Into the Wild Unknown with the Exiled Alpha

The sound of snow crunching beneath my feet echoes through the mountain path as I trudge along. Above, the haunting hoot of an owl mingles with the distant voices of people reveling in the valley below. Envy wells up within me as I think about them celebrating the very thing that has tormented me, causing three mental breakdowns and a constant knot of dread in my stomach.

I release a heavy sigh, forcing myself to slow my pace. I can't change what's already in motion, but I'll certainly delay it for as long as possible. Perhaps the alternative isn't as terrible as it seems. Remaining invisible and unnoticed might just be preferable to being tethered to a narcissistic individual.

As I reach a high point on the trail, I step off the path, and a moth emerges from a patch of tall, lifeless grass. It flutters briefly in front of my face, then ascends into the vast, star-studded night sky until it becomes too minuscule to discern. Likely, it's seeking refuge elsewhere. I can't help but envy its freedom; it can escape from its troubles, while I remain trapped.

Through a break in the trees, I gaze down at the clearing where the pack members are gathering. Their bonfire burns brightly and stands tall, disrupting the prevailing darkness and casting a warm, inviting glow upon the cold landscape. Even from this distance, I can observe the snow sparkling in the radiance of the firelight.

On any other winter night, this scene would be beautiful, but tonight, it appears grotesque to me.

...

Four days earlier...

"Which one, or perhaps this one?" I found myself pondering the curious lives of squirrels in our neighborhood. Did they live close enough to consider themselves neighbors, just a couple of trees apart? What happened if a squirrel built a nest in a tree already claimed by another? Did they enAdkins in territorial disputes or find a way to coexist peacefully?

"Mackenzie? What's your take?" I solicited her opinion.

"They probably get along," I speculated, chuckling. "Maybe they even visit each other's nests to borrow acorn dust, like squirrel cocaine."

Suddenly, a sharp smack to my leg startled me. "OW! What the hell?!" I protested, rubbing my stinging thigh and shooting Martha a withering glare. What had I done to incur Her Highness's displeasure now?

"You're not even paying attention! You're lying there staring at the ceiling like a washed-up cucumber," she accused, her tone indignant. Admittedly, I hadn't been giving her my full attention, but in my defense, she often carried on conversations with herself, needing only an occasional nod or grunt of acknowledgment.

I realized she was standing in front of me, holding two dresses in her hands—one silver and one black. After a quick game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I pointed to the black one to avoid further abuse.

My choice seemed to perk her up instantly. "Great, I thought so too," she concurred, carrying the dresses back across the room, hanging the silver one in the closet, and draping the black one over the back of an armchair.

"You know, I really wish you'd come to this party with me," she implored while settling at her vanity. She opened a small glass bottle and began applying skin-colored paint that perfectly matched her cocoa-toned skin. "Making some friends and talking to someone besides me would do you good for once."

"I'm starting to regret agreeing to this much," I grumbled in response. Martha was the only person I truly considered a friend, and although we'd known each other for as long as I could remember, we'd only become close about a year and a half ago.

"Oh, please. Your grumpy self loves me, and you know it," she teased, her words muffled as she puckered her lips to apply dark purple lipstick.

I didn't waste any time in rejecting her suggestion. "Not a chance."

"Come on, it'll be fun," she continued to coax me. "I've heard the Oarcan boys are quite the sight to behold—tall, sleek, water dripping from their silky hair, down their chiseled abs, and right to their—"