My life

Awakening

MICAS POV

Genevieve was fast asleep in my arms, her breathing slow and even, her body finally surrendering to the rest it had been denied for so long. I didn't move. I barely breathed myself, afraid that even the smallest shift might pull her back into the waking world before she was ready.

Still, worry gnawed at me.

She had slept so much since yesterday deep, heavy sleep that wrapped around her like a cocoon. I knew trauma did that. Healing did that. But knowing didn't stop the fear from creeping in. So I called the doctor.

He answered calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He told me it was expected. Her body was repairing itself, recalibrating after years of starvation, stress, and suppression. Sleep wasn't weakness it was survival. He reminded me gently about the next round of pills she needed to take today and mentioned he'd sent me some information by email. Then he hung up.

I pulled my laptop closer and started skimming through the messages medical notes, care instructions, warnings. Words like withdrawal, adjustment, awakening. My jaw tightened.

That's when I felt her stir.

She shifted beside me, lashes fluttering, eyes blinking open slowly. She looked at me, at the laptop, and something unreadable crossed her face. For a moment, I thought she might say something but instead she turned slightly and tried to drift back to sleep.

Her body relaxed.

Then suddenly violently she shot upright.

My wolf snapped to attention instantly, every sense flaring. "Hey," I said softly but urgently, setting the laptop aside. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her breath coming too fast. "I think I'm going crazy," she whispered, rubbing her face like she was trying to wake herself up. She laid back down, embarrassed, pulling the blankets up.

But seconds later, she froze again. Slowly, she turned her head toward me.

"I heard someone say my name," she said quietly. "But it wasn't out loud. It was... in my head."

The way she said it, ashamed, frightened made my chest ache.

I knew exactly what that meant.

I took her face gently in my hands so she had to look at me. "You're not crazy," I said firmly. "That was your wolf."

Her eyes widened.

"Your body is healing," I continued. "The wolfsbane is gone. It's finally leaving your system completely. She's been quiet for so long, but now she's trying to reach you."

"She?" Genevieve whispered.

I smiled softly. "Yes. She's a part of you. And she's weak right now, just like you are. She can't fully connect yet. But she's there to protect you. To help you."

She swallowed hard, fear and wonder mixing on her face.

"You don't have to be scared," I added. "She's not here to hurt you. She never was."

After a while, I got her to take her medicine. She curled back into the pillows, exhaustion settling over her again. I hated leaving her but pack business waited, and I couldn't delay it any longer.

I offered to send my sister to stay with her.

She shook her head. "I just want to watch TV. I'll be okay. I'll wait for you."

I didn't like it. But I trusted her enough to respect her choice.

Before I left, I made her promise to call me if she needed anything.

She promised.

---

GENEVIEVE POV

When Mica left, the house felt different.

Quieter. Bigger. Like the walls had stretched outward the moment the door closed behind him. He said he'd only be gone for a few hours and that I could call him anytime but I didn't want to. I needed to try something on my own.

I needed to find her.

My wolf.

I sat on the couch, closed my eyes, and tried to focus. I listened to my breathing. To my heartbeat. I searched for that presence I'd felt earlier that whisper of my name, soft but unmistakable.

Nothing.

I tried again. And again.

Minutes stretched into an hour, frustration building in my chest. My thoughts spiraled, tumbling over each other until my head hurt. I felt out of control again—trapped in a body I didn't understand, carrying a truth that felt too big to hold.

The overwhelm became unbearable.

I went upstairs.

I knew what I was doing before I admitted it to myself. I told myself it was about control. About quieting the noise. About grounding myself when nothing else worked.

I went into the bathroom and found what I'd hidden. My hands were shaking, my chest tight, my thoughts loud and cruel.

I didn't want to die.

I just wanted the feeling to stop.

I won't describe it. I don't want to. What matters is that I crossed a line I'd promised myself I wouldn't cross again. And for a brief moment, the chaos inside me dulled. The storm quieted.

Afterward, shame hit hard.

I cleaned up carefully. Too carefully. Like if I erased every trace, it wouldn't count. I threw things away, washed what needed washing, scrubbed my hands until they felt raw.

Then I crawled into bed.

I told myself I would stop. That this was just a relapse, not a failure. That tomorrow could be different.

As sleep pulled me under, a warmth stirred deep in my chest. Faint. Fragile.

Not words.

Not a voice.

But something alive.

And for the first time, instead of fear, I felt the smallest flicker of curiosity.

Are you there?

The feeling didn't answer.

But it didn't disappear either.

And somehow, that was enough for now.