"The monsters hidden way beneath the mask we wear, are the ones that cause the most danger."

He looked at me, eyes filled with staggering concern and for a second, I felt a bond with him. There was something about his eyes that I couldn't quite discern. That little spark between us erupted, as I looked away from his intimidating gaze that was currently focused only on me. I shifted my seat, uncomfortable from his leering eyes. He wasn't just a physical monster; there was something else happening behind the raging storm in his eyes. As they flashed into a colour I'd been far too familiar with, I knew that it wasn't just him. There was something else.

There was something that I recognised fairly easily in those eyes of his; and that scared me the most. When they did appear, I could see the flashes of faded memory replaying over and over again right in front of me. It was like a movie that I couldn't stop watching. No matter how much I tried to pull away, I would always be pulled back again. It was like being tied down with ropes, struggling, until I realised that I couldn't break free.

A woman walked in, those blood red lips of hers curling into a smirk as she looked at me with distaste, taking in my ailing form. The woman, looking displeased, made a huffing sound and returned her attention back on me, her glare inevitably fixed on me. Her eyebrow raised, the cocky smirk playing on her lips. They curled into a snarl as the Alpha left the room, slamming the door in the process.

Nevertheless, the woman cleared her throat, pulled out a notebook, and looked at me sceptically. She sneered evilly at me when she saw the scars that completely covered my arms and legs. With a blank look on her face, she asked a couple of personal questions, writing whatever I said in a small notebook. The smug smile on her face grew wider when she saw how uncomfortable I was.

When she was finally done with the questions, she said,"Look at you, with your scars, bruises and injuries. You will never recover from what has been done to you. You're so pathetic you couldn't even protect or defend yourself in the process. A part of me wonders how you've survived for so long in this world. Just keep in mind, that in a matter of weeks, perhaps, you will no longer be able to hold on."

How lovely. I stared at her with a void look in my eye, unable to come up with anything else to say. Her perfectly drawn eyebrow rose as she stood up, sashaying towards the door as if she always walked like that. The Alpha strode in the room looking gorgeous as ever, but the cold mask still on his seemingly flawless face. His eyes drained of emotion, but the stars flashing behind the midnight sky. Disgust evident on his face as my heart beats more quickly, waiting to hear what he says.

He began,"Just because I saved you doesn't mean that I take back my rejection. To the rest of the pack, you're just a transfer from another pack that decided to move. No one, should know that we are mates. I will decide on what will happen next, alright? I don't care about you, and I never will. The Luna of this pack should be someone who is strong, brave and confident, not some...weak, poignant Omega like you. I don't even know what to do with you."

"How about...we make a deal?"

"Go on..." he said curiously, tilting his head to the side in an adorable way.

I must admit, the words hurt. With every insult that he snapped at me, the ache in my heart only grew heavier and heavier, weighing me down. A gut wrenching pain grappling with my heart, twisting my heartstrings. Again, he left the room, leaving me all alone to think. Even the doctors would come in and give me looks of repugnance, as if they were disgusted by my presence.

I was always a good child; maybe a bit withdrawn and introspective, but I never did cause danger to my pack, or anyone else around me. I never picked fights with anyone in school, nor any visitors from other packs. Or so I thought, since they all hated me for a reason I still had yet to find out. Those voices in my head never failed to bring me down, echoing the words that I hated, yet I knew it was the truth. Though it hurt to hear them, I knew it was the truth.

Laying on the bed, I looked up at the bland ceiling, it's p colour making me feel disgusted, from all the memories that flooded through my mind. The scent of disinfectant stung my nose, the cold chill of the atmosphere causing goosebumps to raise on my arms. I laid in the bed, listening to the voices in my head; the only thing that kept me entertained.

Those packs; they looked down on those that can't fight physically, and abuse us emotionally so that we can't fight back. They scar us to the point of no return. They hurt is to the point that we break. They push us so far to our breaking point, that we give up on living. They break our hearts, our souls, and our spirits until we are nothing but a mere carbon copy of what used to be a living soul.

It doesn't take long for me to realise, that all the people that harm others, have a story of their own. All of us have our own demons, our own monsters that live inside our heads, that take different forms. All of us have our own beasts. Sometimes, they take over us, sometimes, they don't. But when they do, we turn into monsters.

Monsters aren't always the scary beasts lurking around in the dark of fantasy, sometimes they thrive in us, too. They thrive in the world of reality, too, but in different forms.

We are all misunderstood sometimes, and there is always the good and the bad in this screwed up world, but for me, I think that the only thing in my life is the bad. There has been no good for me since my parents passed away, and I've struggled to move on. I've struggled far too much, and they acted as if I was just a burden on their shoulders. As if I were just another mouth to feed, as if I was just another person that was housed under their roof.

There is no good but bad, only evil, in my life. I always wondered what it would be like being a normal kid, being a normal person. Well, ironic isn't it? I'm a werewolf. Every aspect of my life is believed to be a fantasy, only something you would wish for in your dreams. Even then, I couldn't have a normal upbringing, I couldn't even have your typical parents, friends or a childhood.

At most times, I just wished I was human.

**********

I hadn't been able to fall asleep for the whole night. Thoughts seem to race through my mind the whole time, reminding me of the memories that now, seems so surreal, like it never happened at all. Scars blemished my skin, though they were all there for a reason. My mind was spiralling with bewildering thoughts, almost as if I was reliving the times I had in my pack.

Year 3. I was 9, and I couldn't sleep at all, thinking about all the bullies at school. Flashbacks started to race through my mind. The students always thought it was hilarious; the way I couldn't defend myself, and so they continued tormenting me with words they didn't know hurt.
'You freak! So pathetic and weak! Can't even stand up for yourself, you worthless piece of crap!'

I was always the runt of the pack, the one that stayed hidden beneath the mask, the one who had no friends. Even then, the kids at school disliked me, because I didn't have the things they had. I had no family, I had no fame, I had no money, not like them. They were given what they wanted.

The first time I was bullied.

It wasn't so bad, and I managed to escape out of it unscathed, but the words still hurt. Only a handful of kids would take their time to spite me with their hurtful words. I never did have the courage to stand up for myself; I didn't dare to. Every time I tried to defend myself, more kids joined in.

If something embarrassing happened to me in class, the whole school would be speaking about it, and I could always remember the laughter, the revolted looks on people's faces as I walked down the hallway. I could always remember the scenarios they cooked up, making up rumours that weren't true. I was always the one that they preyed on.

The first time when the physical bullying started was in Year 6, when I had just turned 12. Every one in the pack had already developed a certain hatred specifically aimed at me. I was treated like a slave, and was forced to help out in the household, while the other children hung out with their friends, enjoying their life.

For me? I was stuck in the pack house, being reprimanded for not doing something right. That was when they first hit me. Soon enough, it started at school too. Not only was there verbal and emotional abuse, they involved it with physical as well. It started with the occasional push to the lockers, and people tripping me. Then, it took a turn to its worst.

They would get seniors, to actually beat me up, so that I was laying on the floor, my heart racing maniacally, fresh wounds throbbing, and blood dripping from my lip. That was when I had my first anxiety attack. As the big, burly seniors stomped terrifyingly towards me, I cowered in fear, because I was helpless to them. No one could help me. I was in an isolated part of the school, where seldom crowds of people would wander.

They pushed me, shoved me, and kicked me, and all I could do was curl up in a ball, trying to shield myself from all their blows. My body was shaking, so hard, and the sound of thunder interrupted my thoughts. I curled into a ball, once again, the tears leaking out uncontrollably. I couldn't think at all, the sound of pouring rain not helping at all. My brain seemed to almost shut down, and the world started spinning. I screamed so loud; screamed until my voice was hoarse and my throat sore, but no one heard my pleas for help.

I tried to grab onto something, to escape the hallucination, but no, it felt like I was drowning. Air couldn't get into my lungs, and I struggled to breath, but it felt like something was dragging me underwater, and I couldn't escape for air. Black dots clouded my vision, and I laid there, my heart racing as fast as a horse, shaking, and then, I got pulled into the dark abyss of darkness that I called my friend.

I wished that I had amnesia, just so, I could let go of these memories that I so desperately clutched on to, every minute of the day, although I know that they will slowly kill me.

The voices in my head wouldn't stop talking, the kids calling me stupid, fat, ugly, and other words that continued to hammer a crack into my glass heart. Maybe they didn't realise how fast they could break my spirits. They wouldn't stop talking, and never will. One day, when I just can't take it anymore, when my conscience has faded so deep into nothingness, the thoughts, the voices, will consume me.

What can I do to stop it? Nothing. I could never do anything to stop this...this voice that kept repeating what has been said. I'm a walking catastrophe. No wonder people bullied me, I destroyed everyone that crossed my path. They stayed away from me, because that's the only thing they could do.

Even my parents, the ones who were supposed to love me, to cherish me until the last days of my life, couldn't stand to be near me. Because every waking moment; from the rise of dawn to the descent of twilight, I destroy. I demolish. I cannot build. I can only destroy. Maybe that's what I turned my little world into, the flash of reality I believed in. As soon as I invaded it, the world whirled into one of shadowy darkness, like a flower in spring, withering into smithereens. I destroyed it.

I couldn't do anything that would benefit people. All I am, is a burden, a burden that no one could carry. So that's why no one wants me. Who could ever love someone as messed up as me? Who would ever take the time to look after me?

No one. Not even my parents could stand living with my existence, nor my mate. I couldn't bring them any joy, just sadness, just disappointment. Without noticing, I stepped out of the bed, not even noticing how cold the floor was, and entered the bathroom.

I looked into the mirror, and I saw a girl. She didn't look ordinary at all. No, she looked deathly, like she was about to die. A girl with dirty, brown hair, that was simply disheveled, her dull amber eyes staring blankly. The spark behind her eyes long gone, dismantled by the demons and the voices. The rest of her features held the same gloomy, queer look to them.

The bags under her eyes signified that she wasn't getting enough sleep. Glancing at the side, I saw a full length body mirror. Turning around, the girl in the reflection did just so, as her reflection haunted her, from the deepest, darkest part of her thoughts. She hated how she looked. She just did. There was too much in the cruel world for her to ever handle on her own.

The self hatred was too much, and the next thing you know, she opens up the cabinet, to find the thing that she yearned to hold in her hand. That she yearned to use as a relief from the harsh reality of her life. A bullet through the head would definitely kill her, but no one would ever leave her in authority of any weapon. Her eyes flickered back to the object that seemed to call out her name. Numbness spread from her head, to her toes, and it was the only emotion she felt.

A shining, glimmering razor sat there, unused.

The girl reached up and grabbed it, holding its weight in her hands, weighing it. She watched, amazed, as she saw her own reflection in it. How could something so beautiful still be so grotesque at the same time?

I pondered over my thoughts, and the girl in the mirror doing the same...and that girl is me.

**********
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