My Only Weakness

Chapter 1

The whip hit my back and I bit my tongue to hold back my screams. If I scream, he beats me more. I felt the blood trickle down my back, opening up older lashes and creating new scars. I squeezed my eyes together, tears fighting to get through.

 I must not cry.

I must not show weakness.

 Ten cold hard hits to my back and he feels satisfied, throwing the whip back into the pile of horrors that haunt me every moment of the day. The pile contains an assortment of knives, ropes, whips, and random pieces of metal and wood that the members of my pack use to torture me. I’m their own personal punching bag.

My parents were killed when I was 2. The beatings started when I was 4. I was first raped at 9. Every single bone in my body has been broken at some point in my life. I have scars, but mostly just open wounds. They always reopen before they get the chance to heal.

I’m fed very little, if at all. I’m usually only fed a few times a week, and even then they only give me enough to keep me alive. I’m 5’8 and I weigh no more than 105 pounds.

They always tell me that it’s my fault. It’s my fault my parents are dead. It’s my fault that I wasn’t born into a better family. Maybe if I had been born prettier, they wouldn’t want to hurt me. I never wanted to think I was worthless. I held out for so long, but after being verbally and physically abused for most of my life, I’ve grown to hate myself.

I’m 18. I have almost no hope of finding my mate, as I’m locked in my cell 24/7. I haven’t seen the sunlight for 3 years. I have very few things that I can call my own. They let me keep a toothbrush and toothpaste in the small bathroom off to one side of the room. I also have a hairbrush, 3 changes of clothes, and a small stuffed bear that my parents gave me shortly before they died.

Under my pillow, I keep a small picture frame with a picture of my mother and father in it. I don’t remember how I acquired this precious piece, but I do know that if someone found out about it, it would be taken and I would be punished for having it.

I lie still on my stomach, waiting for the most excruciating pain to pass. Being a werewolf, my injuries heal quicker than normal humans would, but being as broken as I am, nothing is ever quite healed. I’m extremely weak and malnourished.

After 10 minutes, I slowly get to my feet, walking over to the bathroom. I turn on the shower and strip, letting the cool flow calm the angry flesh on my back. I take a tattered old rag and rinse out my new wounds with soap. It stings, but not as badly as it used to. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.

After my shower, I change into a pair of sweatpants and an old tshirt. Lying down on my sorry excuse for a bed, I pull the covers around me. Sometimes I pretend like the blankets are my mate holding me in his arms. He wouldn’t let this happen. He would protect me. I close my eyes and let the tears run freely. Why can’t I have a normal life? Why did this have to happen to me? With these thoughts in mind, I slowly drift off to sleep.

xxxxxx

The sound of fighting wakes me up from my dreamless sleep. I pull my knees up into my chest, cowering away from the door. This isn’t going to be good.

A familiar growl comes from the hall outside my door. I hear loud snaps and finally whimpering. The jangle of keys sends me into a full blown panic attack. My eyes fill with fear as the door swings open.

I gasp. Standing before me was the packs alpha, Bane. I never expected to see him standing in front of me. He has a mate, a beautiful one too. What is he going to do to me?

He stalks over to the pile of “toys,” and grabs a pair of handcuffs and a sharp knife. He looks at me, grinning. I whimper, scared. He’s an alpha, meaning he has power like no other. He could snap my brittle bones in seconds.