Heart of a rogue

* Chapter 10 - Death Row

Today, I started my day with painting. We received a very clear assignment:

Paint your life before you went astray, and while you were astray. "Astray" was their way of saying "rogue."

I didn't think much about it. I just let the brush take over. I didn't even realize an hour had passed when the teacher, Suzan, asked us to put our brushes down and explain our work. "Who wants to go first?" she asked. She was in her forties, maybe.

No one volunteered. Even I didn't. I stared at my painting, unsure of what I'd even created. Then Suzan began calling on people. The first name she said was Mia's.

Mia hesitantly turned her painting around. It showed light colors with a dark figure in the center, watching the light. "Eh," she started, unsure, "I drew the process of being astray... I was in a dark place, but my surroundings were quite light. I felt so relieved when I didn't have the pressure of my pack anymore, but..."

She pointed to the dark lines creeping up on the figure, "I soon found out life without that pressure wasn't all that nice. It was mostly hard. I made good friends, but I realized I had more to deal with than I thought."

She sniffled a little, and some people began clapping, me included. It was a good explanation. She caught my eye, noticing my clap, and gave a slight smile. I still felt furious at her for betraying me, and that anger lingered. It wasn't like they wouldn't find out my name anyway—Declan would've recognized me instantly. But I held onto the rage.

Declan had called me unstable, especially with my anger, and now I was starting to understand what he meant. I knew going rogue had its downsides, but looking at my painting... my life before was a downside. I still considered life outside the pack fences to be freedom.

A few more people explained their paintings. Belle was next. She hadn't put much effort in—just painted a forest. She explained it briefly, saying trees represented life, and being a rogue meant living. In other words, she found this exercise pointless and just wanted to return to her freedom.

Suzan looked disappointed, and I couldn't help but snicker. Then it was my turn.

"Unlike Belle, I did put in the effort," I said, and Belle raised her middle finger at me. She laughed a little, too.

I began to explain the dark black line that divided my painting. The darker side represented how I felt as a child and teenager: pressured, unwanted, insecure, weak, and lonely. But once I ran away, everything became brighter. I was completely honest in this exercise.

"I found my purpose wasn't being a beta or Luna. My purpose is myself. I only need myself to survive. That's my freedom."

Everyone listened quietly, but in the end, Suzan didn't seem pleased. "What was the purpose of this exercise, Lucille?"

My eyebrows shot up. "I've said it before—call me Lucy," I said.

She didn't respond to me but shook her head. "The purpose of this exercise was for you to realize the consequences of your abandonment—for you and your pack."

"Consequences?" I repeated, confused. "I don't see one. My life was fine out there."

She sighed. "How about those you left behind?"

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't care about them."

I crossed my arms, refusing to look at her. "My brother never stuck up for me. He didn't dare. He was younger and given a higher role just because he was male. And yet, he didn't stick up for me when my father yelled at me to act like a proper girl. No one cared when my mother forced me to wear clothes she picked out or make me sit at a desk for hours, writing until my blisters had blisters. No one stood up when they beat me, neglected me food or anything, it was just me."