hapter 138
Emily
Life is hard, avoiding Logan. If it were up to me, I would have moved into an apartment far away from him, far away from my old family in the life that I am currently living. If it were up to me, I would put as much distance between me in this godforsaken place, to go out and live my own life the way I see fit.
Life is unfair like that, though. It is a never–ending cycle of karma and unjust consequences to people that I cannot control. And I hate losing control.
I sit at my wooden desk with my cup of tea in the corner. I stare at the blank screen of my computer, unable to bring myself to work on the pack’s spreadsheets and finances. Out of the corner of my eye, logan works at his desk, refusing to close the door.
Does he not know that I catch him staring at me every now and then? He always plays the role of an innocent man, looking away whenever our eyes meet. He pretends to visit himself with the papers that sit on his desk, the unsigned blank pages that control the moves of the pack.
It’s funny to think that a man of his stature, and Alpha in his own right, feels the need to avert the gaze of a woman who is a wolf is dormant. I have to hold back my scars, the constant angered laughs that try to leave my mouth. That laughter soon dies down whenever I look at the bodyguards that sit at the edge of his office.
They serve as a reminder of what I have lost. My privilege of freedom in our relationship with one another. It was not my fault that Michael decided to kiss me in the bar and it sure as hell wasn’t my fault that somebody, most likely my stepsister Chide, was the reason that they photographed the deplorable act.
I know that Logan means well, but I can’t help but feel that he is treating me like a child. In the depths of my mind and heart, resentment forms, festering and boiling, slowly fermenting before it takes place in the forefront of my mind.
I do not want to hate logan. That is the last thing that I want to come out of all of this. If he continues to treat me like this, though, to continue to treat me like I am a child or fragile doll that needs to be protected: I will learn to hate him.
I stand for my desk and grab my bag, moving in silence as I head towards the exit of his office. One of the bodyguards presses the button to the elevator, taking his place behind me. I glanced over at my shoulder, looking inside logan’s office, catching his gaze once more as the elevator doors open.
I hesitate to leave. I am giving him one last chance to prove to me that what he has done is a mistake, that he feels remorse some regret for hiring me babysitters for wherever I go.
He doesn’t move. My heart aches at the sight. I stepped inside the elevator, watching the doors slide closed as the man I thought I loved remains seated in his office.
I find myself in the garden that my mother took me to. The rusted playground in cracks in the stone walls. Keep me company as I slowly eat my food. Just down the road, my mother’s old house sits. It has been there ever since she died, untouched through the years of time.
I wonder what it’s like now. I wonder if my father had gone in and renovated the place, changing everything about it before I could get my hands on it. It pains me to know that the most important part of my life has been tainted by the ugliness of my father and his new family.
UL
A sigh leaves my lips, setting down my pathetic, looking sandwich as I overlook the overgrown weeds and flowers the field. Just as I am about to look away, I noticed a plume of black smoke float into the air in the distance. My demeanor perks up, interest piqued at the sight.
I stand for my spot on the weathered marble bench and squint my eyes. A cold wave washes over me. I’m frozen in place as more and more plums of smoke float into the air.
It is coming from the direction of my mother’s house.
Without thinking, I grab all of my belongings and run towards the dirt road, running as fast as I can in the direction of the fire. My lungs burn and my legs ache, but I am not willing to give up on saving what my father plans to destroy.
10
Who else would be cruel enough to burn a place like this? Who else other than my family would destroy what means the most to me? There is nobody who lives around here for miles, just my mother and her secluded house in the woods. It is the only place that could erupt in the flames.
The burning house comes into site. My body stills, feet, stumbling over one another, as I slowly approach the house. My stepmother and father stand in front of it with their arms crossed over their chests.
“What did you do?!” I scream at them, unable to contain my overwhelming emotions. They turned to look at me, looks of an annoyance and discontent, flashing across their face. It makes my blood boil.
“We found it like this, Emily,” my step–mother speaks out. Her words are as cruel as she is. “It’s not our fault it went up in flames.”
I turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze. The house burns before me, and I feel so hopeless, not being able to do a thing to save it. What could be inside that they would want to destroy?
My heart plummet in my chest. My feet carry me towards the burning home, the restless flames making my skin feel like it is on fire. Without wasting another second, I push through the front door of the home, quickly finding my way to my mother’s study on the first floor.
From the distance, I hear somebody yelling my name. I brushed it off, knowing that it is just a feeble attempt to stop me from ruining my family’s plan.
The flames scream. They travel up the wall walls, the ceiling now black from ash and soot. The wood of the house grows, ready to fall at any moment.
The tears that run down my face evaporate as soon as they appear, my body pushing into the study that has yet to be touched. I cover my mouth with my shirt and rush towards my mother’s desk. The metal knobs of the drawers are hot to the touch, burning my skin as I open them up, desperate to collect the last memories that I have of my mother.
I grab her silver locket and tuck it into my pocket, the metal burning through the fabric of my clothes. Just to the side, I grab one of her diaries, something that she never let me read as a kid.
The weight of her memory is heavy in my hands. Heavier than I would’ve ever anticipated it to be. It is enough to sustain me for the rest of my life, though, and I turned to the door from which I came just to watch it collapse in front of my eyes, trapping me inside the flames.
