He is mine

Mommy! Auntie is doing the nasty!

OKAAAAAY! NO MORE ANGST AFTER THIS! All the depressing stuff is rubbing off on me. Only happy stuff from now on! 

OH and not edited. You know the drill. (lol, i mistyped 'drill' to 'frill' and i laughed about it for ten minutes straight. I'm perfectly sane.)

Chapter twenty-three

I didn’t remember the last time I went out with someone properly. I was used to partying like a wild fun deprived child then pass out or ended in someone else’s bed or in my bed with Richard in it. We’d cuddle and talk but that’s it since we can’t be seen acting so intimately in public. We weren’t a couple. There was no label on our relationship, might as well call us fuck buddies.

At first I was fine, I mean everything felt good but then I just couldn’t stand seeing him live a double life. I can’t stand being his dirty little secret anymore but as much as it hurts to see him laugh with his son and wife, I didn’t want to hurt Richard.

I truly love him, love not ‘loved’, cause my feelings will never change.

I’m like Humpty Dumpty, I will fall and I will break and you can never put me back together again.

Then that stupid heat washed me away and ruined me. Realizing that I could have his kid, his pup forever changed my thinking. If I stayed, I was dooming that little life I was possibly carrying to a cruel fate. Werewolves detested mate-less females to have a fatherless pup. Its like their way of saying, ‘you can’t be a worthy part of the pack, if you’re a whore”.

He or she would be treated lesser than dirt. I didn’t care if the father is the alpha, he’s a coward and my pup is going to suffer nonetheless. He won’t stand up for me, us. He’ll just ignore me.

What mother would accept such a fate for her pup?

So, that pretty much sums my horrible men experience up. I don’t date.

Well, it turned out my first heat was a failure. I wasn’t pregnant and I was saddened by it. I really wanted to raise a little Richard, to love it and to cherish it. The only thing that could’ve been mine, well, no use fretting over spilled milk.

Now, I was biting my lower lip, pacing in front of the bed until the rug wears out or catch on fire. I had no clue what to wear. Do I wear casual like sweats, no, too casual—or formal like a cocktail dress? No, I don’t want him to think I’m thinking too much of this when I actually am.

Gosh! Why did I accept in the first place. He hurt me, beyond words when he played around with my feelings and I’m going to give him another chance? What stupid person does that?

Me, obviously.

I wish I could just switch off these feelings I have for him. He’s a no good, cowardly, cheating, son of a bitch!

But I love him.

Alice, stop being a bipolar bitch.