Her Human

Three

The way I feel is hard to describe.

I'm not hurt, I'm not devastated or crushed. Leaving my pack felt like getting shot in the leg, cutting off said leg, and then growing it back. Good as new. I felt better than new, I felt reborn, renewed, rediscovered.

I didn't even notice I'd arrived at my spot near my mate's house until I noticed my vacant tent still sitting in its place.

I do my usual patrol around the cabin, something I occasionally have to do for my wolf, until I notice his truck isn't in the driveway. So I slowly finish my rounds, in no rush, and go back to my tent to wait. Hours pass by and I'm nearly asleep by the time headlights appear. He's back and despite everything that's happened, I smile.

I'm suddenly filled with a rush of determination. I couldn't tell if it was my wolf pushing these feelings into me, or if it's just me because I haven't seen him in a while.

I find myself unable to care, though.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to meet him. But first, I have to figure out how I'm going to plan this.

I pace around, still in wolf form, mulling over the possibilities of meeting him. I'm so deep in thought, I hadn't even noticed how careless I'd been. I was a few feet away from his back door, able to be clearly seen.

I growl to myself in frustration, then quickly cut myself off when I hear footsteps and a door swing open.

"Hello?" A deep and slightly timid voice calls out. "Anyone out there?" his trepidation causes his voice to slightly falter. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

Through the leaves of the bush I was hiding in, I could barely make out his form. My wolf was longing to be with him, I had to grip the nearest branch to restrain myself from running to him. I hold my breath, waiting for him to discover me. How could I have been so careless? I've watched him for so long and let my guard down. I cannot let myself slip like this again.

After reprimanding myself for a good two minutes, I no longer hear footsteps. I let a huge breath of relief out and step out of the bush to make sure the coast is clear. It is, and I make my way back to my tent.

A few days go by and I'm back from a long hunt in the woods. I needed to take my mind off of the recent events that transpired. While on my hunt, I went to the place where my pack used to be. I found nothing, my pack left no trace behind. They could be anywhere.

They really left me.

You left them actually, a nasty voice in my head adds. I realize though, the incredibly bizarre thing is, that I feel nothing. I barely talked to my pack members. I've never felt particularly close to any of them, save a few acquaintances. Even in my own family I felt like an outsider. I just never felt like I belonged and isn't that the whole point of being in a pack? Feeling like you've found your place, like you're wanted and needed and you're so close to the people around you that it's like one big family. I never felt that.

It's not like it's even their fault. I've been countlessly invited to go on runs, go to celebrations, festivals, etc. I just never wanted to, and maybe that's why I didn't feel close to them. Because deep down, I simply just didn't want to. Maybe I was just meant to be a lone wolf.

These thoughts plague my mind for days and eventually, I realize I don't miss them, I don't miss my own pack or even my own family. I felt like a shell of my former self, a skeleton. Just a rough outline of myself while the inside gradually becomes a wasteland. I couldn't tell if this was because I left my pack and haven't had contact with my mate, or if I felt this way all along and buried it so deeply the feelings didn't seem real or my own.

I'm brought back to reality by the distinct click-clock of heels on pavement. The blonde woman was back.

I glance up to the sky and notice it's teetering on dusk. I'm adjacent to the side of the cabin, behind one of the many shrubs in the surrounding areas. My vacant eyes follow her willowy figure as it walks up to the doorway and rings a familiar doorbell.

Through the glass window on the side (the guy really loves his windows) I can make out his pacing form. He's nervous. He absently rubs the back of his neck, a habit, then finally answers the tall wooden door.

She smiles brightly at him, dimples and all. I feel the familiar gnawing feeling of jealousy creep up and try to shut it down. I start pawing at the ground and clenching my jaw to keep from growling. After years of practice, I've gotten a lot better at controlling my inner wolf.

When you see the person you're meant for with different partners, you eventually become numb to it. Fortunately or unfortunately, I haven't gotten to that point yet. But it feels like I'm getting close.

They hug, a bit longer and more familiar than they did when I'd last seen them together, and he invites her inside.

They're closer to the side of the cabin I'm on, so I finally get a good look at her. Her blonde hair is bluntly cut to her chin and her eyes are a honey brown. I barely catch the glance she sends outside of the window, in my general direction. I tense. She makes a comment that I don't quite catch and I brush it off, there's no way she could know I was here. I continue studying her appearance. She looks straw and homely, with a sweet warm smile that could turn the arctic into a sauna. Overall, she's just plain beautiful.

My own self-doubt kicks in.

He likes this type of girl. The kind you look at and feel instantly drawn to, the kind that looks so sweet they couldn't crush a bug. The kind of girl that would never hunt, never kill a rabbit, skin it and eat it. She would never go days or weeks without finding a body of water to bathe in. Never sleep on the ground in the forest for months even though her tent is perfectly fine. Never roll around in the dirt and mud to get the blood of her kill off of her instead of finding an aforementioned body of water. Never watch the person she loves from afar, cowardly acting like she doesn't need him. Selfishly acting like she does.

She's not me, she'll never be me. She's better than me, she's his type.

I'm not.