Twisted Obsession

My heart pounded in my chest as Edward stammered. "Layla, I..." He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "This is for my honor, Layla. I don't want to bring unwanted attention to myself."

I raised an eyebrow, a small laugh escaping my lips. "What are you talking about, Edward?"

He didn't meet my gaze. "You're... the pack's gossip," he stammered, his voice tight with frustration. He let out a heavy sigh. "Look, Layla, I can't be with the outcast. The daughter of alpha Elaxdor who couldn't attend the mating ceremony even after her coming of age."

There was a sickening silence in the room, the air thick and suffocating. I struggled to process his words, my mind reeling in a desperate attempt to understand what he was saying.

Then, realization dawned on me, sharp and icy. Rejection. It was clear and loud. This was a rejection.

A bitter taste flooded my mouth, and I shut my lips tight, the lump in my throat making it hard to swallow. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. I blinked hard, trying to hold them back, but the sting still burned my eyes.

How dare he use that against me? But a deeper pain cut through the anger – a raw ache of betrayal. He was supposed to be my mate, chosen by the moon itself, and yet...

He took a step back, his voice cold. "Layla Downhill," he declared, staring over my shoulder, "I, Edward Thrison, reject you as my mate!"

A formal rejection.

He said it so easily, like weeny bits of dust blowing in the wind.

It felt like he had been stockpiling those words, dying to blurt them out.

I looked at him and noticed how his face lit up with relief, a sucker punch straight to my gut. Nobody wants the laughingstock of Sy, the family screw-up. I shoved my hair back, hiding the tears stinging my eyes.

There was a reason I couldn't let him see how much this hurt. Giving him that satisfaction would be the final blow.

I lifted up my chin to face him even though it felt like I was balancing on a rope over a bottomless pit. "Good riddance, then," I gritted out, the words scraping raw against my throat.

DON'T CRY, YOU PATHETIC FOOL.

You've gotten through worse, this wouldn't break you. Holding back tears might be the only thing you have ever been good at!

And I really could have handled it. Except... except he said those words.

"I'm sorry."

I didn't stand a chance against those forbidden words. A sob tore through me, tears gushing down my face. "Asshole!" I cursed.

He stared at me, an infuriating look of pity replacing the fleeting relief on his face.

Pity was worse, a thousand times worse.

Rage, hot and primal, bubbled up inside me. "Don't you dare!" I shrieked, my voice high-pitched and shaky. "Don't you dare look at me like that! Like I'm some fragile doll you accidentally broke." My breath hitched, each word a shard tearing at my throat. "I don't need your apology. I don't need your pity!"

Tears, those little traitors, continued their relentless flow, blurring my vision. But I would not let him see me crumble. I didn't want to; I won't give him the satisfaction. Squaring my shoulders, I spoke, my voice surprisingly strong despite everything.

"Get out. Now. Before I say something I truly regret." The threat hung heavy in the air, it was a threat I wasn't even sure I could follow through.

His face flickered with something – maybe surprise, maybe a flicker of the old affection I clung so desperately on. But it was gone as quickly as it came. With a deep sigh, he turned and walked out.

Alone.

I was finally... alone. The tears I was holding back came rushing down my cheeks. "Damn it. Damn it all!" I sank to the floor, the cold wood a slap against my shaking knees.

Edward was someone I actually thought I would spend my entire life with. He was supposed to be forever. We were supposed to be a love story, a life built together, brick by loving brick.

I loved and trusted him. Every stupid, vulnerable part of me, I laid bare for him. And for what?!

"Wait... did I just say loved?" The word scraped against my raw throat. I chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, at how pathetic I was. "I can be such a liar sometimes." Because I still love him. Saying I didn't love him anymore would be a betrayal of the way my heart still hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A pathetic, lovesick rhythm.

This wasn't my first rejection. So I wasn't supposed to feel this alone, this lost. But here I was, adrift in a sea of what-ifs and maybes, clinging to a love that felt more like a punishment than a blessing.

When I finally looked up, a familiar voice made me flinch.

"Well, well, well, look who's crying like a baby again."

The sneer on Chloe's face, my ever-so-perfect stepsister, was a fresh stab of pain. Her perfectly styled blonde hair and manicured nails that seemed to mock my tear-streaked face. A new wave of anger washed over me. "Get out," I croaked, my voice hoarse from crying.

The last thing I needed right now was her cruel taunts.

She sashayed in, a smirk plastered on her face. "Aww, is widdle Layla all sad because her boyfriend doesn't want her anymore?" she cooed, her voice dripped with fake sweetness, like syrup on a rotten apple. "Don't worry, with your looks, I'm sure you can find some other loser to latch onto."

My fists clenched. "He wasn't a loser!" I yelled, the words tumbling out in a rush.

"Isn't that what he said, though?" she countered, a cruel laugh escaping her lips. "The pack's gossip? The outcast?" She mimicked his words in a singsong voice, making his words sound even worse.

Tears welled up again, blurring my vision "He didn't mean it," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. Even to my own ears, the lie sounded pathetic.

Chloe leaned in close, her eyes gleaming with a sick kind of joy. "Maybe not," she said, her voice dropping to a low hiss. "But everyone else does."

That was it. A loud growl ripped out from my throat, I pulled out my claws and lunged for her, hoping to make her feel even a fraction of the pain she was causing me.

But Chloe was faster. She dodged my clumsy attack with pracised ease, her smirk never leaving her lips. "Looks like that's all you got, little sis. All bark and no bite."

Her words stung, a bitter reminder of how weak I was. Tears streamed down my face. "Why are you doing this?" I rasped. "Why do you always make me the joke? Huh! Because am the 'almost' werewolf?"

The question hung heavy in the air. Chloe hesitated. "Look," she finally spoke, "everyone knows half-shifters are..." she trailed off, searching for the word that would cause further damage.

"Unreliable?" I offered, my voice bitter. "Broken? Not good enough?"

Chloe seemed startled for a moment before a smile slowly cracked through her lips. "It's just... frustrating for your mate, that's all. They can't complete the bond if you can't shift."

"So it's my fault?" I shrieked, the injustice of it all threatening to consume me. "I can't control what I am! I train like crazy, every damn day, push myself to the limit, and it's never enough!"

Three rejections.

Three times my wolf had whimpered in my head, crying for a connection it could never fully have. Three times the pack had looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

"I'm tired, Chloe," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "Tired of the whispers, the stares, the feeling like I'm a freak. Maybe... maybe you're right. Maybe I am just a loser."

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Even Chloe seemed taken aback.

I slumped against the wall, defeated.

Chloe had not budged from the doorway, but her smug smirk was gone, replaced by something worse – disappointment. It stung worse than her usual insults. The excitement in her eyes earlier was replaced by a cold anger that sent shivers down my spine.

"So that's it?" she spat, her voice dripping with disgust. "Is that all you got? A pathetic cry and a sob story? I figured you'd at least put up a fight, make it a little fun."

Her words hit me like a punch. The tiny spark of defiance I had left sputtered out. Here I was, exposed and vulnerable, and all she felt was boredom? A new wave of despair washed over me, even worse than before.

"What do you even want from me, Chloe?" I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. I had no fight left in me, just emptiness.

"I don't know," she shrugged, her eyes glinting with cruel indifference. "Maybe a little fire. Maybe some of that wild spirit everyone thinks half-shifters have. But I guess that's a lie too, huh?"

Each word was a sharp knife, twisting in the wound of my already shattered hope. She was right. There was no fight left, no spirit to claw back. I was a broken doll, lying in pieces on the cold floor of reality.

"If you are really tired why not try ending your life, it's not like you have any body to mourn you." With a final disgusted look, Chloe turned and walked out, slamming the door so hard it echoed through the empty room. Tears welled up again, but this time, they were not of anger or frustration. They were the tears of a soul utterly defeated.

Alone, a horrifying thought slithered in. Maybe Chloe was right. Maybe death is the only form of escape I will ever have. The exhaustion that had settled earlier deepened, turning into a cold, numbing pain. Maybe without hope, there wasn't even a hollow of peace to find. Just... nothing.

I open my nightstand and pulled out a knife.