Her Rogue

21. Alcohol

Werewolves need big amounts of alcohol to feel the equivalent of drunk as human do. I turned at 14, not because I was ready but because my people needed me.

In some way, I was still full on human, my wolf was a separated part of my self. 

After my big speech in front of all the Alpha's, instead of thriving, the only thing that I felt was a deep sense of guilt and felt like a fraud. I believed on what I said during the Werewolf convention that year, but I was still in shock.

It was all adrenaline talk, in front of those old lazy Alphas. 

I was in my anger stage of grief. 

I needed them to fall, not knowing that I myself was not ready either.

So when it finally dawned on me that my parents have died and it was now my turn to be responsible for my whole pack, I cracked.

How did I cope with the pressure? I didn't, simply put.

My family took some time to see the signs. I was always somehow sober when I was needed to make an appearance in public. 

For a long time, my grandma saw my drinking as my way of coping. She later told me that she taught I was not drinking that much. 

That I had in control.

I started heavily drinking, loving how the buzz in my head made me forget for a few hours. I became a hardcore alcoholic at the tender age of 15. 

My family tried everything, from hiding the bottles, to all right ban alcohol in the pack.

I thought I had control too, I said to myself I could stop drinking whenever I wanted, I just didn't want to stop. I could stop drinking anytime, when I needed to be sober for the public, I could do it. 

Of course, my mind never stopped thinking of drinking. All I wanted was those public gatherings to finish, just for me to drink.

It didn't really work, I had no control.

I always found myself a way to get drunk out of my mind. I was a heavy drinker and a big party-goer. 

My home became the nearby bars from the human villages. 

The human police were tasked by my grandmother to look for me almost every time I was out in the town.

And when alcohol no longer gave me the same buzz as it would in the beginning, because my fast metabolism would get accustomed by the amounts I would take. I had to find myself something a little stronger.

And what does one do after alcohol? Well, drugs.

I was a complete wreck every time they found me.

From drinking my full weight on a mix of everything, to tasting every drug the human party-people would have, to sleeping with multiple people as I could. 

But I needed it? I felt this immense need to just drown myself with whatever I could.

It was at that time where I found out I was bisexual, not that really mattered, but it was a sure a great explanation for a lot of things from my childhood.

Another thing that alcohol had delayed for me was my connection with my wolf. 

Normal wolves are apparently more connected with each other. You are suppose to agree and be a team with your wolf. To let it become a part of yourself. To have a balance.

I, on the other hand, was totally distanced. Not only that but the vast amount of alcohol that I consumed had hurt her, that is why she is always much more aggressive.

I later learned that a werewolf shouldn't be such on odds with their other half, and my wolf was such alienated by me, she even asked to have another name.
That is why she is called Sybilla. She was brought up to this world by a sense of urgency, not because I was ready.

She resented me for years because of that.

It had gotten so bad that one time, at my 17th birthday, she took over for almost an entire week. That week had been so hard for me that I completely dissociated from my own body. I tried to overdose on every malignant thing I had found.

That was our wake up call, not only for me and Sybilla but my whole entire family, my whole pack.

An intervention was in place.

Therapy, AA meetings, rehab... you name it, I did it all. My grandmother and aunt couldn't be there for me, so they hired Margot.

Margot was already in our lives before, she took care of both Morgan, Rosy and I. She was Alexa's step-mother. She was human and a mute, she's been in this pack my whole life.

They hired Margot to be my bodyguard. They knew my instincts was to protect the weak, if they gave me a normal bodyguard, I would try and fight. But as an Alpha, I felt the need to protect this old frail human.

But then, I really met her.

And she was nothing frail nor old. With a silver spoon, she made me sober up pretty fast. I learned a new kind of pain with her. I had a strict schedule with her.

I had to wake up at 4 am, eat what she gave me -which was never very pleasant-, run some laps and then help in the kitchen for both Breakfast and Dinner. When that was finished, I had to wash the dishes and help the maids in the laundry room. 

I was later to do some classes, depending on the day, it was or politics or fighting class. I was to serve everybody during dinner, a job that was for at least made by 7 people. 

Before bedtime, I was to attend the survived elders reunion and give a full sum-up of the meeting to show I was paying attention and later do some more laps.

Margot's reasoning was the more things I had to do, the less time I had time to think about any substances. During all the most passive things I had to do, I was supposed to memorize and recite anything she wanted.

I memorized from old indigenous Brazilian poems, to the new environmental-laws from a remote place in the world.

The day she told me of our "little project" I was not happy about it. I made a whole raucous, demanding her to leave me alone, threatening even her life. Which was a big mistake, a huge one.

So, what did she do? The next day I was wearing an electrical vest, so every time I dared not do the schedule right, I was zapped, making my wolf angry at me, which in turn made her make me do the stuff.

It was an entourage slavery. I was to do what I was told.

So I did, I followed the schedule, that became my routine. And slowly, I no longer was angry at my tasks and the whole world. I was numb at the idea of cleaning 700 plates, it no longer was a burden. It even was a welcomed routine. 

When that finally became my new reality, I was able to see my entourage and meet my pack.

I had finally able to understand what I was trying to build. I was finally able to make sense of my grief. I was able to be the real leader that I was meant to be.

I no longer was this half-zombie wolf trying to drown herself.

I was able to guide not only my whole pack, but my own brother, who was also in a worst depression than I was. 

I became a better person.

Today, I still sometimes struggle the urge to drink. I am always thirsty, but now I know how to not fall in that trap. I know now that this thirst is not real, is just my brain tricking me.

I've been sober for almost 9 years now, but it is still not enough, even more with Sybilla. She still doesn't trust me. Why should she? Since her birth I have been nothing but a struggling child.

It is in our nature to be connected to our wolf, to be one with it.

I broke my other half. And for a long time, I almost destroyed my whole pack's future.

Who's to say I am not going to destroy Malcolm's life too?