Clementine:
"You know, when I used to see you in school, I'd feel this itch in my fist that wanted to connect with your face. You had such an annoying existence, wearing baggy clothes to look cool when, in reality, you were insecure about your body because you weren't like all the other hot girls," Haiden hadn't shut up this whole time. But he never got tired, not even for a moment. Not once did I hear his breath hitch while carrying me.
He was moving forward like he had a plastic bag over his shoulder while I was pretty curvy. And no! I was never ashamed of my body. I didn't want boys' attention. I hated the idea of becoming someone's second—or sixth—mate. And it was inevitable; every man had many mates. So if any alpha felt the mate bond with me, they would reject me with one glance. That was my plan all along.
And if it was someone else, probably a gamma or omega, they wouldn't want me either. I didn't want anyone anymore. I just wanted to be left alone.
"You had such a punchable face," he snickered, stopping briefly to raise his head. "Ah, it's a full moon's night," he sighed. "What a life. I'm stuck carrying a sack of potatoes on my shoulder while alphas my age are attending a ball to find their mates."
He had no clue I was not interested in his sad and pathetic life. I knew most of them didn't want to come here, but they had no choice. Some of us, though, we were dragged here.
He finally reached the border with the red barbed wire and started chuckling.
"Ah, Clementine, it was nice meeting you."
In one fell swoop, he tried to throw me over the barbed wire, but he missed, and I landed on the wires, my eyes shooting open in pain.
"Oh shit," he grunted, instantly trying to lift me up. Pain exploded through me. It was sharp, raw like fire tearing into my skin. I couldn't breathe. The metal bit into my arms, my back, my legs, holding me there like it wanted to rip me apart. I could feel the blood, warm and wet, soaking through my clothes. Every little movement made it worse. I wanted to cry out, but all that came was a gasp because my mouth was still covered.
"Shit, shit," he cursed again when he couldn't carry me. One of the sharp silver points was sticking near my ribs, making me close my eyes from the pain. Then I saw him, his face pale, eyes wide with panic. He didn't mean to do this; it looked like that from his expression. But it didn't matter, because he did it.
"You are always a trouble," he muttered, and sadly, I heard him over the pounding in my ears. Every time he touched the wire to move it, it dug in deeper. I winced, taking a deep breath since I couldn't even scream. His fingers worked fast, but I could hear the hissing sound of his skin burning from the silver's effect as he tried to bend the barbs away from my skin. I felt every tug, every twist of silver.
One by one, he pulled the wire off me, careful not to drag it deeper. My body felt heavy, torn, and burning, but I stayed still. Then, finally, with one last pull, the wire let go. I collapsed into his arms, weak and bleeding, but free.
I didn't even realize I was on top of him at this point. But the minute I did, I noticed how he had been staring at my face shamelessly. And then, he forcefully rolled me off him like he was disgusted by our touch.
"Ugh! Why? Why do I have to be the one to deal with this cursed little piece of shit?" he got up and started complaining.
"You know what? I should just toss you over and be done with it," he pointed a finger at me while I sat on the ground, glaring him down. I was bleeding and in immense pain, but no way was I going to cry in front of a shithead like him.
I watched him get annoyed with me and run his hands through his hair.
"And what's up with this dirty hat and that weirdly sticking-out some strands of hair over your eyes? Is it true you cannot have a head full of hair? You think you look cool? You look like a wannabe man."
And suddenly, he was roasting me for my looks. The short hair sticking out from under my hat onto my eyes were my bangs. I let them fall to conceal my eyes.
I would almost stitch my hat to my head, just to make sure it never came off.
"Now now, what do I do? I should leave you bleeding on the other side," he mumbled to himself. But after a few seconds of convincing himself, he came back to me, tossing me over his shoulder.
But this time, I started moving too much and slipped off his back. He turned around quickly and wrapped his arms around my stomach, lifting me off the ground.
"Nah, bitch. You're going out. If you don't, the hot one won't come," he hissed, wrapping his other arm under my legs and throwing them over the wire.
When I jerked my head up quickly, I must have hit his chin. I heard a little gulp from him.
"Fuck!" he complained, his tongue between his teeth. "You stupid, clingy bitch."
He turned me around and grabbed my baggy sweater by the collar, clearly trying to confront me when our eyes met.
The cold wind blew between us, brushing the hair from my eyes for a brief second so I could look straight into his eyes.
The ground beneath me seemed to shake. The wind howled, but all I could hear was his heartbeat, louder than mine.
And then, in a very gentle, soft tone, I heard it.
"Mate!"
My eyes mirrored the reaction in his, widening with shock.
He pushed me back and stepped away, shaking his head as he pointed at me.
"No! No, no! This is a mistake. That can't be," he said, instantly panicking, his fear and disgust pouring out at the mate bond we just felt.
He wasn't alone in feeling disgusted.
I was beyond pissed off and angry. After trying so hard not to find a mate– I had finally found one—in the face of my bully.