Werewolves do very much exist. They live among us and we fear them. For Chris, her brother just got her in more than she can handle. After all who could tutor a violent, moody Alpha to be?
**All rights reserved**
~Very unedited~
I know it has been literal years since I marked this book as finished. I know a lot of you are unhappy with how I ended this story. I am sorry for what young me has done to you.
However since then I have been focusing on another series I'm rewriting. Don't let that make you feel as if I have forgotten about you guys. In between rewriting my stories Of Runt, Of Fey, and Of Vampire I have been rewriting majority of my other stories.
With that being said I am going to add the first official rewritten chapter of Little Red. It is over 3000 words long. It is not edited however it is more edited than the original. Please give me feedback. I'm hoping to make this book less confusing and do a better job at portraying Chris and her anxiety. I also just want to know if there is still any interest in this story?
Anyway, enjoy!
Little Red~ Chapter One
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Scattered brain Schneider is what I've been called since I was a child. The insufferable stutter I went to speech therapy for didn't help. Six and a half years, it took six and a half years to get rid of the speech issues I suffered from but at the moments notice of the buzzing feeling it goes out the window. Then there's the fact that sometimes my brain seems to skip leaving my mouth a muttering mess while I try to process.
So, when my fingers start to numb and it feels like bees are stinging me all over, when I feel like the world is closing around me and tightening it's hold until I can't breath, it returns.
With shaky hands I open the pill bottle, trying my best not to spill my manufactured calm. The pill starts to dissolve in my mouth, the chalky taste makes me salivate in order to get rid of it. I take a swig of my soda as I keep walking knowing Morgan will be unhappy that I'm already so late for lunch.
I drop the empty can in the garbage before tightening my hold on my books and heading farther down the hall. I force myself to concentrate on the peeling green lockers instead of the buzz in my hands.
Green lockers.
White tiled floors.
Blue garbage cans.
A hideous rendition of starry night with our schools mascot.
My red jacket.
I let out a soft breath before focusing on the next part. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
I can hear a few teachers going on about their lessons.
The soft squeaking of my shoes against the white tiles. It's actually quite annoying. Can anyone else hear it? Do they find it annoying as well?
"You can do that!"
The technique in my mind turns into a puddle at the sound of a familiar voice. My entire body locks up as my eyes snap to the figures in the hall. How can I be so stupid as to not see them?
