His Mates Pretty Little Scars

Chapter 1- We're Damaged.

    London     

   The world can be cruel and scary, dark and brooding, yet some manage to find the little victories within the lines. Those same victories may be someone else's failure. The way I've always seen it, life is one big game of house. Everyone has a role to play and no one has any idea what they are doing. Everything is a production and nothing is as easy as it's meant to be. My father never believed in luck. "No, London. That's not luck. Luck is just opportunities meeting preparedness," he'd scoff in my face. I hate that sentence; it breeds eternal misery.

       I run my fingers through my naturally snow white hair. My shallow blue eyes stare back in the cracked mirror above my three drawer chest. I bite my lip as I reach down the lengths of my locks, ending at my protruding hip bone. I bite down as pain soars up my back and through my chest. I sigh as I release the pressure on my body. My arms shake as I open the top drawer for my underwear. I painfully slide them on while I wince at my feet. I grab the roll of duct tape my father gave me and place two small strips over my nipples in place of a bra. It'll have to do. I look at myself in the mirror, my bones peeking through my skin like an under fed dog.

       My wolf would be so disappointed, if I had one that is. She has never made herself known to me, so I'm playing this game in the dark.

        I reach down to the third drawer and pull out a pair of black skinny jeans and pull them over my hips. The duct tape I had used to bind three of the belt loops together no longer holds, so I wrap four to make them fit. I pull a black tank top over my shoulders and cringe. The straps are getting to be thinner than they were, but I have no other options. I pull my oversized black hoodie on to cover the mess beneath.

       After looking in the mirror to be sure nothing is obviously wrong with my pale skin, I let out a breath. I walk over to my knock off converse shoes and slide them over my bare feet. The soles are still wet from last night's rain shower. I push my side bangs from the left to the right and tuck them behind my ear. I part my hair in the back and pull my hood over my head. I place my hand on the curtain that separates me from the rest of the back and climb around the water heater to free myself. I hear footsteps above my head and my throat tightens.

       My eyes meet the man before me, James, is my brother. He glares at me and rolls his eyes, clearly not in the mood for a beating. "Later, I'm busy." He mumbles to himself under his breath. I bite my cheek and keep walking with my head down.

       I start making breakfast for the select 200 that live in our pack house. Over the years, I have learnt how to make the most of the appliances to make huge amounts of food. I place eight trays out and load them up with bacon. The oven only fits four trays, so I will have to make another batch. As the bacon sizzles away, I start to pour pancake mix into the fryers. This is going to be a long process today. I'm more tired than usual.

        After breakfast is served, I clean the big utensils and cooking materials before the next round of dishes can accumulate. Soon, the empty plates roll in and its time to get scrubbing.

       Once I'm done with the dishes, I put everything away and start my walk to school. The walk is long and it has been raining since yesterday. My pace slows down as my shoes fill up with water. In the distance, I hear the second bell chime and panic as I realize I will be late again. I try to run but my body burns with each step.

       The big brick building comes into view and I see my brothers car pull into the parking lot. He hops out and races to the door. Upon seeing him open the door, he turns around and glares at me. I keep my pace, pretending I don't notice him with my eyes on the ground.  Soon, he steps in front of me, blocking my path.