The Mark of an Alpha

Chapter 1

© Copyright 2014 Annamarie Marcello All rights reserved.

Pain blossomed in my ribs as a kick to my side sent me rigid against the broken house bricks, scraping against my pale, broken skin.

A punch to the jaw had my vision swimming.

I laid against the broken house contemplating how it had come to such. My life use to be great-a fantasy-I had all I could desire. My parent's treated me akin to gold, spoiling me at each chance. They glowed with adoration, not only in the direction of myself, but to one another, as well. The bond created among the two could not be broken; they radiated with passion.

My brother was the world to me. Forever my cushion to fall back on. Being two years older never failed to construct him with the intention of being a great deal more wiser, an old soul, as my mother would have said. He was goofy in the midst of his friends, a guardian angel in the direction of me, the ideal son towards my parents. We had lived on the water, spending our days at school, only to arrive home and commence up a bonfire at night. We would sit around the balmy fire, laughing and contributing jokes, listening to the crackles of the timber, whilst watching the twinkling of the stars.

I was happy.

That is until the day when they were ripped away from me. An atrocious car crash on the way to West Virginia had our car wrecked at the bottom of a mountain, all four of us within. God took my family that day, and left me behind.

I was never the same after that. I would stay awake at night, wishing-longing- for the chuckle of my brother, or the embrace of a mom. At night I would gaze upon the mysterious sky, watching the twinkling stars, yearning for our nights back. I had turned depressed, willowing away in self despair.

I lost my friends, my home, dropped out of school, and never looked back.

It got inferior as my uncle took me in, acting sympathetic at first, merely to revolve into a monster at night. The initial year with him was OK. I wasn't as lonesome, and it seemed to diminish the impact of losing them. When he arrived 'home' one night-drunk-he hollered for me, yelling such profound words towards me.

"You did this! You killed my brother, you deserve everything your going to get!" Following the declaration with a blow to the jaw, or a wrench from my hair. At first I would cry, supplicate for him to stop, apologize for nothing and everything.

I would lay awake at night; tears tainting my pale skin, and crave for my family once again-beg God to take me, too. My prayers were left unanswered, and I soon lost faith, not merely in God, but in everything. My hope; a flame killed from light, replaced by torment, agony.

Each night I would barley survive a beating, left lying on the floor to rot. The sun would rise and descend, helplessly brightening and dimming the shadows on my body.

Eventually I shut everything off; I would not weep for help, nor would I demonstrate signs of pain. I would take the abuse dazedly. Some nights he would harm me consequently, just to perceive the sound of the slightest whimper; a knife to the shoulder, the break of a bone, the split of a rib.

Though as the years passed, I would show no signs of anguish. I would exhibit no pain, for the reason that I, too, didn't tolerate myself. I would not miss my family, because they caused all of it to take place, everything about me just fell distant. It took place day in, day out, including today.

I had done nothing. However that never seemed to matter, an appalling day at work would become my doing, a discourteous person would subsist because of me, a broken microwave, why not add it to the lists of my faults?