Chosen

3

Being mated was not at all like I expected it to be.

I had moved in with Travis two days after the party. We had emerged from the guest bedroom and sought out our parents to relay the good news -although my father wouldn't necessarily call it "good," seeing as he knew his baby girl was now a fully grown woman. Travis's parents had been kind but distant, and it was clear that they'd wanted better for their son. However, it wasn't up to them who he mated with; fate had chosen us to be Mates, and nothing they could say would change that. My mother was ecstatic and had already begun planning the mating ceremony. I'd like to say that I was right there with her, involved and absorbed in my upcoming mating, but I wasn't. Truth be told, I was more or less blasé about the whole ordeal.

And that all had to do with Travis.

He was a nice enough man. He didn't smoke or drink excessively. He was well-educated, and had recently come back from studying agriculture in South America. I had smiled at his interest in plants and farming, stating that I loved animals and reminding him that I was named after a flower.

He had responded by telling me that Lycans were highest in the food chain and that lilies were often associated with death.

I wouldn't say the man was charming, that was for sure.

Nevertheless, as he was my Mate, I did try to find a common ground between us. As it was, we had very little in common. I loved to cook, bake, paint, and read; Travis would rather spend his time outside looking at different plants and bugs. When he'd said he was interested in farming, I'd had a romantic idea of fields and barns, growing our own food, and caring for the animals. But Travis wasn't exactly a farmer. He did grow plants, but mostly he studied the dirt they grew in and the bugs that could harm the plants. Entomology had never been one of my main interests; in fact, I was mostly terrified of bugs. Consequently, living in Travis's house was a nightmare.

Travis's home was less of a farmhouse and more of a shack. He'd been gone for a long time, so I had expected dust and disarray, but Travis wasn't even phased. I'd arrived with my bags and boxes on Wednesday morning and had been forced to leave everything on the porch as there was no room inside. When I asked Travis if he wanted help tidying up, he simply looked at me, confused, and stated that he had already cleaned up before I'd arrived. Looking with disbelief at the clothes, books, dirt, and pots that littered the floor, I'd asked if he would mind showing me where to put my things. He'd shrugged and told me to "make myself at home."

I shuddered at the thought of the dirty shack being my home.

Travis had retired to his "study," which was really an enclosed porch at the back of the house filled with different plants in glass cages and dead bugs hung in frames on the walls. It was the only organized room in the house, but even then I couldn't really find any method in the madness. After assuring Travis that I wouldn't move anything in that particular room, I left him there and got to work on the rest of the house.

By the end of the day I had two baskets filled with laundry -he didn't own a washer or dryer, instead choosing to travel to the pack house to do laundry- and four bags filled with trash or dishes that's simply couldn't be saved. I assumed that Travis hadn't washed his plates before he'd left for South America, because the cup of coffee in the sink had turned to a mug full of sludge and mold when I'd found it. In all I had saved three plates, five knives and forks, two spoons, three cups, one mug, and four bowls. So long as we didn't have a lot of company, we would be fine.

Travis had emerged at dinner time, presumably smelling the meal I'd cooked. He'd told me not to disturb him in his office, not even by knocking, because of how engrossed he'd get in his work. I smiled from the stove and waited for him to say something about the room he was surveying - the entire house was an open floor plan, save for the office, bedroom and bathroom. He simply nodded, sat at the table, and asked for his steak to be well done.

Well, at least he'd acknowledged it a little.

That had been five days ago. Nothing had gotten worse, but it certainly hadn't gotten any better, either.

It seemed that no matter how hard we tried, Travis and I just couldn't mesh. We tried watching T.V., but we didn't like the same movies. Taking a walk started out okay, but then Travis had seen a jumping spider and ran off to catch it. It was funny for a while, but when he eventually caught it and tried to show me, I'd screamed and scrambled away. Apparently I'd scared the spider too, because it had jumped out of Travis's hand and run away. Travis was a little upset after that.

I had tried showing Travis how to cook, but he didn't much care for it, and he thought baking was for sissies. I'd laughed at that word before I realized he was serious. My comment about how only six year olds used the word 'sissy' didn't much impress him.

Travis didn't like to read or paint, either. In fact, he felt those were "lazy activities," or something without any purpose. I'd hidden most of my books after that and hadn't painted whenever he'd been in the house. Luckily, Travis liked to go for runs several times a day, so I could curl up and read whenever he was gone - he didn't like having a running partner, so he was okay with the fact that I didn't join him.

After a few days of living together, Travis and I had fallen into a routine. Travis woke up at five o'clock for his morning run and I'd get up a little while later to start breakfast. After he'd eaten, Travis would head into his study and stay there for most of the day. I'd clean up and make a quick lunch for him, leave it in the fridge, and go over to the pack house to help Mrs. Reed cook for the rest of the pack. I'd make something there for dinner, bring it back to the shack, and place Travis's plate in clear wrap before heating up my own. Travis liked to run at the usual dinner time as everyone else would be off of his usual tracks, and most of the time he discovered some kind of bug in his way home and would rush back to his study. Dinner time for Travis was usually ten o'clock, which was much too late for me, so I'd read a bit in bed while he ate. Most of the time I fell asleep before him.

Our routine was comfortable...and boring.

I hadn't expected burning passion, per say. Okay, I'd hoped for passion, but I knew that realistically it might not happen. Most Mates completed the mating process within the first week of meeting and wouldn't keep their hands off each other for at least a month afterwards. Travis and I didn't have that problem. In fact, we hadn't even kissed yet.

Okay, so we're not exactly burning hot for each other, but at least we get along. Well, sorta. We didn't fight, and we didn't complain about much to each other, but we didn't really click either. Without anything in common, we didn't have a lot to talk about other than the mundane small talk. It was tense spending time together, so we tried to find things to keep us separately busy throughout the day.

But...but Mates shouldn't want to spend time apart!

Perhaps Mated life wasn't exactly what everyone always said it would be.