Warning: this chapter is sensitive. 

CHAPTER FOUR - I WANT TO FLY

In the morning, I walked into the bathroom for a shower.

The water was running as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles underneath my eyes after a night of zero sleep. I was too busy silently crying. I was gaunt with protruding bones and pale skin. My black hair was lifeless and there was a deadness to my eyes. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't like what I saw. My bottom lip quivered as I began rocking back and forth on my feet.

I gripped the edge of the sink, thinking about the conversation with Roarke. He chose me to have his children. I was being used. He wanted me, but I wanted nothing to do with him. I was a prisoner. I couldn't escape him. He would always catch me.

My eyes lifted, meeting my reflection.

I hated that I couldn't win against him. I hated that I was weak. I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror. The glass shattered, raining down into the sink. Pain exploded in my knuckles, but I didn't look. I picked up one of the fragments and shakily looked at myself in it. I was acting impulsively, emotionally, as I shakily dragged it over my wrists. 

This wasn't me. I had never been suicidal, but right now, I had horrible thoughts. 

Roarke suddenly kicked the door open, his expression twisting into horror at the sight of me. He reached for me, but I quickly lifted the glass to my neck. "Don't c-come near me."

I dug the tip into my skin, tears rolling down my cheeks. 

"Put the glass down," he said, his voice gentle. I was shocked by his gentleness, but then I noticed the concern in his eyes. Blood dripped from my wrists, splattering at my feet. He seemed to notice and his shoulders tensed. "Chloe."

My body shivered at my name coming from his lips.

Then, Maurice appeared behind him in the doorway, a gasp leaving her lips. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. The pity was unmistakable. 

Of course, Roarke took advantage of the distraction and leaped forward, prying the glass from my hand. I screamed in anger, slamming my hands against his chest, smearing my blood on his shirt. He allowed me to hit him, over and over again, until I burst into sobs and my knees unbuckled beneath me.

He caught me, lifting me up into his arms.

"Go grab the medical kit," Roarke ordered Maurice, carrying me down the hallway. "And, call Dr. Burnett."

Before my body was even placed on his bed, my vision went black.

-

"You need to be gentle with her. . .she is not accustomed to our ways." 

"Your female shouldn't be trying to kill herself. . .you've frightened her. She'd rather die than be here with you."

The voices faded in and out, before disappearing altogether. I wasn't sure how long I was unconscious, but when I finally peeled my eyes open, I felt the pain. In my knuckles. In my wrists. In my heart. My eyes felt heavy from all of the crying recently; they felt swollen as I peered around the bedroom.

There was only one person in the room.

Roarke.

He was seated in a chair in the far corner, watching me. Always watching. He was deadly and quiet. Closed off and mysterious. His jaw strained with the force of his anger, but he didn't say anything. My pulse kicked into overdrive as I glanced at my wrists, seeing them bandaged. 

Roarke blinked at me, and for a second, I almost thought I had hallucinated the guilt in his dark eyes. 

"Dr. Burnett stitched you up," he said, breaking the silence. "She left some painkillers for you." I sat upright on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me. "Maurice is making you dinner."

I frowned. "I'm not hungry."

I was startled when he leaped to his feet, a flare of anger in his eyes. "I give you food. I give you shelter. I give you protection. And, you tried to kill yourself - I'm trying to take care of you."

"You give me food that I don't like," I started, shaking my head. "Meat, but you force me to eat it. You force me to sleep in this bed with you. You can't give me protection when I don't feel safe with you." His eyes softened at my words as the anger disappeared. "Your efforts to take care of me make me feel trapped."

He was quiet for a moment. "But, this is how us males take care of our females."

"Maybe all of that is appreciated by the females in your pack," I said, nibbling on my bottom lip. "But, I'm human. I'm different. I wanted to escape - "

"Killing yourself is never the solution," he interrupted, tightly. "Don't ever do that to me again." My eyebrows pinched together as he dragged a hand through his hair. "You don't get to leave me."

I hesitated. "You will grow tired of me."

My heart jumped when he took a seat at the end of the bed, right near my feet. His dark eyes lifted, meeting my own. "Every time I look at you, I have this sense to protect you. I've never had that sense before. With anyone. As soon as I felt that sense, I knew you were mine. And, I knew I couldn't let you go - I won't." 

"I don't want your protection," I whispered, staring at him. "I don't want you."

He flinched, which shocked me. I had taken him by surprise. There was something on his face that looked familiar. Pain. My words had hurt him. The messed-up part of me latched onto that information and took note of it. He had emotions, no matter how intimidating or strong he was. He could be hurt.

"I am keeping you," he stated, as if I was an object. I exhaled loudly in dread and he narrowed his eyes at me, a growl emitting from his throat. "You'd rather be on the streets? Starving? Cold? Alone?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because, I can make my own choices on the streets," I said, no longer cowering from him. "I have more freedom on the streets than here. I feel safer on the streets." He pinched his lips together, his shoulders drawing together. "And, I don't want children. I don't want to be responsible for anybody, but myself."

"But, I want children," he argued, watching me. "With you."

"You can't choose another female?"

He growled. "No."

"I won't give you children," I told him, quietly. "Unless you force me to." 

"I'm not going to force you," Roarke said, frowning. "I want you to want this with me. I want a family." I dropped my gaze, looking at my bandaged wrists. I was a terrible mess. I always had been. Children were never going to be a part of my life. "I'm not going to rush you. I have you - and that's enough for right now."

He almost sounded sweet. 

"My pack is having a party tomorrow night," he continued, calm as ever. "To celebrate an alliance. I would like you to come with me. You can interact with my pack, with females your own age. They might help with your adjustment here." I didn't want to interact with any of them, but I wanted out of the house. "It should be enjoyable."

"Will everybody be half-naked again?"

A grin, an actual grin, came onto his face. "No, this is different. It will be formal wear. I will provide you with a dress and Maurice can help you get ready."

I bit my bottom lip, nervously. "Okay."

"Okay," he copied, nodding once. "Now, eat dinner and get some rest. I will be in my office dealing with pack business." He hesitated, as if he wanted to touch me, but I was relieved when he turned around and walked out of the room.

I exhaled loudly.

Minutes later, Maurice entered the room, carrying a tray of food. She gave me a sad smile as she placed the food in front of me, carefully. Chicken noodle soup and crackers. Of course, a meal that didn't require a fork or knife. 

I realized that Maurice wouldn't meet my eyes.

Picking up the spoon, I said, "I've disappointed you."

She seemed shocked by my words. "Oh, no, hun. You have not." Her eyes flickered to my bandaged wrists and with a sigh, she sat down on the bed. "I'm not disappointed. I'm sad that you felt the need to inflict harm upon yourself."

"I've never wanted to die before," I muttered, shaking my head. "Even on the streets, I never stopped fighting - but here, I have no fight. I can't win."

"Don't give up," Maurice said, patting my knee. "It's easy to hate him, but give him a chance. You might be surprised." I began to wonder why she was so nice to me. Wondering why she cared at all. "Don't hate him. He can handle it from anyone else, but never you."

I stirred the soup. "He doesn't even know me."

"Us werewolves follow our instincts," she responded, softly. "When he first saw you, he had the instinct to protect you. He is following his instincts and maybe in time, he will follow his feelings." She offered me another smile, before rising from the bed. I watched as she retreated from the room, leaving me by myself.