The Feral Alpha’s Rejected Luna

Diana

My house, if it could even be called that, is situated at the furthest reaches of the Omega District, slightly removed from the small identical houses making up the homes of the Omega.

By the time I get to it, I am already out of breath and have to slow to a jog. Eyes trained to the ground, I ignore the perpetual looks of ridicule and schadenfreude thrown my way from the Omegas, and speed walk the rest of the way with my hand clutching the bloody tissue to my face.

I hastily shut the door behind me, cutting off those sharp eyes. Ignoring the trembling that runs precariously throughout the entire house at the slight movement, I sag against the worn wood of the door and slide to the floor.

With a painful sigh, I let the tissue fall soundlessly to the floor, the bleeding had finally stopped… I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. my head falls back against the door with my eyes fall shut.

A single tear escapes, silently, out my closed lid, coming from the deep recesses of my own heart. It flows down my cheek, before disappearing down the side of my jaw.

I stay like that, still and unmoving for a few minutes before the pain in my nose has me staggering back up to my feet again.

In the bathroom, I brace my arms on the cool ceramic of the sink before staring at my reflection in the broken mirror.

Looking back at me is the face of a nineteen-year-old girl with dried blood all over my face and neck, browned and already beginning to crust. My face is lax and expressionless, but my eyes are filled with so much despair and hopelessness…

This is me…I think. As the years pass by, I become more and more unrecognizable to myself.

My lips pull up in a sardonic smile before I focus my gaze on my nose. I stall for a minute, dreading what I am about to do yet knowing I have no choice but to do it anyways.

“It’s only going to take a second Diana”, I mutter to my reflection, and then deciding to be even crueler, “It’s not the first time anyways. Should’ve fucking gotten used to it by now”, I hiss ruthlessly.

My hand comes up and I grasp the bridge of my nose. Huffing loudly three times through my mouth to boost my courage, I yank the cartilage back to the centre, releasing a piercing cry at the sharp pain that explodes on my face. The pain radiates through my nerves and I could swear I felt it all the way to my fingertips. The motion instantly brought warm tears back to my eyes and I feel as though I had just broken the nose all over again.

I hunch over the sink, groaning in agony while biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. With my eyes tightly closed shut, I wait for the worst of the pain to subside.

It takes a good few minutes before I am able to function again and I slowly turn the valve, opening the tap. The pipes make loud banging noises in the walls before a second later, cold water gushes out of the faucet.

I carefully and gingerly wash my face, gently cleaning off all that dried blood until my face is clean.

My house is more like a shack than anything. It is old and literally falling at the seams. At ten years old when I had been banished from the Pack House to the Omega District, this place, which had been used as storage had been hastily cleaned out for me to use.

It was very small and literally consisted of only two rooms. The main room was turned into a bedroom while the connecting room, a really tiny one, was made into the bathroom.

The Omegas had taken pity on me and a few of the men handy with their hands had fashioned a single bed for me out of discarded wood, and then placed an old mattress on it. They had also roughly fixed up a condemned table, chair and chest of drawers for me, which were literally the only other things in the room.

Though the entire house is small and everything in it is roughshod and old, I still make sure to keep it all very clean and tidy.

Right when I'm finished dressing, a knock sounds on the door, making me jolt and then still.

Standing outside is a man with long, matted hair and a bushy beard, his facial features are almost completely covered up by all that hair. His clothes are dirty and his body oozes with the overpowering stench of booze mixed with the odour of a body unwashed for a good number days.

He glares at me with narrowed eyes, taking me in. I don’t move, patiently letting him take me in with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Good. Yer not dead yet”, he grunts finally, his voice deep and gruff.

I release my first genuine smile since waking up that day.

“I’m okay Billy”, I say softly.

He snorts at that, squinting at me, “I’m sure yer are”, he replies sarcastically, “that’s why yer come back dripping in blood. I was half expecting ta find ya dead as a doornail, body startin’ to rot”, he snaps.

His words are harsh but I don’t mind them. I know they are nothing but a front for the true affection he has for me. I have seen the worry in his eyes when he had looked me over and then that worry had turned to relief on seeing that I am well. His hard words are nothing but a cover for his soft heart.

“Tsk! How boring. Then I’m going back”, he snorts and turns around to leave.

“Thank you for checking up on me Billy”, I sweetly call after him.

He snorts again, “Who is worried about you?“, he gruffs under his breath as he storms away. But with this one visit of his, most of the heaviness in my heart is lifted.