CHAPTER 5
January 2012
Samantha, age 21
I spent half of last year feeling like I was watching the world through a thick, greasy, dirty window pane. I still saw and heard all of it, it was just more blurry and more quiet. I was on the outside, while everything else was on the other side. Most nights I'd shift into my wolf and sleep on the porch like that. Not even the beauty of Lake Tahoe meant anything any more, I'd just stare at it for hours without a single thought in my head. I guess all of the strength I had had was used in Chicago and during my last days in my old pack.
After having my insides ripped out through my nose, I still had to tell others my story, pack up my life, and say goodbye to family and friends. I barely talked to any of them in the process. I couldn't stand being among mated wolves. When I arrived in Cali, my aunt and some of my friends from her pack tried being there for me, but I was, simply put, completely unresponsive. I couldn't even pretend to hold a conversation for the sake of basic manners and decency. My body had shut down completely, like it was in battery saving mode, only the essential functions were working – keeping my body alive, and my mind from hurling it from a cliff somewhere. A people-pleaser like me, who had always cared what others thought and who was cautious about how her actions would make others feel, was now completely indifferent to what people would say or feel after having their messages and calls ignored for 6 months. I never even carried my phone with me anymore.
The phone was reserved for the hours of the night when everyone slept, when I would creep on Hailey Wilson Lane’s Instagram page to torture myself with the images of my mate's happy life. A favorite photo was taken on the day of their son's birth – it showed Hailey on the bed, exhausted but radiant, her hair damp with sweat, holding a healthy pink crying baby boy, my mate's arms around both of them while he proudly looked at his son, his face glowing with happiness I'd never cause nor experience. Out of the 15 pounds I'd lost last year, 5 were due to that photo alone. I hated all three of them so much. Even the baby. I wished I could lie to myself and fool myself into believing that I was some saintly person who didn't blame the innocent soul for my misery, but it was as if someone was pouring acid into my veins whenever I looked at that photo, or remembered it.
I'd desperately zoom in on her posts, dissect the captions and comments, looking for any hint of marital strife or unhappiness, yet even I had to admit there was none. Hailey looked even better than before the baby, motherhood suited her, the boy grew and developed as he should, my mate was even more handsome and devoted than before. Pack life was good for the young family, and Hailey seemed to have no problems after discovering her husband's animal side.
So I let myself savor the pain of their love and happiness, and I gave myself time to grieve until the baby's first birthday. I felt I was being generous to my old, hopeful self – the 14-year-old Samantha who was seen and then abandoned without her even knowing it. A year of grieving for something I'd fantasized about for roughly fifteen. I tried reading self-help books about rebuilding yourself after being cheated on or thriving after a divorce, but it was even more complicated in my case. There weren't any other fish in the sea. There was no moving on to better things for my kind. We were shoes, or socks, created in pairs. If you lose a winter boot, you can't pair the remaining one with a stiletto, or a sandal. A sock without its counterpart is useless, and frankly an annoyance in your sock drawer. That is how I felt around mated wolves, and I could feel my festering resentment in the back of my throat. I'm sure they were able to smell it when I was around.
I wasn't in love with Brandon, I barely knew the male, but I was, however, in love with the idea of my mate. The guaranteed happily ever after, the one person made specifically for me. No dating, no choosing, no talking about credit scores or whether someone wants to have children or not like the human books talked about. Our world was simple and you knew what to expect. Until I suddenly didn't and now I was lost. I could always do as Brandon did and branch out into the human world romantically, but the idea would take me some time to get used to. I'd never wanted to date outside of my species, it never even crossed my mind. I had always considered myself attracted to shifters, and I figured I'd want to be myself with the person I am intimate with, without having to hide parts of me or redact what I was about to say.
Some time in late spring, the buds of my festering resentment blossomed into pure, blinding rage. That fucker . If we hadn’t been on two opposite sides of the continent, I would have scooped his eyeballs out of his skull with my claws. I hated hated hated him for hurting me, cheating on me, putting me second to someone else. I hated that I couldn't live with my family, watch my sister's belly grow because of him – and I truly couldn't, not if I didn't want his wife's blood on my hands. I hated him for not loving me, for robbing me of that beautiful meeting story to tell my pups some day, for potentially robbing me of ever becoming a mother.
I would get these terrible violent nightmares, and I'd wake up with claw marks all over my body from my poor wolf just trying to wake me up, to distract me with physical pain, to snap me out of it. At some point the anger had gotten so bad that even seeing a random flower would somehow trigger my memories of all that had happened and I'd just... shift and run into the woods to tear up some animals and trees. I had made peace with it and gone to Target to get myself two dozen tank top and shorts combos because more often than not, they would just get destroyed during my spontaneous shifts.
I’d made a point of trying to be unflinchingly honest with myself ever since Chicago happened and after a while I had to acknowledge that, underneath all of that potent fiery rage was a strong undercurrent of hurt and - - - shame . I felt deeply ashamed. It wasn't a conscious or rational thing. I kept comparing my mating experience with other wolves', and however I looked at it, there had to be something wrong with either Brandon or me. While Brandon was the one with the college degree, job, house, wife, and pup, I was an unemployed former waitress with a high school diploma who lived with her aunt. It wasn’t hard to conclude which one of us was the problem. Compared to his elegant lawyer wife, I was one step away from trailer trash.
For one of our kind to forsake the mate bond, to resist it, to choose something else over it – either the something else had to be much better, or the original mate had to be lacking. Of course, Brandon was a piece of shit, that went without saying, but not with her. Even if she hadn't gotten pregnant and if he'd come back to the pack, I don't think there would have been impromptu Puerto Rico trips for my birthday or diamonds on my finger. It was something Hailey inspired in him. I would probably get his mark and be bred because of the pull of the bond. Hailey accomplished so much more without an external force pushing them together. It was just the love he felt for her, the purest force of all.
And, apparently, I wasn't someone who inspired that feeling in my own mate, who had been put on this Earth just for me. How the hell was I supposed to delude myself into thinking I could inspire it in anyone else? Months of roaming Tahoe National Forest in my wolf form during the day with nothing to do but think started wearing me down. I'd started out angry and hateful, but I was starting to veer into depressed and hopeless territory again. I started considering the possibility that there was something wrong with me. I was like a child whose mother doesn't love her – the brain almost cannot compute and comprehend something as unnatural as that, so the child starts believing that it is somehow her fault.
My saving grace came in the unexpected form of former cult member testimonies. The way they had to reprogram their minds, unlearn all of the things they were taught, re-evaluate their belief systems – it resonated with me. The dogma of the mate bond reigned supreme in shifter culture. My beliefs that my mate was my other half and that finding him would define me, give my life meaning - those were at the core of my identity. I believed myself to be incomplete without my mate, since we were taught that they were the second half of our soul. Taking the mate out of the equation of my life had really thrown me for a loop. Add to that the deep trauma of being cheated on and betrayed by someone who had a place in your life even before you knew them, who you loved and respected and waited for, and I think even a shrink would have been surprised at how well I was handling it, all things considered. Maybe my wolf was lending me her strength, numbing me until I was ready to deal. I'd watched countless hours of YouTube videos of former cult members, psychologists, people who overcame infidelity, even people who forgave infidelity. I'd read romance novels, cheating romances, revenge thrillers, I'd cried to sad songs, I'd watched empowering chick flicks. I'd read articles, memoirs, interviews, message boards, Reddit posts, and slowly, an outline of what to do next started appearing in my mind.
At the beginning of this month, I started running in my human form more, even stopping occasionally to admire and appreciate the beauty of Tahoe National Forest. I'd walk the trails, look at the plants, and try to find three beautiful things every day. I tried being grateful at least once every day. Tried to think of a potential joyful thing in the future once every week. A constant thing I was grateful for was nature, and the possibility to live in it in such a free way. I’d never felt so close to my wolf before and I'd never spent this much time in my wolf form, just running, hunting, sleeping, observing. It was a deeply liberating experience.
Right now, I was sitting in the office of the Lupinus Argenteus pack Alpha. Alpha Frank was a kind older man, and he’d been an avuncular presence in my life since I first visited my aunt's pack when I was seven. After the usual pleasantries, asking about my family back in the Ozarks (not that I was able to give him an honest answer since I was still barely in touch with anyone), he put his elbows on his desk, leaned forward, and asked: “So, how can I help you, Sam?”
I cleared my throat and looked away from him, towards the window:
“I think I want to go to college. I don't know how and I don't know which one. I just want to go, do something with my life. That's as far as I got.”
Something in his eyes softened, and he stood up and started rummaging through a cabinet.
“Ah! Found it!” he suddenly exclaimed before slamming the folder on the desk in front of me. Career Aptitude Tests , it read.
“We use this with our high school seniors. Once we have your results we'll figure something out together, don't worry Sam,” he paused, and then added: “Thank you for trusting me enough to come to me with this.”
I flashed him a weak smile and took the folder.
“I'll fill this out as quickly as I can,” I said and I meant it. For the first time in a long time, I felt impatient, there was a slight buzz under my skin. I started running towards my aunt's home, eager to start answering the questions.
It has been almost two months since the last time I'd looked at her Instagram. The nightmares have subsided as well, and one of these days I'll try sleeping in my human form, in a bed. The air smelled crisp and fresh, I could hear an eagle in the distance. My heart was pumping and my lungs were burning as I ran. I finally felt awake again.