or anxiety, but I can control my body. Xavier doesn't even push me to eat, probably still a bit frazzled from today's events.
The night passes with nothing but a few minor nightmares of being tortured and raped- pretty casual stuff at this point. When I awaken and open my eyes I'm trembling, shaken from the realistic, graphic nightmares and memories. Sleeping often forces up horrible memories, making me feel disgusting and unclean. I wrench myself away from the cotton grasp of the comfy bed, begging for me to just go back to sleep and not wake up. I rub my eyes and go into the bathroom, shedding my pajamas and turning on the warm water. I step into the shower stall, grabbing a loofah and pouring body wash on it; I start lathering the soap over my arms and torso, vigorously scrubbing all the dirt and probably a layer of skin off. I probably stay in the shower for hours, going over the same spots over and over again, never feeling clean enough.
I sink down on to the shower floor and just scrub away at my privates, trying to wash away my Dad's touch; I try relentlessly to get rid of all traces of all the drunk or violent men Dad would give me to for a night. Tears start pouring, joining the stream of steadily cooling water. I can list all the names, give every detail of their awful faces, describe every second of every rape I've had to endure. A lot of my dreams are just figments of my cruel imagination, but last night was just history being shoved in my face. I felt the tearing, heard the drunken moans, and heard my mom's name being grunted out while I sob. Dad mostly did it when he was drunk and especially missing Mom- his twisted reasoning was that I looked like her. I don't know how a nine year old could look like your grown wife, but my Dad had his own opinions.
When my skin is all red and raw, I finally stand back up and quickly wash my hair before wrapping myself up in a towel and rushing out of the bathroom, trying to leave my thoughts behind.
I go into the closet, shutting the door behind me before numbly thumbing through the clothes on my rack. I settle on a sports bra, the biggest black long sleeve shirt and leggings. I take the opportunity to sink down on to the floor while tugging on fluffy socks. I sit there for a bit, just staring off into nothing before snapping myself out of it, timidly reemerging from the closet. Surprisingly, Xavier is still passed out, probably because it's Saturday. I quietly tread over to my phone, checking the time; it's almost ten. I look back up at Xavier, shrugging. I might as well let him sleep.
I put in my earbuds, play some deliciously sad music and lie down on the floor, just reflecting on my shitty life. I zone out as more existentially devastating thoughts fill my battered mind. I take a deep breath and sigh it out.
Fuck.
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So... not a great chapter but yay I updated put down the pitchforks please ;-;
I feel v depressed and kinda writer's blocked but I also kinda have ideas and my first day back at school starts in five hours and I haven't slept and my EDNOS is getting worse and my anxiety's spiking and I just want to make good content and I keep reading hateful comments and fuCK.
Anyway, thanks everyone for reading and (if you're not one of the hate-comment writers) being kind to a very fragile lil nugget that is me. Sorry for taking so long to update, I'll try to get the next chapter up soon.
~MysticWillows