Fighting With Him

Chapter 1

I'm more nervous about uplaoding this then i was about FFH, let's be honest sequels can really suck, so this is scary. But anyway i'm looking for a cover for this! If anyone who reads this is a cover maker please please please inbox me :):)  I thought it might be nice if maybe a fan of the story made one??

 Update: This chapter is now dedicated to the amazing person who made my cover :):)

I can hardly move in my room for boxes and suitcases, filled to the brim and ready to go, and yet I haven’t packed a thing. As I look around what used to be my room I count them all up. Three large boxes and four suitcases; that is what my life comes down too, although whether that’s significant I wouldn’t know. The only spot of normality left in my room is my bed that still has my flowery sheets, green blanket and cuddly Rottweiler teddy. I have one more night in that bed, and then it will officially be September 6th; moving day. One more night and then a Range Rover will come to whisk me away to my new home.

Padding into my bathroom I look longingly at my bathtub before squirting toothpaste onto my brush, now that I will miss; my bath has always been one of my favourite things and my favourite guilty pleasure.

As I brush my teeth I think about what still needs to be done before tomorrow…I come up blank. This move has been organised with military precision and I haven’t had to lift a finger, which is good since I can only really move five out of ten. Frustrated I flex the muscles in my left arm and instantly feel the sharp pain burn through the limb. Call me a masochist but I find myself doing this, causing this pain, pretty often. It’s a reminder of everything that has happened and of what I still have to face.

Five weeks have passed by in a blur since I won the competition that will, in the not so distant future, cement my new role of Alpha Female of my pack. This has been the cause of frequent sleepless nights and numerous late night phone calls designed to reassure me that everything will be okay.

It is no secret to anybody that Liam is extremely happy with the way that things ended, for the most part, he wanted me and that is what he got; I literally won the guy I am going to spend the rest of my life with. Cocking my head to one side I sigh at my reflection ‘That sounds crazy.’ I state to myself.

Leaning closer to the mirror I stare at my reflection, my eyes automatically flicker downwards to my left arm that is in a sling, a bar holding it together and forcing it to heal; it’s an injury from way before the final round that only got worse.

Then I look at the rest of me, the late nights are starting to show and whilst the whites of my eyes have a pink tinge my usually shiny brown irides are pretty dull, my chocolate brown hair is also missing it’s shine and my loose curls have lost their usual bounce, but, according to my therapist, these are just symptoms of my stress; stress and heartbreak.

Yep, I have a therapist. However, I had refused to see the packs usual therapist, not because I don’t like him, I’ve never been introduced to him, but because I didn’t want anyone, Liam, to know that I need a therapist. So I’m seeing a human one in secret, for the past five weeks I have seen him once a week and our first appointment lasted a whole morning. My parents aren’t happy about it but they prefer this too me getting no help at all. Obviously he doesn’t know everything but I’ve kept the story pretty similar, I am walking a thin line between a necessary lie and the truth. As far as he knows my best friend was murdered and I, in turn, killed her killer in self-defence; which is actually really close to the truth.

Anyway, stress and heartbreak. Each symptom is easy to account for, the stress is due to my new future and the expectations that have befallen me and the heartbreak is because of Nickie. Four weeks ago I buried the body of one of my best friends. Nickie and I had fought together in the final round and together had brought down our biggest threat, only for Nickie to lose her life in the process; at the age of eighteen it wasn’t meant to end that way.