Rejected ✓

Mecah's Story

W O R D S : 2531

D A T E : 8/18/2018

It's perpetual, the feeling of being watched. When my house was first ransacked, I felt it for a few days after, but I have a thick skin, I let it go. I went on with my normal life, I wasn't afraid. I suppose my view has changed, for obvious reasons. I knew the second they attacked me, it was no longer a petty game, it was serious.

Connell was the first person I went to. I don't know if it was really the only safe, or because of instinct. My wolf knew where to go, and my body took me there.

My hands were shaky- I suppose that's a side effect. Short, quick breaths left me. I opened the door, happy that Connell never locked it. Stupid, but helpful in this moment.

Once I got into his house I slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. I paused for a second, trying to catch my breath. It didn't work.

Connell was where I expected him- in his office. It was a good size office, once used for important pack work and meetings. I passed Jay, his dog, not even bothering to pounce on him like I usually do. I would feel bad for that later.

I rushed into his office, causing his head to shoot up. He was grading papers, most likely our English essays that I'm 90% sure I failed. Not even I could convince him to change my grade- no matter how hard I tried.

His eyes honed in on me, first looking at my face before immediately going to my cuts. I had a few on my arms, and some scratched on my legs. I couldn't feel how deep they were- they didn't hurt. I could barely hear over the pounding of my heart.

He stood, about to walk over but I was already running towards him. He let me basically jump on him, even though I was bleeding and sobbing. My face burned as I pushed it into his chest, wailing loudly. If I haven't gotten this across before, I look really ugly when I cry, and am generally over dramatic.

Connell only let me stay in his arms for a few seconds before he tried to detach me to look at my injuries. I let out a cry when he touched my shoulder, jerking away. He caught my hands, looking at the bruises that were already starting to form around my wrists.

Confused? Worried? Sympathetic?

Pissed.

Anger radiated off of him in waves, and he had a hard time concealing it.

Pulling me to his chair he sat me down, kneeling down in front of me when I stopped trying to get up. His rough hand brushed against my cheeks as he took my face in his hands. Soothingly, he rubbed his thumb back and forth, pondering what to say.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, his voice strong and demanding. I gasped weakly for breath, fishing for something to say. I didn't know what to, I didn't know who did it, and even though I knew why, I didn't know how to explain it.

Instead, I took the easy way out, and once again pushed my face into his chest. He didn't push me away, only carefully hugged me back.

He let me stay there for a few minutes before he picked me up, taking me to his bathroom. Picking me up, he gently placed me on his granite bathroom counter. He looked over my cuts, before pulling of my jacket to look at my shoulder.

My face burned as he looked at my shirt. It was a my little pony on that I'd had since I was twelve. Leaving me brushing, he went to get his first aid kit.

When he got back, he emptied the contents and grabbed a small cloth. He wet it, and rubbed away the blood from my bigger cuts. He then went over them again with a new rag, this time covered in alcohol.