Pleasing the Heartless Alpha...

42. The Final Pages...

*Must Read! Dont you think of skipping this...I will allow June to hunt you. Just kidding I love you..*
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Nov 3rd,

Dear Diary,

Life can be just as cruel as breathing-taking. I know that too well from experience. I've seen my family torn limb by limb, their throat greatly slit and hanging from a single vein, their blood drained out onto the white porcelain floor of the only home I ever knew and grew up in.

I've witnessed my Mate isolate himself from me and his son. His son crying for the security of his father's arms, a sentiment I cannot provide. I've felt my breathe being stolen and my heart die alittle from both occasions.

Why must bad things happen only to me? When have I wished anyone any wrong? Why had my baby ever done to anyone? I lost my family, close friends, Mate and now, my baby.

A week. Only a week left. By the end of this week, my baby girl was meant to see the world with her own beauty eyes. To meet her older brother.

Laying in a cold hospital bed, writing this with a wobbling, unsteady hand, how could I be doing this?

I must be stronger than I take myself granted for.

Rocco was beyond mad, thrashing the entire room before the doctor could begin murmuring the words. Before raging out of the place with murderous looking eyes, out for blood, I see the hurt behind them. I knew he held me accountable for being unable to hold our baby, even if it were during an attack of the enemy Pack.

Damon watched as helplessly as he always ever did, sensing an undying tension and curling up with me on the bed. I thanked the Moon Goddess for Damon and his safety of getting out from the war zone, with only a minor gash on his cheek.

He never cried, whined, fidgeted, grimaced, or showed any emotion as the doctor tugged the stitches into place before my eyes. The orbs of my universe freezing, ever-so slowly. He sat undeniably still for a two year old being poked repeatedly with a needle.

I'm more concerned for him than anyone at the point. I fear he'd separate himself so much, he wouldn't be able to identify the man he was intended to become. I'd never want him to grow in his father's footsteps, and become someone who would deliberately choose to cause harm and hurt those who he loves.

While on one hand I desired death on the other I couldnt afford to loose him, to loose the sole purpose of my existence; when on the contrary, he can't afford to loose me either. Who were to look after my angel if I ceased to breathe?
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Jan 19th

Dear Diary,

Damon's third birthday today. As he grows, I can see more of his father's reflection, not in appearance alone. He thrives for detachment, even in such a young age of three. There are days he hardly leaves his room, so lost in his own world of play he can't remember the time of day unless I come to warn him for something like mealtime, or time to take a bath.