Finding My Pack

Finding My Pack

by

Lane Whitt

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or copied without the permission of the Author. Amazon.com offers a lending service for you to share with your friends, use that.

Copyright © 2015 Lane Whitt
. All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

Version 2015.11.20

One

Kitten

I
t feels like my heart’s gonna beat out of my chest. I try to focus on that feeling instead of the multiple injuries I can feel screaming from my body. I push myself to keep moving forward. Another step, then another... Away. Away from the pain. Away from the fear and panic. Away from the body of the man who hurt me. The one I left lying on the concrete floor that I called home. He wasn't moving when I left. I wonder if he... I stop myself from thinking of that. It won’t do any good. What’s done is done.

   Keep breathing. Keep moving. I see lights up ahead, a few blocks down. That's good, I should be safe there. People are sure to be there. Normal people. People who live in nice houses, sleep in warm beds, go to school and have families. People who don't know what it's like to feel pain like this, who've probably never truly been hurt in their lives. People who don't wonder when the next time they'll eat is, or what you'll have to do to get it. People who are safe. Who don't even know what they are safe from. I don’t hate them, I just wish I could be one of them.

  I feel the scrape of the building next to me on my arm as I make my way down the alley. It hurts, but I need it for support. I feel like lying down and curling into a ball, but that's a dangerous thought. I know the kind of people that lurk here, and nothing good would come from giving in. My legs are moving much slower than I would like, if I fall I don't think I could get my body moving again. Just a little further.

   I keep making my way toward the blurry lights. I don't know what I'm going to do once I get there, I just know I have to make it to the lights. My breathing increases. I'm panting now, my chest feeling like it is on fire. My blurred vision is getting worse, my legs feel like lead weights. The helplessness is overwhelming. I can't stop here, I just can't! The thought of moving from the darkness and into the light keeps me moving. If I'm going to die, I want to die in the light, not the shadows I was born in and spent my entire life in.

    I reach the end of the brick building, feeling desperate now that I won't have it for support. Pushing off from the wall I will my shaky legs to move. It's rough going, but I finally make it from the crumbling asphalt of the alley to the smooth pavement of a well-maintained street. The lights I have been moving to are from a tall cement structure surrounded by grass. A small smile forms on my lips as my legs finally give out and I fall to my knees in front of it. I look up, wanting to thank my beacon. In front of me is an Angel pouring water from a jug into the fountain it rests on. I give a snort of disbelief. An Angel? Really? The LED lights make the water sparkle as I sag against the side, resting my head against the cool surface.

   The adrenaline coursing through my veins makes me shake. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Images of tonight flash through my mind. I close my eyes tightly, hoping they will stop. His face greets me in the darkness. A lone tear falls from my lashes as I stare up at the Angel. Why does it have to be like this? Is life truly only about survival? Is this all there is?

   I hear movement behind me. I wonder if it's the man from the warehouse, coming to finish me off. Did he follow me? I knew walking in a straight line was a bad move, not that I had much choice. I wish I could have moved farther away. I don't bother looking up. If it's going to happen then it's going to happen. I'll die here, at the feet of my concrete angel. The angel that guided me to my death. The last image in my head will not be his dead eyes and evil smirk, it will be the shimmering water that looks almost magical. I can't run anymore, my body is too weak to allow it.

   A pair of scuffed black boots come into my line of sight. "Are you okay?" A gruff voice asks. I give an un-ladylike snort. What kind of question is that?

  "Okay, stupid question. I mean do you need to go to the hospital? We can call an ambulance...or the cops..."

  At the word hospital, my head snaps up...way up. "NO!" I shout. Making the giant take a step back from me. He puts his hands out in front of him, looking to a guy next to him with a "your turn" expression.

  "It's okay. We won't do anything you don't want us to. We promise." Says a soft voice, definitely not coming from the giant.

  I swing my eyes to the new voice. A guy, maybe my age, maybe a bit older kneels in front of me. I start to scoot away from him but a pain shoots up my side, making me grunt and stop. I almost forgot about my ribs. The sound makes the guy's eyes widen, but he makes no move forward. Good.

  "What's your name?" he asks, using that soft voice again. He has a nice voice, as smooth and gentle as still water.

  "I'm Kitten." I answer through my teeth, with the adrenaline seeping away, the pain is killing me now. Black is creeping in around the edges of my already compromised vision.

  "Interesting name Kitten. You're hurt, you need a doctor. Let me call an ambulance..."

  "No...Please, no hospital. I can't go to the hospital. You don't understand." I plead, meeting his eyes. I hope he can see how much I really don't want to go. If I end up at the hospital they'll call social services. I've worked too hard to stay out of the system for sixteen years. Two more years and I'll be free. Free from the threat of group homes and case workers. Free from hiding in the shadows. I'd rather die right here than lose my freedom.

  “Okay. I get it.” The guy says. The way he says it, makes me want to believe him. He can’t possibly understand, though.

  He has the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen, I notice as I’m mentally pleading with him. They look like warm chocolate. Is it possible for someone to have delicious eyes? A sand colored lock of hair falls over one of them. He doesn't even blink. His eyes search mine, searching for the truth in my words. My eyelids droop, breaking my contact. I feel the ground rushing up to meet me as my world goes black.

Two

I
wake feeling like my head is full of cotton. I blink my eyes a few times, adjusting my blurry eyes. The sun is streaming through a closed window. Bright red curtains are pulled to each side, welcoming the bright sunshine in. I rack my brain trying to figure out where I am and how I got here. I know I've never seen those curtains before. My foggy brain is throwing random thoughts at me, making no sense what-so-ever. Closing my eyes, I focus on putting them in order.

  I remember being home, in my corner of an abandoned warehouse. It's where I've been staying for the last six months. I remember being tired and reading a book to try and stay awake. I had known going back there was a bad idea. Sleeping when it's dark is always dangerous, and I knew once I was on my make-shift bed I would want to fall asleep. I was staring at the page, feeling myself nodding off. I must have fallen asleep.

   Waking to hand around my throat. I start to shake, reliving my attack. Even with the warm sun and a blanket around me, I feel cold. The hand on my throat. The dead looking eyes that were right in front of me when my eyes snapped open. The twisted, sick smile on my attacker's face. How he whispered disgusting things in my ear. Telling me what he was going to do to me. I remember prying at his hand. The panic when his hand didn’t budge, raking my fingernails down his face to get him to release me. The anger on his face as blood gushed from the wounds. The joy I felt when he let go and I was able to push him off and run. Despair as he caught up to me. The pain as he grabbed my hair, pushing me down to the ground, his heavy body falling on top of me...

  I'm brought out of my thoughts when something blocks the light from the window. Startled, I nearly jump out of my skin letting out a pathetic yelp. Scrambling up the bed, I push my back to the headboard, focusing on the new threat.

              Kind, green eyes peer down at me, a worried frown set on a gorgeous pair of pouty, pink lips. The guy is tall, very tall with a slim, athletic build. With the sun shining on him from behind like that, his midnight colored hair has a halo effect.

  "Shhh...It’s okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I just came to check on you". I don't recognize the man any more than I did the red curtains.

  I shove my hair from my face, the action causing a sharp pain in my side. It's then that I remember the rest of last night. The rest of the attack, running away, the fountain, the giant and pretty chocolate eyes.

  "Who are you?" I croak, glancing around the room. It doesn't look like a hospital or smell like one for that matter. The carpet is black, the walls white with a red pattern, and everything else in the room is red, a cheery bright red. The lamp shade, the chair, even the entire bed I’m sitting on.

  "I'm Kellan. I've been in charge of your care since you were brought here. You're in Tristan's room here in our home." He answers, giving me a small smile.

  "In your house, okay. And who is Tristan?” I frown at him. I don’t remember coming here or anyone named Tristan. Maybe I didn’t escape after all and this angel is here to welcome me to heaven?

  As if he can read my mind Kellan smirks and shakes his head. "Brown eyes, dirty blond hair, about six feet tall? You met him by a fountain."

  "You mean the Giant and Chocolate Eyes?" I ask, and then cringe inwardly. I probably should have left that last part out. I didn't mean it the way it sounded, but that's the names I came up with when I picture the two guys from last night.

  To my relief Kellan just chuckles. "Yeah, them. The Giant is Ash and um...chocolate eyes...is Tristan. Tristan said you didn't want to be taken to the hospital so he brought you here. I've been looking after you for the past few days." He finishes and shrugs. I blink at him.

  "Days? I've been here for days?" What the heck.

  Kellan nods his head. "Yeah for a couple of days now. Do you want to call someone? I'm sure people are pretty worried about you by now. If you didn't wake up today I was going to have to take you to a hospital, no matter what Tristan said." He frowns at that last part, shaking his head a little.

  So I guess Chocolate Eyes...or well, Tristan, really did get the message and was looking out for me.

  "Would you?" Kellan asks again, holding a cell phone out to me. I look down at my lap and shake my head.

  "Surely your parents...”

  "No". I whisper, cutting him off.

   I suck in a breath, attempting to steel myself for what I need to say. I seek out his concerned, green eyes with mine. "Look, I'll be honest with you Kellan because you took care of me when I couldn't. Thanks for that, by the way. I'll find a way to pay you back. I have no one. No one looking for me, no one to call, nobody out there who's worried about me." I say with the blankest face I can manage. Kellan stares back at me, his eyes narrowing and his mouth forming a hard line.

  "Please don't call the cops, or social services or whatever. Give me just a few minutes and I'll be out of your way." I say, pushing the soft red blanket from my legs to stand.

Kellan puts a hand on my shoulder, making me pause. "Okay, I get it," he nods once, standing up from his crouched position by the bed, "You no longer have a fever. None of your injuries required stitches, so you should be fine to shower. Just take your time standing up. The bathroom is over there," he points to an open door. "I'll have someone bring you something to wear, towels are already in there."

  I blink at him, not understanding. He stands there, towering over me. His black hair is as dark as night, sleek and shiny. He has a tan like he spends a lot of time outdoors. What in the world is this attractive stranger talking about? He wants me to shower here?

  "I think I'll just...go now. Thanks."

  He huffs. "I'd like it if you stayed. Please?" I search his eyes and find that he's being sincere.

  "Okay. If you're sure you don't mind. This Tristan guy won't mind if I use his shower?" I ask, biting my lip. I would love a real shower.

  "I'm sure, and he won't mind a bit," Kellan answers with a tight smile. "Just...stay. Okay?" I give him a nod.

   He walks to the door, closing it behind him. I stare at the closed door for a minute, wondering why he would ask me to stay. He might call the police when I'm in there. Whatever. I'm sure I look a mess and I get a real shower for once, it's worth it.

   I stand slowly like Kellan said to do, and my body protests the movement. Oh my god, I hurt! Taking deep breaths, I make my way into the bathroom. I'm exhausted by the time I reach the doorway.

   Wow...it's...the biggest bathroom I have ever seen. In the corner is a walk-in shower with a door made entirely of glass. On the back wall is a tub big enough to house a small family, with three steps leading up to it. The floor is done in a black and red checker pattern with matching, smaller tiles on the walls of the tub and shower.

I step onto the furry-looking black rug in front of the sink and wiggle my toes. It tickles. I check out the double sink set in a long counter. It has tons of bottles of god-knows-what in different colors and sizes. I want to look at each one, but the shower is calling my name. I can smell myself and it's certainly not roses.

  As I'm turning for the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Oh, Holy Jesus! I must feel better than I look, and that's saying something because I feel like road kill. My long, wavy, almost-white hair is more of a dishwater brown and stuck to my head in clumps and tangles. My bottom lip is busted and dried blood makes a line down my chin. Nice. A faint bruise on my left eyebrow stands out on my pale, sickly looking skin, a greenish color almost matching my pale green eyes. Cuts and scrapes mar the skin of my arms, elbows and knees. Bruises are pretty much everywhere, in different shades of healing. I lift my shirt off and look at the deep purple bruise over my ribs.  I don't think any are broken thankfully.

  I can't stand to look at myself anymore so I finish undressing and start the shower. I make the water as hot as I can stand it. The water stings as it rains down over my battered body, but mostly I feel pure bliss. Cleaning up in a public restroom is no match for this. A few tears slide down my face, before I force them to stop. I can't help but think of what happened. I put my face under the spray as if to hide them, although I'm the only one here and I can't hide from myself.

  After a two-minute pity party, I suck it up and begin the task of making myself feel human again. Washing my hair three times with the best smelling shampoo ever, gently scrubbing my skin free of dirt and tiny debris, I feel like I'm coming back to myself. I see a razor on a shelf and decide to use it too, taking care to avoid areas with more scrapes than bare skin. I feel a bit guilty using someone else's razor but who knows when the next time I'm going to get a shower this nice? After I'm done washing, I stand under the spray for as long as I can stand it. My legs start to shake and my body is too tired to stay in here, no matter how much I wish I could.

  I wrap a fluffy, red towel around myself and peek my head out of the door leading to the bedroom. I spot a bundle of clothes on the bed and make my way to the door leading out of the room. I lock it then grab the clothes and head back into the bathroom, locking that door as well. There are at least two boys that live here, one can never be too careful.

   I take inventory of the clothes. I instantly know they are going to be too big on me but they'll do. I consider wearing my clothes but after seeing the dirty, bloodstained mess, I think better of it. There are a pair of black boxer-briefs that actually don't fit too badly, a pair of soft, gray, drawstring sweats that I could fit two of me in, and a bright red long-sleeved t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh. I roll the sleeves up and look in the mirror. Good enough. At least I'll be warm when I leave here.

  There's a knock on the door and I jump, turning toward the sound. "Y-Yes?" I call out, cursing my shaky voice.

   I roll my eyes at myself, unlock the door and open it. In front of me stands an absolutely devastating boy. Way too pretty to simply be called handsome. He has light brown hair, cut stylishly. Short in the back with chin-length hair in the front with a bright blue streak. The color matches his unnaturally blue eyes perfectly which are framed with thick, dark lashes. His cheek bones would give billboard models a run for their money. He's tall and lean, but I can see the muscles in his chest and arms through the tight, thin t-shirt he's wearing. It's blue of course. I bet I could guess his favorite color. He's wearing light colored denim jeans and his shoes are bright white. I bet they are brand new like he just walked in here after taking them out of the box.

   The boy clears his throat, making me pause in my assessment of him. I look back to his amazing eyes. He blushes a little and looks down, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. I blush too. I can't believe I just checked him out so thoroughly like that. What's wrong with me? I don't react this way to anybody.

  "Thought you might want this," He says while waving around a hairbrush

.

  "Oh, thanks." I take the brush and move to sit on the bed. The boy takes a seat on a chair in the corner that I noticed earlier. I pull my ratted hair over my shoulder and start brushing out the ends.

  “I’m Logan. Feeling better after your shower, Kitten?" He asks as he watches me from across the room.

  "I'm okay, just a bit tired. Do you live here too?" I ask.

  Logan nods his head. "We all do, although Jace only stays here part-time," He says with a smirk.

  I try to think if I've met Jace yet while still trying to de-tangle my hair. I don't think I have. My arms are getting tired already, it hurts to lift them above my head like this.

"I don't think I've met him. How many of you are there? I mean...that live here?" I blush slightly as I wonder if that was rude to ask.

  He keeps his eyes on my hands that are now shaking with the effort to keep going. "There are seven of us. Kellan, Finn, Tristan, Ash, Reed, Jace and me. Eight if you include Remy."

  Wow, that's a heck of a lot of boys. They all live in one house together? Why? And what does he mean by if you include Remy?

  "Is this a dorm or something? Are you students?" I ask.

   I hit another snag in my hair and drop my hand. I give up, setting the brush down. Logan looks fidgety for a moment then sighs and stands, coming over to me. He takes my hand, pulling me up and gently and snags the brush from the bed.