"being alone never felt right.
sometimes it felt good,
but it never felt right."
- charles bukowski -
_____
Loneliness seeps into skin like conditioner on dry leather.
Each newly mated pair constantly reminded him that he has yet to find his own. Each embrace they shared reminded him that he went home to an oversized, empty bed at the end of a long day.
Over the hundred years that he had lived, he slowly lost sight of things that had once made him happy. Yet the loneliness that crept into his heart in the depths of the night had not convinced him to settle for anyone less than his designated one.
As Forrest inhabited the largest chair seated at the dining table in the recreation hall, he couldn't help but glance at the empty chair that was seated next to his own.
It was slightly smaller, with an intricately carved backing, and a large padded seat.
He was a silent but strong leader; he was trusted, feared, and respected among everyone who fell under his leadership. He had always ruled with an iron fist, but kept out of pack politics.
Forrest's broad shoulders were hunched as he listened to the chatter around him, remaining silent, like he had been for nearly ninety years. His once full plate was now nearing emptiness and for that, he was thankful. It was challenging to be surrounded by everyone who had something to be delighted about, whether it was their children, their mate, or their position.
Once again, Forrest's oversized body felt smaller than average in a bed that had much too much room. His eyes were slowly growing heavy as he stared at the sliver of a white moon. Unconsciously, his hand laid over his halfway full heart, and for the first time in years, he didn't know what he was asking for to fill it.
YOU ARE READING
Deviant
Werewolf"I could trace the curve of his face with the glance of my eyes. An elongated nose, with a wide base making a staple on his unique face, and his coarse curls gathered together in a flock, falling over his forehead with the tilt of his head. Eyelids...
