Because I Swore To Myself
- Reads 908
- Votes 24
- Parts 9
Ongoing51m
Last published Tue, Mar 25, 2014
"They spoke of her as if she were the most disgusting specimen a scientist could have found. They muttered her name and whispered about her more than the charactors in Harry Potter book would whisper about Lord Voldamort. They say she is overweight and has a disgusting sized body and that her face was round and greasy with acne covering her big round face. They say that she has crooked and yellow teeth that can open any canned food. They say that her eyes were the darkest shade of swamp green that they made anyone and everyone hurl at the sights of them, Her clothes were thin and decrepit from being worn everyday, She wore dark skinny jeans and a big black zip up jacket that was about 2 sizes too big her shoes squeaked one the floor of the school or the house from being thin and overworn. They said she was poor and ugly, thus making her worthless and sadly...She belived it" How would I know these stories?? Well to be 100% honest...She was me, and I can honestly say that I believed them with all my heart. Believed I was useless and that all I was good for was a punching bag...So after the rejection of the one ment to love hold and worship the ground I walked on, after the rejection of my mate; I swore to myself and to my wolf that I would prove them wrong. But to do that I would have to take the first step: Leaving this hell on earth they called a pack.
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Her father thought he could cheat me. Borrow what wasn't his, disappear, and leave nothing but a trail of debt in his wake. Men like him never learn-there's always a cost, always someone left to bleed for their mistakes. He thought it would be him. Instead, it's her. His daughter. At first, she was nothing but a message. A way to make him suffer, even if he never came back to see it. I broke her down the way I break everything-piece by piece, scream by scream. I wanted her fear, her pain, the ruin in her eyes every time I came close. She hated me, and I fed on it. That's all I believed in: control, power, the reminder that I own what others abandon. But somewhere between her sobs and her defiance, she changed the rules. She fought me, and I should have killed her for it. Instead, I wanted more. She cried, and instead of silencing her, I listened. She looked at me, even in terror, and for the first time in my life I couldn't look away. I don't believe in love. I never have. Love is weakness, a lie people tell themselves before the knife comes out. But she... she's different. She's sharp where she should be soft. Brave when she should be broken. She makes me hunger in ways that no amount of blood or vengeance ever could. I meant to ruin her. To make her pay for the sins of her father. Now I want to claim her as mine. Not because of love-no, I don't use that word. I don't trust it. But because she drags something out of me I thought was dead. Something dangerous. She wasn't supposed to matter. But she does. And if I have to chain her, break her, and rebuild her until she finally sees me the way I see her, then so be it. She'll be my wife. My possession. My salvation. Even if I have to destroy her first.
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