Tug of War

4 | communication

4.

communication

"Unify the packs? You've got to be shitting me."

        I gave out laugh and shook my head. "I shit you not, Anthony."

        Needless to say, Anthony wasn't reacting too well to the Elders' plan, due to his dislike of the Mystic Storm pack. Or more specifically, Grayson O'Brien. As the three of us sat upon my bed, Anthony and I faced each other, discussing the plan across my gigantic mattress. I pulled the comforter tighter around me as I drew my gaze to Naomi, sitting on the ledge of my bed. The Spanish soap opera blared from the television mounted on the wall as Naomi raised another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream to her tear-sodden face.

        "You lie, Ricardo! You bastard!"

        "Naomi, you don't even know what they're saying. The subtitles aren't even on."

        "I don't need subtitles to know that Ricardo is a lying bastard, Anthony!"

        She didn't even dignify his answer by turning around. Over the years, I'd learned that this - yelling at foreign soap operas while she eats herself into cardiac arrest - was Naomi's way of coping with things. Whenever she failed a test, or got into a fight with a friend, or just got under too much stress, this was her routine. As strange as I found it, I really wasn't one to criticize; my comfort mechanism was to snuggle under my blankets and wish for the world to go away. And Naomi really needed the comfort right now, so I just let her be. She'd cried all throughout the service, but as soon as we arrived back at the pack house last night, she lost all grip that she had on her bearings. So, in effort to calm her, Anthony and I set up camp in my room. The two slept in my room, just like old times, and Naomi eventually gained control, only to lost it all again early this morning.

        The funeral yesterday had been hardest on her out of all of us. We were at the front of the pack, seeing as our parents were the highest in command - the Beta and her mate had yet to have any children. Seeing as we'd lost about fifty fighters, it was a long ceremony that took nearly the entire day. Throughout the whole service, I'd stood there, an apathetic stone statue in a field of weeping angels. It felt like I seemed so cold-hearted, but I knew that the pack couldn't see me break down, as much as I wanted to right there. I wanted to scream and cry and throw things and curse the world and ask why. But I knew that I was past that. I'd been past that for nine years. So, I just stood there with an impassive face and a struggle to remain composed.

        As much as I hated to admit it, my walls almost came crumbling when it came time for my parents to be burned in the pyre. Between Naomi sobbing loudly beside me and watching the only two people I had left burn into nothingness, it proved rather difficult to remain stolid. But as I watched their flaming ashes float away from the fire, into the dark sky, melding into the stars into oblivion, Anthony grasped my hand with an empathetic clasp. With that grasp, he kept me tethered to reality, helping me maintain the facade. Anthony had that affect on me: keeping me stable, in a sense, when even Naomi couldn't help me. And I knew that I needed him and Nay by my side if I was ever going to survive this Alpha gig.

        "But seriously, co-Alphas? Do they not understand that Alphas are extremely possessive and don't take command well? I don't understand how they think this could work out. And Grayson O'Brien, of all people!" Was it mentioned that Anthony also had a very aggressive resentment towards Alpha O'Brien's son?

        "Yeah, how do you even know him in the first place?" I'd gone to a few meetings over the past couple of years with my father, ones where they work out alliances and contact information and such, and he'd yet to make an appearance. So, I'd found it rather strange that Anthony knew the guy.