A Prequel [Book 8] in Her Destiny Series ||| ❝His family was blinded by greed and he lost everything in the crossfire.❞
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Everyone knew his family was a twisted one, they slaughtered packs for power. He was trapped, unable to escape t...
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The pain never goes away, he just learned to live with it.
A constant reminder that he had to suck toxic air into his corrupted lungs and for what? Nothing. He had nothing to live for. Everything had been taken away from him by greedy hands. There was blood on every inch of skin, he would forever be tainted by the crimes he had committed. There would always be darkness that infected him, taunting him in his weakest moments, and he couldn't feel anything other than the hate he harbored. For the world, for himself, for everyone around him.
He hadn't slept a single wink because the ruckus downstairs carried on long through the haunting darkness. He laid on the floor, a chilling draft drawing goosebumps from his skin, but he could hardly feel it as his eyes remained opened and unseeing. All he could see was darkness, no matter how many times he blinked, and he silently listened to Braxton beating his mother downstairs.
He wished he could rush to her aid. One part of him was assured that there was nothing left to save in her. Another part was crying in desperation that there was something, there always was, and he was conflicted. Though, he couldn't move because he could sense the presence of a guard beyond his door. Only a few minutes after Braxton woke up the whole house were the guards stationed to keep him and his siblings out of it; he was the only one who would dare to intervene, though, and Braxton knew it.
He didn't really know what to feel. He just felt so empty, like a useless, cracked shell to be set upon the shelf and forgotten for all eternity. Abandoned and hollow as every sound echoed through him into the depths of his shattered heart and soul. No matter how he tried, he couldn't shut out the noise of violence. It was part of his normal life, or whatever kind of fucked up normal it was.
Braxton was beyond angry, he didn't think he had ever heard such raw fury, and it curled his stomach with unease. With each and every crash, he fought a flinch. With every screamed word, he blinked. With every fist connecting with flesh, his heart died. And yet all he heard was Braxton, the damned monster going to town on his mother, and his mother didn't make a single sound.
Maybe there was truly nothing left within her because all he could hear was her silence. He knew of the horror she must be facing down there, in that room that was like her cage, where her beautiful wings had been ruthlessly clipped and dried, bloody feathers laid in the corners as she had once wept. That was of the past, though, and years of abuse had long since stolen her words. Her soul, her mind, and he willed himself to believe that she had lost all feeling as well.
He knew it was going to happen despite how he tried not to think about it. His mother was always on the receiving end of Braxton's anger at night. That was just how it was. If he was anything but a worthless piece of trash, he would have helped his mother escape a long time ago. He blamed himself for everything that happened to her. Every person he had looked away from while they were beaten or killed. They all deserved better and he should have done something about the terrible fate they met.
