Stubborn and the Mutt

Forty two | after that

There's a gentle stroke against my four knuckles. Just after coming to, I think I'm able to cancel every thought out of my head for a moment just to be able to count how many seconds go by before the stroke happens again. It's a thumb, considering I can feel the person holding my hand, and every once a while, the person finds the need to swipe their thumb against my knuckles. Back and forth.

It's comforting. I mean, it's the small kind of comfort I find myself enjoying. So I remain stagnant and quiet for a couple of more minutes, indulging in the gentle grazings before I decide to finally open my eyes.

I'm staring at the ceiling silently. It's almost unfamiliar at first, but when I notice the small crack at the corner, I realise I'm in Micah's room. On his bed. That reminds me of the events that took place yesterday.

Well, I turn my head to confirm that it's day time and the sun is still high in the sky. The curtains are drawn back and the windows are open wide. There's not much wind coming in, which is kind of odd since we've long entered autumn.

As I mindlessly stare through the window at the loose clouds in the distance, I process the unfortunate events that have taken place. For some reason, I'm more than calm to worry about the necessary things to worry about.

About the fact that my father is probably awake now, beyond losing his mind that I'm not available to him right now. He's probably searched every perimeter of the house and is completely livid at me. Instead of being there to calm things, to cool things and accept my punishment so it all is a distant memory at some point, I'm here, in Micah's bed, wondering if perhaps he called the police and that the police are probably on the look out for a nameless white boy with blue — or grey — eyes, dark hair, and dangerous.

And Micah. I think about him. The temerity he had do all he did. Talking to my father like that. Fair, I spoke to his father too with an attitude and stepped over lines, but Micah crossed every lines beyond repairs, so I contemplate even trying to fix their nonexistent relationship. Not only did his words come off way over the edge, but he choked him out. I don't know if I should laugh at the fact that my father has been choked out, or if I should be upset that such even happened. That Micah found the audacity to do that to my father.

If it was me and his father, I'd have been dead. It wouldn't have even been a thought.

My mind takes me to the... I guess, authority ability he used on me, and how I somehow managed to break through it. Fine, he used it again as that's how I'm here, in his bed — but still, I broke past the first one. How, I have no idea, but I can find confidence in the fact that I feel as though he doesn't exactly have that much power over me again.

I especially think of the imprint. I should be angry, but I'm not. I don't know if it's because I'm incapable of being angry at this point, much like being upset with what he did to my father, or if it's because a part of me has accepted it. Partially by force, but also because it happened and it's not like we can remove it or forget about it. Micah imprinted on me without permission and the only other thing I can do, outside of going crazy and causing havoc, is accepting it and figuring out what happens next, what it means now.

His mate. I'm his mate, and now it's official. Yay... I guess. I don't know. I think it's still a matter of processing it

With a small sigh, I slowly turn my head to the being besides me, smiling lightly when I see the familiar red bundles resting above the sheets. Her face is basically buried in the blanket, I'm not too sure how she's able to breathe. As far as I can see, she's only wearing a basic white top with blue jeans. I wonder if she went to school today considering it's still a school day, Thursday. Maybe she planned on going but then skipped?