Bullied to a Werwolfs Mate

Freya’s P.O.V

I stared at my reflection in horror; at the fresh bruise on my left cheek; watching the skin swell…the dark bruise standing out like a sore thumb. But the instant I touched my finger to the contusion, I yelped in pain, gripping the counter with my fingers so tightly that they turned white.

My lips trembled; tears welled in my eyes as a scream caught in my throat, begging for an escape. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even scream; I couldn’t even cry.

‘I couldn’t let him know…’ I thought to myself. ‘I couldn’t scare him!’

Breathing through my mouth in short bursts, I tried to will the tears away. I had to be strong, not for myself, but for him. I was the only one he had and if he saw me like this, as the broken shell of the person I used to be…No! I couldn’t let that happen.

But avoiding the bruise wasn’t an option. I had to make the swelling go away, before he woke up.

So I balled up a few pieces of paper towels and placed the lump inside my mouth. The texture of the paper dried out the moisture inside my mouth immediately, making me want to gag, but I didn’t give it time. I took the ice pack and placed it against my cheek immediately.

This time, my scream of pain was muffled by the paper towels and I instantly forgot the dryness. Trembling, I leaned my back against the bathroom door, closing my eyes shut tightly as I worked through the agony.

“You little whore!” My father’s voice again sounded in my ears like a carnival drum, loud and grating as he held an empty bottle of whisky in his hands, ready to strike. “Where is the money? I know you work at that stupid restaurant! Give me the money!”

Trembling in fear, I had told him that I didn’t have any, and I hadn’t been lying. I didn’t have the money he was looking for; the money I had earned after gruelling hours of hard work. But that hadn’t stopped him from rudely searching my pockets; from going into my room to look under the mattress, not caring about invading my privacy.

He had found it there, a total of thirty five dollars that I had gotten as tip from the restaurant after hours of standing on my feet. I had it hidden away inside the mattress cover, but it had fallen out when he had thrown everything on the floor.

“You fucking liar!”I hadn’t seen the bottle coming down on me, as I had shut my eyes tightly, fear making me freeze in place. But I had felt the impact of the glass on my cheek; heard it shatter on contact. But all I could do, as my mind went numb from the pain and black spots danced in front of my vision, was hope that it would’ve been the end of the torture…at least for tonight.

And thankfully, it had been.

My father, had thrown the half broken bottle on the floor next to me, making me flinch away; and then he had strode out of the house, not even bothering to close the door behind him as he took my week’s worth of savings with him.