Free Web NovelChapter 37: The Price Of Life
Lorali Pov
"Mommy... look, a zombie!" The little girl bursts into tears, pointing at me with trembling hands while her mother quickly covers her mouth and drags her away.
This isn’t the first time a child has cried at the sight of me. To them, and to everyone else, I look like some monster pulled from a nightmare, the Loch Ness creature walking among them. It hurt in the beginning, seeing people recoil, hearing their whispers, watching their fear. But now? Now I don’t care. If looking the way I do is the price I have to pay to stay alive, then so be it.
I sit on the bench near the pond in the city park, tossing bread crumbs from the crumpled brown paper bag in my lap into the water. Ducks gather quickly, their beaks snapping at the floating pieces, ripples spreading across the pond.
Around me, people jog past, dogs tug at leashes, children laugh and play. Their lives move forward, ordinary and unbroken. Mine does not.
In all honesty, I’d rather be at the rink. I’d rather be on the ice, or watching Sash skate, but that’s no longer possible. Walter, the All Supreme Ruler of my prison, has decided to discontinue my duty of bringing Augustus his lunch. He didn’t bother to explain why, and I suppose that’s for the best. If he had given me a reason, I wouldn’t have believed it anyway. That omega lies. I wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. He could point at the sky and tell me it’s blue, and I’d still believe he was lying.
I come to this park every Monday and Friday, the same days I do grocery shopping. Yes, grocery shopping twice a week, because Alphas eat like pigs. Food never lasts long with them. I cannot believe that once upon a time my only dream in life was to have an Alpha, or Alphas. That was stupid. I hate how naïve I was. Even Ella wasn’t as naïve as me. She knew life could collapse the moment you left Alma. She warned me, but I was too lost in my dreams to listen.
I wish I had done more. More research, more thinking, more of anything before I chose Pack Spade. Maybe then I wouldn’t have chosen them at all.
With a heavy sigh, I rise from the bench and toss the last of the bread crumbs into the pond. More ducks gather, feasting greedily on the bread Walter had deemed too stale and ordered me to throw away. I pull my hood over my head, shove my hands into the pockets of my oversized sweater pants, and start walking.
To this day, I thank the stranger who discarded a full bag of clothes into the dumpster months ago. I found them while digging through the bins, desperate. They’re all too long, too big, but they get the job done. Better than wearing the same two outfits over and over.
I speed‑walk through the park toward the bus stop, my mind already on the last task of the day before returning to my prison, the groceries.
I arrive just in time as the bus pulls up. Avoiding eye contact, avoiding bumping into anyone, I slip inside and take a seat at the very back, pressing myself against the window.
As the bus drives toward the supermarket, the city blurs past. Everywhere I look, I see Vanya—no, First Lady Vanya. Her face is on every magazine cover, every newspaper, every poster outside the shops. Over the past half year, she has carved her way into the hearts of the people. I’m sure she’s more beloved than the president himself.
You could start a full‑on fight in the street if you dared to say anything bad about her. That’s how deep it runs. And now, with her engagement to Pack Fang approaching, the public is ecstatic. You’d think it was their own blood daughter getting engaged.
I’m happy for her. Truly. And it brings me comfort to see her face everywhere I go. A familiar face in a world that feels so cold. She pulls me out of my own misery, out of my own suffocating thoughts, even if only for a moment.
~....~
Three Hours Later – Spade Penthouse
~....~
It takes me longer than expected to finish the shopping. It feels as though the entire city decided to descend on that store today, every aisle clogged, every checkout line stretching like a snake that never ends. The memory of those endless queues sends a shiver down my spine.
At least I don’t have to carry the groceries up myself, the reception staff handle that. Imagine waiting in those lines for hours and then dragging all those plastic bags up to the penthouse. That would be exhausting, enough to drive me even further into madness than I already am. I wonder why Walter or Yurena haven’t forced me to do it yet. They bask in my suffering, and watching me struggle with bags would be a delectable sight for them.
I push open the penthouse door, bracing myself for sour faces, for the usual glares that make me wish I’d never been born. But the living room and kitchen are empty. Silence greets me instead of venom. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
I step cautiously inside, passing the flight of stairs. Oracle isn’t here, I can tell because the pain in my shoulder hasn’t eased, but I’m not sure about the others. I move carefully through the house, checking every room, every corner, every shadow on both floors. Finally, I end up back in the living room.
"Yes!" The word bursts out of me, my voice dry and croaking from disuse. They’re gone. Finally gone. I’m alone.
This is perfect.
I snatch the TV remote from the couch and drop to the carpet. "Should I watch a series or a movie?" I debate with myself, but settle on a movie. More practical. A series takes too long, and I don’t know when the pack will return.
I choose a romance about an Alpha and an omega falling in love. I curse at the screen the entire time, telling the omega to run while she still can, screaming at her to escape before it’s too late. Yet I can’t stop watching. I laugh, I cry, I feel something.
While the movie plays, I cook dinner, humming under my breath, moving freely for the first time in months. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe.
The movie ends, and still the pack hasn’t returned. My heart races with the thrill of freedom. I decide to take a bath.
After tidying the living room, I walk down the hall to my bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turn on the tap, listening to the rush of water filling the tub, steam curling into the air. Slowly, I begin to undress.
When I strip bare, my eyes catch on the mirror.
My reflection stares back at me. I see a skeletal, hollow, body carved down to bone. My ribs jut out, my arms look like twigs, my skin stretched too thin. I pause, frozen, staring at the ghost of myself.
This is what survival has made of me.
I am covered in whip lashes from Yurena’s relentless beatings. I once thought she would only strike me that brutally once because of what I said to Walter, but I was naïve. I was wrong. She beats me every time Walter goes into heat, and I’ve come to dread those weeks. His heat means her violence, and for seven days straight she unleashes it without mercy.
My skin is raw, red, dry, and flaking. I know it’s because of the dissenting creams and shampoos I use every day. It’s common knowledge that those products aren’t healthy for omegas, that they should only be used once or twice a month at most. But I use them daily, and now my body is reacting violently.
My eyes drift to the bond mark on my shoulder. It’s grotesque. The wound looks like rotting flesh, pus dripping from the edges, the skin around it torn open and exposed. Purple, vine‑like lines spread outward from the mark, crawling across my body like poison veins. Each day they stretch further, consuming me inch by inch. If those crying children saw this, they wouldn’t just scream, they would faint. My face alone is bad enough, but my body... my body is a horror.
Nervously, I lift my hand to my hair. My fingers brush against a bald patch hidden beneath the strands. A hollow laugh escapes me. "Oh well, that’s new. Must be the dissenting shampoo. And stress."
Had this happened a year ago, I would have panicked. I would have cried, clawed at the mirror, begged for help. But now? Now I don’t care. I already look like a mess. What’s one more flaw? If I’m destined to be broken, I might as well be bald too.
