"Did you miss me?"
He glares, an expression so fierce I shrink away.
"I missed you as much as I would miss a lung, I could hardly even breathe without you."
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Opal has been through a lot in her life, many things t...
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16 years later
Opal POV
It was just a memory. At least, that's what I try to tell myself when I jolt awake from the sweet torment that is remembering Keifer.
Sitting up in bed, I stretch my arms in front of me and stare out the window at the snow covered February ground. Every day in Montana blends together when winter rolls around. It snows 8 months out of the year here, I've had to get used to the endless mounds of white fluff that seem to pile up endlessly. I miss the sun, miss the warmth.
When I roll out of bed, I try to push away all the memories of my childhood that flood me. As a young pup, I always enjoyed playing in the snow with my friends. It was such innocent joy that I took for granted. Keifer and I love the snow. There were countless snowmen, carved out igloos, snowball wars, and snow angels. The fun never ended, until it did, 4 years ago when he was sent away to that stupid behavioral camp.
Spearhead is what it's called, a place to send your troubled teenaged shifter to get put back in line where they belong. Not a day goes by that I don't think about Keifer. My best friend, my childhood confidant, my mate.
Except, that's just it, one knows that we're mates. Not my friends, not my Alpha, not even my Dad, and that knowledge hangs heavy on my shoulders every day. But, I made a promise that I plan to uphold.
I push my freezing feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers, wiggling my toes in the warmth as I head downstairs for an early morning breakfast. Each stair creaks underneath me, a comforting sound.
Making a fresh pot of coffee, I run a hand over my hair and try to imagine what it looks like right now. It's never good in the morning, it resembles a rat's nest rather than a cute bob. As soon as my head hits the pillow, it's a mess of tangles. I try to comb my fingers through the waves, and fail. There's no way to make the mess less frizzy without some form of hair product.
I pour myself a large, brimming mug of black as night coffee, hoping the drink will rouse me from my half asleep state. Though it helps me to wake up, it never gives me energy. I haven't had true, real energy in a long, long time. My light is dwindling, I can feel it day by day as it shrinks away like the tide of the ocean receding from the sand.
"Good morning, sleep well?" I glance up at my Dad, the utter definition of a smart ass. He's never, ever serious, except with me, a little fact that I despise. Why does she have to be the life of the party until I come around? It makes no sense.
"Morning." I say, a half hearted smile expertly painted on my face. I pretend to be chipper in front of him, but it doesn't work all of the time. Sometimes he looks a little too close and sees past my facade. It's one of those days, I think.
He groans, grabbing a box of cereal from the shelf and throwing open the fridge to access a carton of milk.
"Don't give me that fake shit. I can tell you're in a bad mood." He says, and he's right. It never surprises me how good he is at calling me out. He can see right through me. "Now, all I need to know is if it's because you're not a morning person, or if it's something else?"
