At nineteen most werewolves are integrating into adulthood within their packs society.
Some are finding their mates, falling hopelessly in love. Those who find their mates are blessed.
They've found the other half of their soul, a shoulder to help...
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I've been told about rejection multiple times, as have many young werewolves. Words can never describe the pain if you've ever burned yourself or cut yourself.
The pain is like that, except it doesn't end, it keeps going, like the throb of a sprain, except worse.
Waking up in the middle of the dark forest, that aching pain was there. My skin was on fire, my head was pounding and all my muscles felt as heavy as lead.
Still, I dragged myself out of the woods, carried my pain filled broken body back into my house.
My parents weren't home, they were with my sister at the mandatory pack meeting. We had one every Friday.
I knew I couldn't stay, not in Brickston, not in Mississippi. So I did what I thought was best, I went up to my room and packed a quick bag.
It was just the essentials, I knew I had nowhere to go, but I thought if I could just get far enough away from Stone, from my pack, then maybe the pain would stop.
Maybe my skin would stop burning, maybe my heart could heal. Some clothes, my toothbrush, and some other hygiene products and that was it.
I thought about just leaving, but I couldn't do that to my family. So I wrote them a letter.
(Mom, Dad, and Lucy. I'm writing this letter to let you know I'm leaving, I've got to go, never think it was you guys because I promise it isn't. I can't say when I'll be back, but I promise I will be someday. Remember always that I love you guys.) I finished the letter and laid it on my bed.
I looked around at my room, smiling sadly at my posters. I inhaled taking in the Coco scent of my belongings, looked at my four-poster bed one last time, then I walked out.
I left my room, and quickly left the house, afraid I'd stay if I didn't leave quickly. Once outside I walked off, heading into the treeline.
I stripped off my clothes, placing them in my bag. Then I shifted into my wolf, placing the bag in my mouth.
I barely felt the pain of my shift, the glass cutting pain of my rejection hurting me more. At the sight of my reddish fur paws, I took off running.
I ran and ran, running through my pain for hours, running at top speed. It took me a while to get to the main road.
From there I shifted back, taking my clothes out of my bag, I dressed and threw my bag over my shoulder. I started walking, feeling my skin crawl, feeling like I was dying.
