Page 36 of Bullied Pregnant Mate

“Yes. I mean, no… I don’t know.”

She smiles at me, and her eyes are so gentle, I just want to throw myself into her arms.

No one has ever looked at me like that before.

“Do you want to talk?” she asks.

“No, not really. Sorry. But I just have to figure a few things out for myself first.”

“I understand. I just want you to know, I’m here to listen.”

“Thank you, Alisa. That means a lot.”

“How about some music?” she says, pulling out her phone. After a few taps to the screen, the lilting strains of Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto fill the air.

The effect of the music is so powerful, my eyes prickle with tears. I’m not going to cry—far from it—but the sounds soothe me right down to my bones. My scattered thoughts immediately begin to settle.

“How did you know?” I whisper.

She shrugs. “When you said you use classical music to inspire your DJ tracks, I realized I’ve heard this, or a version of it, a lot of times. I was hoping it would be just what you needed.”

“It is,” I say. “Thank you.”

She tilts her head a little, as if she’s feeling shy. Her eyes shimmer in the light, and her pale hair falls against her face like a glittering curtain, catching the light with gold and silver strands.

I look down at my plate, fighting with my desire. I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, and now that I know she can read my emotions, I have to be extra careful.

After we finish eating, I go out to the deck and pace a bit, looking up into the hills. I can’t see or smell anything, but I occasionally hear a spiraling howl as the patrols communicate with each other.

I hope they find those wolves. I can’t stand the idea of something happening to Alisa. I was so fucking stupid to let that happen!

Shivers run through my bones, infecting my blood and making my skin crawl. Horrible images flash through my mind, vivid impressions of what could have happened if I’d been even a second too late.

Eventually, the emotions begin to wear me down, and I go back inside. I can’t hear Alisa anywhere, and when I stop by her bedroom door, I listen intently until I’m sure I can hear her breathing on the other side.

The last thing I want is another scene like last night. I don’t know if I could control myself if it happened again.

I take a long shower, but my muscles stay knotted up and tense. When I lie down in bed, I don’t expect to sleep at all. The emotional drain of the day and my exertions from the night before—including the previous night of restless sleep—all catch up at once. Instead of tossing and turning, a thick, encompassing darkness reaches up and swallows me, dragging me down into the depths of my memories.

Mom! All I did was go and ride bikes with Gina and Jack, then Aunty Carla offered me cookies after. We were just hanging out.

I don’t care, Jenkins! You do as I say, and be back here straight after school! You are to be on that bus every afternoon, do you understand?

Why, Mom? The other kids can go play.

Just do as I say, Jenkins! I don’t want you hanging around town, is that clear?

Yes, Mom.

I struggle against the memory, wrestling with my subconscious as it forces me forward in time.

What did I tell you about hanging around in town? Huh? Jenkins, are you listening to me?

You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m not a little kid. You can’t keep me locked in this house!

The hell I can’t! You’re my son, Jenkins, and you’ll do as I say!

No, I won’t! Why do you keep me away from the others—away from my family and friends? Please, talk to me, Mom!

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