Spirit Tales (The Millennium Wolves AU)
Chapter Twenty-Eight

A/N: WARNING: SELF-HARM TRIGGERS IN THIS CHAPTER!

Also, keep in mind my age when I wrote it from now on as you read. The next chapters will get a little, er, peculiar.

I was vaguely aware of the stares I got. Mine was stuck on Louis Ford’s eyes, who were full of sorrow, and the pained expression on his face. I felt familiar old pang in my hand, felt my heart beating, as memories assaulted my mind.

“Rosa… Please…”

“Take my hand! Please take my hand, Brock!”

“No… Can’t…”

“Brock - NO!”

The door opened just then, cutting off my memories and forcing me back to reality, and Samantha and Cora rushed in. The two were unaware of the tension in the room and headed straight to Fred. “Albert got an odd message from our friends in the north,” Cora said in a rush, “the situation has just gone downhill - Evander and his crew killed the Millennium Force there.”

The news shattered the trance I was in and made everyone sober up. Louis let my hand go, turning to look at Adria, who nodded. Sadness was in her eyes, and when her gaze wandered to me, she walked over. Meanwhile, Apollo, Strider, Fred, Samantha, Brom, Greg, Cora and Megan started discussing what needed to be done.

“Don’t forget the past, Rosangela,” Adria told me in a low voice, making flinch when I heard my old mouthful name, “but let it go and stop having it affect your present.”

She put a hand on my head, staring through my eyes. She then turned around, went back to Louis’s side, put her hand in his, and leaned against him. Louis dragged her into a long embrace, kissing her forehead. The two were a couple, it seemed.

I was just standing there, feeling my entire world tilting over, shaking under my weight, while the wolves’ discussion turned heated about how they were going to act against Evander and his followers. I barely paid attention when they left the room to go to the mansion, where they would meet Albert and Maria. I barely noticed when Fred said offhandedly that they would be back later and I shouldn’t wait for them. I barely realized I was left all alone in the room.

All I was aware of was the pain in my hand.

I found myself crawling toward my closet. I pulled open my pantis drawer, and picked up a specific pair of shorts. I drew out the knife that was hidden in it. My brain shut down and I felt hollow, so much so that if Tempest was trying to talk to me, I couldn’t hear her. Darkness had its claws on me.

I held the knife in my left hand, and with a sharp movement punctured the skin in my right arm. The burst of pain, the blood going down my arm - it all made me feel even more hollow. It made me feel nothing.

I didn’t know how many times I put the knife against my skin over and over again. I didn’t know how much I stared at the blood flowing from my fingers to the floor. I didn’t know how I got to the point where I lay down on the floor, bleeding, holding the picture of Brock and me close to my heart, crying my heart out.

“You killed him! You could’ve saved him but you killed him! You’re a murderer!”

“Charlotte… Please…”

“I hate you! Hate! Hate! HATE! You killed him! You killed my Brockie!”

“Charlotte…”

“I wish you were dead instead!”

“Please…”

“MURDERER!”

“Sorry…” I murmured between sobs, “I’m so sorry, Brockie… So sorry…”

“Angela?”

I gasped, glancing toward the door. Fred stood there, and for the first time I saw an expression on his face that was neither serious not indifferent.

It was horror.

“Angela!” he called worriedly, crouching next to me, his hand holding my head while his other one hovering over my injured arm. “What have you done?!” he asked accusingly, desperately, finding the knife in my left hand.

“I didn’t save him, Fred…” I cried, feeling as though my body was asleep while he took me in his arms, lifting me up. The picture fell from my hold but I had no power to try and hold on to it. “I didn’t save him…”

He said nothing, simply ran out of the room. Everything was blurry as he ran at full supernatural speed, and I was busy crying. And crying. And crying.

I didn’t know when or how, but we reached the infirmary in record time. He put me down on one of the beds gently, and I found out I couldn’t move. Fred’s face was torn from worry, touching my face to keep me focused, murmuring incomprehensible words and even changed language in the middle to Spanish because of his hysteria. I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t even keep on crying.

I just lay there until darkness filled my vision, and I let it wrap me up and lull me to sleep.

Something soft and warm rubbed my face. Something that caressed me and calmed me down, pulled the hair away from my face, and gently massaged my temples. That something made me shiver slightly, and when I opened my eyes and saw Fred, I realized why.

“Hey,” I mumbled, seeing Fred tensing, his expression frozen, but in his red eyes was anger. Such anger that made his eyes burn bright red, like that of his wolf.

He said nothing but his hands, which cupped my face, held my face a little too tightly. “Fred?” I flinched a little, seeing his expression turning enraged.

Keeping silent, his face in mine. This time I tense while he put his forehead against mine, his nose rubbing mine slightly. “You,” he said suddenly, his voice a raspy, misused growl, “almost made my heart stop.”

My eyes widened in surprise, concern and a little fear. He pressed harder against my forehead, his lips inches from mine. Our breath mixed, and I realized I was gasping. “I-I’m…” I had no idea what to say or do. I felt lost.

Suddenly his face was wiped from the anger and replaced in such worry, my heartbeat escalated. He buried his head in the nook between my shoulder and neck, his arms wrapping around me, tightening me to his body. “Why?” he asked, voice still low and raspy. “Why did you do this to yourself, Angel?”

That’s a question I need an answer for, too, Tempest whispered in my head. Because what you did, whatever happened, made me temporarily out of commission, and you how much I hate being controlled.

I didn’t reply to both. I was busy trying not to flush. Because Fred being so close to me, acting like he actually cared and not like he was the serious, indifferent Alpha of the Millennium… It was a rare occasion that made my hormones go wild. Withshaky hands, I wrapped my arms around him, and when I saw that my right arm was bandaged, I felt ashamed and humiliated that Fred needed to see all this.

See me when I hit rock bottom.

“Answer me,” Fred said, on the verge of begging. It made me hug him tighter. “Otherwise I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“I-I’m…” I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t organize my brain. Thousands of thoughts ran through my head, and I could only pick up one. “How can I be sure that you won’t be cold to me again after I tell you?” I found myself blurting out.

He tensed for a moment, then let go of me a little. Panic settled in almost immediately, and I tried to pull him back to me. But he was stronger than me and he detached himself from me completely, his arms still around me, and his head still facing mine, so close I felt the blush blooming fully on my face.

“I’m not good at this,” he said with stark honesty that took me off guard while his lips pursed. “The whole thing of expressing my emotions, that is.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job now,” I pointed out, my heartbeat loud in my ears when I saw the worry was still bright in his eyes.

He pressed his forehead to mine again, closing his eyes. “I’ll go mad,” he muttered, “if you don’t tell me why the hell you cut yourself.”

I didn’t know what to do. To tell? Not to tell? I closed my eyes, too, wanting this intense moment to pass.

“Angela,” he growled then, and when my eyes snapped open, I saw the wolf inside him in his eyes. His voice was demanding and commanding.

“Don’t try to control me like your do everyone else,” I whispered, feeling vulnerable even more than I already did. “Don’t try to command me to do things. I’m not one of your Guards.”

“Tell me,” he ignored my words, the worry in his eyes tearing me apart. And I knew then and there that I couldn’t not do exactly that.

I closed my eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and lowered my head. “It all started when I was six.”

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