JUNE 2022 UPDATE: Go read "Lucy", a spinoff of the Masked SheWolf trilogy, now updating on Wattpad, and its "Behind the Scenes" companion book that includes character profiles and a complete recap of the trilogy, as told by the characters in interview format.
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I try to stay occupied so I don't get lost in my frantic thoughts. I don't want to allow myself to remember what happened, because I'm afraid I will start crying again. I've cried more than enough last night.
It's barely six in the morning when I get out of bed, but I just can't sleep anymore. A shower is out of the question, although I need one, because there's nothing stopping my thoughts when I stand under the water. I need to keep myself busy.
So I go to the kitchen first and clean everything in sight; from the dishes, to the oven, the floor and every surface imaginable. I even empty the fridge so I can shine it from the inside and rearrange the food in an obsessively organized way.
By the time I'm done, it's only eight in the morning. My family is still sleeping, so I move to the downstairs bathroom. It's the only one in the house that doesn't have a shower, so it doesn't take me long to finish with it. Plus, it's not as if I have any experience cleaning bathrooms or anything.
Since today's a Saturday, I don't think anyone might wake up before nine, which means I have just enough time to make them breakfast. If I'm a bad house cleaner, that's nothing compared to how terrible I am at cooking.
I burn the pathetic excuse for a coffee and basically spill it all over the counter I just cleaned. The pancake mix is too muddy. I throw it out without even trying to fix it. I put too much pressure on the oranges and end up breaking the squeezer. When I decide to make eggs, the shell falls onto the frying pan, and I have to pick out the broken pieces while it's hot. The yolk spills all over the egg white, and it ends up looking like an omelet. Thankfully, this one doesn't get burned. The toast is easy to make, and I get the jam jar to place it on the table next to it. Milk and various kinds of cheese also follow.
Just as I'm serving the omelet on plates I've arranged at the table, my family walks in. They must have woken each other up when they didn't find me in bed and come down looking for me. They care, I know they do, but they don't understand.
Nope, don't go there, I warn myself.
If I think about the talk with my parents, I might start thinking about other things that happened yesterday.
I try to smile as brightly as possible. "Morning!"
They stare at me like I'm a ticking time bomb, and they're afraid to set me off, if they so much as look at me the wrong way. That's a reaction I didn't expect.
"Hi," Mason is the first to tentatively reply.
"Um, honey," my mom says, "did you clean up?"
I hop on toward her. "I sure did!" I reply quite smugly. "Do you like it?"
"Oh, I'm really happy you decided to do some chores, it's just..." she hesitates, looking like she's worried whatever she has to say will hurt my feelings. "People don't... generally use this kind of bleach for dishes, and dish washing liquid is not really made to clean floors."
A little dejected, I look around at what I thought was an accomplishment for me. How did my mother know what products I used? Even I can't tell, and I have a better sense of smell than she does.
"Oh," I reply sadly. "Sorry."
"Breakfast looks great, though," Danny comments to try and cheer me up.
I pout. "That's because I cleaned out all the eggshells."
No one says anything for a moment. They don't know what to make of my behavior, and I can't force myself to say something anymore. Wordlessly, I take my usual seat at the table and wait for them to follow my lead. Surprising me yet again, Daniel is the first to join me on the chair to my right. Mason then takes my left and the rest follow.
Needless to say, breakfast is incredibly awkward. All I hear for an entire ten minutes is the intensified sound of chewing and the clinking of the utensils on plates. I've never paid attention before to how loudly my brothers chew their food.
"Okay, I'm sorry," Nate finally speaks up, "but I can't ignore the elephant in the room much longer. Mickey, are you going to tell us what happened yesterday or what?"
"Nathan!" Mom scolds.
I almost expect someone else to shut him up too, but my mom is the only one to object. I guess they're all as curious as he is, just not as nosy. Especially Dad... he is staring at me silently, waiting for answers.
Don't think, don't think, I remind myself.
"I just needed some air," I say. "I didn't expect to be out so long or I would have taken my phone with me. I'm sorry if I scared you."
"Damn right we were worried," Dad replies, somehow beginning to get angry. "You were gone so long that by the time we thought to go after you, there wasn't even a trail to follow. You could have warned us before leaving so we wouldn't be scared shit-less that something's happened to you. We thought you were kidnapped for God's sake!"
Wow, I think to myself in disappointment. Nothing's changed, huh?
Even when I could have been dead for all they knew, it's still somehow my fault.
"Sweetie, why were you crying?" Mom asks softly when I don't say more.
"And what happened to your head?" Nate adds. "You look like you landed on a rock."
I glare at him. "That's exactly what happened, so don't joke about it," I retort.
The wound itself is healed, but it must have been deeper than I thought because the scar is not gone yet. Plus, I don't think I cleaned the blood off yet.
"Dylan," Mom forcibly calls my attention back to her. "Why were you crying?"
Gulping, I say the first thing that comes to mind. "It was just a little too much for me to handle. I need some time, that's all."
The tone of my voice is certainly enough to back me up; I sound as tired as I feel, although not for the reason I'm making it out to be. Right now is not the time to feel guilty about lying to my family, though. Besides, I really do need space, and it really is too much for me.
However, I have to face it at some point, and right now, I've given them enough reason to leave me be and allow me to think in peace.
I'm going to have to face this sooner or later, so might as well go do it now while I can get some privacy, I decide, resigned.
"I need to take a shower," I announce and begin to stand up.
My father stops me. "Wait," he says. "Before you go, your mother and I would just like you to know that, although we don't like it, we're going to trust your judgment concerning Sadie and Cade. I still think it's dangerous, but if you trust them, I will learn to live with that."
Speechless, I stare at him for a bit, then nod and hurriedly leave the table. Five minutes later, I'm standing under the scalding water, trying to gather my thoughts. When I allow myself to think, a surge of emotions and ideas rush through me and make it impossible for me to really focus. I want to cry again, but I still don't know why, and I can't process the jumble of things going through my mind to be able to make sense of anything.
So I let myself go again; I let myself cry. My tears find a way to mingle with the water. But I hold my sobs this time, because I don't want my family to hear. They heard enough last night when I didn't care about keeping quiet.
All the while, I scrub myself clean the way I scrubbed the floors and toilet earlier. Then I wash my hair in a quick couple of minutes, since it's so short. My skin begins to turn red, so I finally stop and let the water wash everything off, including the saltiness in my eyes.
When I'm all cried out, I turn the knob off and sit in the warm tub. I'm a bit calmer, but still very confused. I decide to make a mental list of everything I do know.
1. Logan is apparently my mate.
2. My parents are still denying me my freedom.
3. Sadie and Cade know that I'm a girl.
4. Mom and Dad apparently don't like that, although they are trying to live with it.
5. Knowing that Logan is my mate makes me want to be near him and talk to him again, even though it's only been a few days since we last saw each other.
6. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get my period tomorrow and that I'm currently hormonal. Maybe that's why I cried so much since yesterday.
7. That can't be the only reason I cried so much yesterday.
This is getting me nowhere, I lament, trying again. Alright, what do I know about true mates?
1. They exist only in fairytales (at least I believed that up until yesterday).
2. They have a powerful connection (I'm not sure what that means exactly, but I guess psychic communication must be included somewhere in there).
3. When they find each other, they are devoted to one another and are almost inseparable.
4. To find each other, they have to see themselves in wolf form.
Which didn't happen for me, I suddenly realize.
Logan didn't see me in that stream... which means he still doesn't know. No one has ever said anything about what would happen when only one of the two knows. Maybe our wolf side can also feel the sting of unrequited love.
Whoa there,love?! I don't loveLogan!
My eyes widen, and I gasp as the realization hits me. No, I'm not quite in love with Logan yet, but I definitely have feelings for him. I have since the moment I saw him in the diner and was intimidated by his presence. Opening up to him only deepened that attraction.
On some level, I felt a connection between us that I couldn't make sense of, and I wrote it off as intimidation. Well, I wasintimidated, but there was still something more. Our conversations always had a sense of... something right. Like this is what we were supposed to be doing all along.
I need to tell him. Maybe not about the mate thing, because I'm pretty sure he wouldn't believe that unless he saw it with his own eyes. Plus, that would be the most awkward conversation in the entire world.
But he has to know about my secret at least. If I tell him I'm a girl, maybe he will slowly figure it out himself. It might be a sign of my own weakness that I'm wishing he will figure it out on his own.
With growing resolve, I get out of the shower, dry myself and get dressed in a matter of minutes. Whatever died inside of me after Logan walked away yesterday, has suddenly been replaced with a longing to see him and tell him everything. I'm glad my family is too distracted by the time I'm ready to leave. That way all I have to do is shout that I'm going to the pack house before I'm out the door.
I'm so used to walking to the compound by now that I don't even think about where I'm going; my legs carry me without conscious effort on my part. During the walk there, I think about what I will say, and I even construct a speech.
As usual, I'm let in immediately, and before I know it, I'm ringing the doorbell. My nervousness is starting to show, and I bring my hand up without realizing it to bite my nails. The seconds tick by. I ring again.
Finally, I hear footsteps approaching. My heartbeat accelerates so much that I'm sure whoever it is can hear it. Then the door opens, and I'm met with the last person I expected to see.
"Michael!" Reena cheers with a smile. "What brings you by?"
My whole body grows cold, like I've suddenly been dumped into a frozen river. My entire face falls. I was wrong; it was not just about him not knowing.
"Did you say Michael?" a voice behind her asks happily, jolting me out of my thoughts. I immediately recognize him and his smiling face. "Hey! Where've you been? We've missed you around here. What are you doing standing out there? Come on in!"
I'm frozen in place. The only thing that forces me to move is Reena grabbing my hand and pulling me in. It's not just the shock of seeing them that's incapacitating my motor skills. That connection I was talking about in the shower, I can feel it, like an invisible bubble surrounding just me and him, with Reena an intruding presence.
In here, I see him for all his perfect imperfections; his kindness, his fair way of exerting his authority, his desire to connect with his lost parents, even his unwillingness to share his emotions and thoughts to anyone other than those few he trusts. Everything I know about him becomes like a glowing light of perfection that calls me to him.
I see his outer beauty in his smile and the softness of his eyes... eyes which also hold so much maturity and wisdom that add to his gentle nature, instead of hardening him as one would expect. I see it in the caring way he holds Reena close to him, even though I wish I was in her place right now. I even see it in his manner of walking, because it reflects his confident and determined personality.
Everything inside that bubble is begging me to close the distance and touch him, even if it's just his hand. I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of that need for physical contact, and I almost move to satiate it.
But I can't answer this call. I'm so afraid that touching him would lead to an even bigger need. That's why I make sure that we stand a good distance away from each other when we enter the living room. I gather enough of my senses to be able to act normal, but my heart breaking makes it so hard.
It becomes worse when Reena plops down on his lap, and he puts his arms around her waist. They both smile at each other, and she giggles when he kisses her neck. This is more than just difficult to watch; this is torture.
"I see you guys made up," I choke up, and clear my throat in hopes that they don't suspect anything.
I'm back in my element, where I hide my true feelings from everyone around me and suffer in silence. It's just so much harder right now, and I can't even control my emotions or my reactions.
He's looking at her with so much love in his eyes. How can they be so happy when I'm so miserable over here? How does he not feel anything I'm feeling?
"Yeah, well, he totally made up for it," Reena replies with a grin.
"I haven't even started yet," is what he says, and I literally feel like something stabs me in the heart.
"Well, I'm glad you're okay again," I mumble.
They once again smile at each other and sigh before looking at me. Logan then seems to realize what they're doing and gives me an apologetic smile.
"We're being rude, Ree," he says sweetly. "I'm sorry Michael."
I try to smile but I think it comes out a grimace. They're too happy to notice though. "It's okay," I lie. "I can leave..."
He frowns and protests. "But you just got here."
"Logy, I think this is a guy thing," Reena comments. "I'm going to give you two some privacy."
He kisses her before she leaves, and they both smile through it. I have to look away or else I might start crying again.
"I'll see you soon," he whispers, his voice full of promise.
I'm amazed that I'm able to stay there without breaking down in tears.
Logan throws his head back against the back of the armchair and sighs happily, closing his eyes. "Michael, there is really nothing like finding your mate. It's absolutely incredible."
Is this the universe's idea of a joke? Because it's not funny.
"I disagree with you on that," I reply icily.
Good, that's good; anger clouds my sadness.
"I don't ever want to find my mate. I'm starting to think it's nothing but misery."
Shockingly, he chuckles at my statement. "You just say that because you haven't found one."
Unable to hold my reaction this time, I bite my lip to keep from screaming and look away. For once, he notices. He stares at me quizzically.
"Why the long face?" he wonders. "Don't tell me you've found someone?"
My lack of reply and the look I give him says it all.
Yes. It's you, I beg him to understand, to maybe hear my thoughts and come heal my heart. You're the one. You're my mate.
Sadly, he only seems to hear the first word, and his eyes widen with excitement. "You have?" he repeats. "That's great Michael!"
I shake my head miserably. "No it's not," I deny.
Confused, he frowns. "Why not?"
I pause before answering him. "Because... she's already with someone," I say, dying inside.
It was not just about Logan not knowing we're mates, although the part about unrequited love was not far behind. It was because I can't ever have him. I completely forgot about Reena when I saw him in wolf form. One thing they rarely tell us in fairytales about mates is how much it hurts when you realize your mate has already chosen someone else. It's almost as bad as rejection, though not quite the same because this is more of an indirect rejection.
I can't believe that just when I find my mate, something I never thought would happen, I'm rejected, I gloomily think to myself.
"Oh," he utters, his demeanor instantly changing to forlorn.
Even when we're on completely opposite sides of the mood chart, he still finds it in him to sympathize with me. His compassion just adds to the glow of the bubble, and with it, my misery.
"Well, do you know her pretty well?" he asks.
I nod in confirmation. "Sh-she's one of my best friends."
"And the guy?"
Reena?I think. What do I think of Reena?
"I don't think he's a bad person, but he just gets on my nerves a lot sometimes, and I can't find it in me to like him," I admit, sounding desperate, although for what, I don't know. Maybe for him to understand, that I'm not trying to insult his girlfriend because I don't want to upset him. I realize there's no way for him to know that I'm talking about her, but it's still instinctual, the urge to please him -or in this case, the urge to not displease him.
"Are they happy together?" he wants to know.
I think about it for a second; they sure seemed happy moments ago when they were snuggling on the couch. I nod again.
"I hate to say this, Michael, but I think it would be best if you back off," he says.
Shock and horror surge through me and form a lump in my throat. "W-what?"
No.
He gives me a sympathetic but resigned look. "If they're as happy as you say they are, and if you really care about this girl enough to think of her happiness before your own, then it's best to leave them be," he repeats.
That's when I can't contain it anymore; my head drops and tears start brimming in my eyes. That was most definitely the last thing I was expecting him to tell me.
"Hey," he says in a soothing voice when I start openly crying. "It's okay."
I feel him putting his hand on my shoulder to try and reassure me, but all it does is confirm my suspicion about physical contact building bigger needs. Now, what I want is to put my hand on his cheek and stroke his face.
That's when I feel his fingers lightly grab my chin and lift my face up. He stares at me with worry and confusion in his eyes, as I fight a raging battle to touch him and kiss him anywhere I can get.
"What happened to your head?" is what he asks.
"I fell on a rock," I lousily cry.
Seeing me this way and hearing my voice crack on such a stupid sentence must be funny to him, since his mouth stretches up into a smile that he tries to hold. And I find myself staring at his lips, imagining what it would be like to put mine against them. There is no greater agony than this. I cry again.
He visibly softens. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to comfort me, putting his arm around me. "You'll find someone else, I'm sure of it. Someone much better."
He doesn't even know, I mourn. And he never will.
No way am I going to be the one to turn his world upside down and threaten his happiness, just because I want to be with him. I'd rather never see him again than hurt him that way.
"There's no one better," I almost say, but I stop myself.
I need to get away from him for my torture to end, but if I say what I want to say, he will keep talking to me and never let me leave. Every second that I'm here, this close to him, is making it harder and harder for me to leave. But I really need to. So I swallow my words and get it over with.
"I have to go," I quickly say and leap out of his grasp.
He jumps when I snatch my hand back too quickly. Thankfully though, he doesn't make a move to stop me or even speak. He must sense that I want to be alone and decides to give me the space I need.
My parents were right; I can't ever be myself. What is the point of being a girl if I can't be with him, if the agony of not being with him is this impossible to handle? I'm not stupid enough to think I might move on and find someone else; that doesn't happen with my kind. There's never going to be anyone else.
I have to leave, I decide.
It's impossible to sit idly while he's happy with someone else. I may have been self-deprecating my whole life, but I'm not a masochist. I will not let myself live in this sort of pain every day, knowing there's not much I can do about it.
My graduation is in four weeks. I'll be eighteen in five. I can hang on until then. I'll avoid him for as long as I can. It shouldn't be too hard. I've spent my whole life shutting people out. I can do it to him too. Of course, that means I'll have to shut out the entire pack, including the only true friends I've ever had, but that's better than the alternative.
After that, there isn't anything that my parents can say to make me stay. I'll be a legal adult; free to do whatever I want. I can pursue college in Berklee and find a purpose. If that doesn't work, I'll move somewhere far enough, that I won't feel this pull toward him anymore.
I don't care where I'll be or what I'll do. I could be in freaking Mexico begging on the streets, and it would be better than this. That's the depth of how much I have given up; on him, on my parents, on life in general. I'm sick of all of it, and I want out.
It's with a heavy heart that I walk home, my tears mingling with the warm April air.