BAY #7
Strangely, the sight isn’t frightening. It doesn’t even feel wrong. In some twisted way, it feels like justice. But then another thought hits me… if this had taken place two days earlier, none of what I went through would’ve happened at all.
Two days. Just two fucking days too late.
"Please go home and take care of your brothers, Bay. They need you," Dad says firmly.
I nod slowly, casting one last look at the bodies. Dad looks at them too, his face unreadable, blank.
"You’re so collected," I whisper.
"I should’ve done this twenty-five years ago."
"You never talk about it."
"Yeah, that was a terrible time in my life. Then it ended, or so I thought. They went to prison, and I found your father, my True Mate, and everything shifted from hell to paradise. But they got out, apparently."
I want to ask him questions, but I can’t. No more. I’m not ready to dig into the past. I feel sick and weak and I need to get out of this grove. The forest where my nightmare happened is only about two hundred yards away. I don’t want to be anywhere near it.
So I cross the empty field that separates the grove from our property, climb back over the fence, and head toward the house.
Storm has already cleaned up and changed. He and Skye sit at the table.
I open my mouth to say something, maybe to comfort them, but the screech of tires outside saves me from having to speak. A car stops sharply, and I know it’s my father.
I glance out the window and see his tall, broad figure rushing toward us, his face ghost-pale.
When he sees us, he looks over at us and asks, "Where’s your dad?"
"By the grove, about fifty yards from the edge of the field," I answer quietly.
A second later, Father is gone, sprinting toward the fields faster than I’ve ever seen him move.
I look at my brothers sitting with lifeless faces, staring at the table. I decide to make them something warm to drink, anything to keep their minds off what happened. I know they brushed against a nightmare. Fate, I know it too well.
I set tea in front of them, but they both seem dazed.
Something dark stirs inside me, a surge of anger and injustice. They escaped the worst of it, and me? Why did Fate choose me for the worst card in the deck? No one knows, I’ve told no one, and I’m left alone with this poison.
I want to cry and scream at the same time. I feel trapped, physically sick. Maybe I really am sick. Those men were in prison, and you never know what kinds of diseases circulate in places like that. Maybe they gave me something?
I feel filthy. Contaminated. Tainted. Who would ever want me after this?
The stereotypes are brutal, cruel. I’m an alpha who went through that, how would people look at me if they knew?
Alex? He’d despise me, recoil from my touch. The thought slices through my mind like a razor. Others would laugh, humiliate me, tear me apart.
I shrink into myself. Collapse inward.
I look at my brothers with envy, painfully aware I drew the short straw.
My lips press tight, and anger rises again, raw, burning anger at the merciless unfairness of it all.
I turn and leave the room. I can’t stand looking at their faces. I’m glad they’re safe, but what about me? Why didn’t Dad hear my screams? Why didn’t he come to save me?
Why was I the one Fate decided to… destroy?
My forearms and chest start to itch again. I don’t want to scratch in front of them, so I step outside, leaving them alone. At that moment, I hear footsteps approaching the patio.
Father’s back. He’s still ghost-pale, his lips pressed tight. I walk inside, following him.
He bends down and starts rolling up one of the rugs from the living room floor.
Storm and Skye rush toward him too.
We stare, speechless.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
He looks up at me, his brow furrowed, something almost wild in his eyes.
"You saw nothing, heard nothing, and know nothing. What happened today must stay secret forever, or our family will be destroyed."
I stand frozen. Father lifts the rug onto his shoulders, walks off the patio, and heads toward the fence.
I turn to my brothers, "Go to your rooms. Now."
"But why, I don’t want to be alone," Skye says in a trembling voice.
"Then go together to Storm’s room. I don’t want you here, understood?"
With sulky faces, sniffling, dragging their feet, they go upstairs.
I step out onto the patio and stare toward the fence until I see Father and Dad heave the first body, wrapped in the rug, over it.
A moment later, the second one hits the ground with a dull thud. Bam, bam.
Neither of them speaks, which is rare for them. Dad almost always has something to say, but not this time. Between them lies a heavy, wordless understanding.
Dad goes for our SUV, drives it around the back, and together they fold the seats down and load both bodies inside. They work in sync, efficient and silent.
At one point, Father looks up and sees me standing still on the patio.
He makes one gesture, raising his index finger to his lips. That’s all.
A moment later, they drive off.
It happens just in time, because only a few minutes later, Jordan’s car rolls up the drive, bringing Sun and Rain with him.
I don’t say a word, just watch. Jordan heats up food for my brothers, chatting with them casually, as if nothing happened, as if this horror day hadn’t just unfolded. Well, I wish I could be so blissfully unaware.
When my parents come home a few hours later, they talk with Storm and Skye in their rooms.
Then they want to come and talk to me, but I’m not interested. I tell them right away I’ll keep my mouth shut and won’t question their reasons.
Dad tries to explain something, but I just shake my head, because I already know what those people must have done to him. I know, because I’ve been through it myself.
And if anyone thinks I feel even a shadow of guilt that they’re dead and that their bodies will probably never be found, well, yesterday’s Bay might’ve thought about it for a second. But not the person I am today.
Today’s me would kill a thousand more of them. And make it hurt.
Sometimes new life is born in death. Thanks to them, I’ve been reborn. Only… what am I made of now?
◆◆◆
When I’m finally back in my room, I sit on the edge of my bed for a long while.
Numb. Vacantly staring at the wall.
Eventually, I reach for the drawer and take out my diary. It needs an update. I stare at the previous entry for a moment, the one about the rape.
Then, slowly, I write underneath it:
They’re dead. My dad killed them. And maybe I did too, at least I finished one of them off.
How did my life shift so suddenly from being a kid to being…
an adult? And not even a normal one, just a messed-up, unready kind.
How am I supposed to handle this? What am I supposed to do? Who can I even talk to?
Suddenly, I think of Alex.
Maybe him…? No.
No, no, no! It's a stupid idea.
I don’t want him to look at me with fear.
With shock. With pity. Things between us would never be the same, never.
No more crying. I have to pull myself together, get it together, keep it together. Come on, Bay, be strong!
I sit there for a while, my head hanging low. I can’t move a single muscle, the will to live slipping away, but then my eyes fall on a new notebook half-hidden beneath a pile of old diaries. I slowly pull it out and stare at the cover.
It’s pink. How the hell did I even grab that one? Probably as a spare… Still, the color softens something in me. It reminds me of Alex.
Alex deserves a mention in my diary, that much is certain.
But does he deserve to be written about under those grim entries I can barely look at myself?
Carefully, I open the pink notebook. The blank page draws me in, and I start to write.
"On the first day of school, I sat next to a tiny boy. He was beautiful, so much that I didn’t think someone that cute could even exist. He had blond hair with a pinkish shimmer and amethyst eyes.
I couldn’t stop staring at him, I just couldn’t.
There was something magical about him. Back in middle school, I liked a few omegas, but they were just my friends.
He’s different. It’s a different kind of attraction, one I’ve never felt before.
A little scary. Exciting. I hope I get the chance to know him better, even though I probably shouldn’t get too close. But maybe… maybe we could be friends?"
I stop writing and make a small, simple sketch of Alex. It’s not very good, but I manage to capture his big glasses, small nose, and full lips. If I could, I’d smile, because that little figure deserves a bit of kindness. But my face won’t move, and the pen slips from my fingers.
I fall back on the bed, my breathing growing shallow. Because I’m not meant for Alex. I can’t get closer to him than just a regular friend. I can’t. It’s out of the question.
I don’t deserve anything good. I’m trash.
A cumdump.
All I can do is watch him from afar.
◆◆◆
The next day at school starts with world history class.
Funny thing, I walk into school like it’s something flat, drawn on paper by a child’s hand. It lacks pastel color, and it’s only black and red. I’m overflowing with both.
I have History with Alex, and for some reason I expect to see him right away. When I walk into the classroom, there’s no one there yet. Dad dropped me off early, same as before.
I take my seat and wait.
Unfortunately, the next to show up are Zion and Kaen. They look kind of glammed-up, wearing tight pants, maybe even a touch of makeup.
They greet me right away and keep chattering nonstop.
But I don’t want to talk to them or even look at them. I want to see Alex.
Then I scold myself for that. Again! What could I even want from him? Someone like me, dirty, disgusting, used, broken alpha.
I’m afraid to want to know him, and yet, against all reason, I do.
Then those two alphas with crude faces walk in. They glance at me but don’t come over when they see I’m talking to omegas.
Kaen shoots me a look, leans closer, and whispers super quietly,