Time had lost its meaning as I reached for the bottle, its cool glass pressing against my clammy palm. The scorching heat of the booze seemed to sear once again my throat, igniting a familiar burn as the liquid slid down into my empty stomach. The room around me was dimly lit, the air heavy with the stench of alcohol and despair.
My pain, raw and aching, needed to be numbed. I craved the oblivion that only drunkenness could bring. The ugly truths of our situation haunted my mind, taunting me with their harsh reality. I berated myself for being foolish, for trying to overcome our problems, only to discover that there was no "us" anymore.
Everything was starting to make sense. The worst fact was that despite all our grand confessions and declarations, he had never loved me, not even when he claimed to. It had all been a lie. It was clear that the true Damon, or whatever this version was, did not love me. Consequently, nothing that had happened between us had been real. It was no wonder he had hidden that year so easily; he simply hadn't felt anything for me.
His experience was likely a shock at being duped, not the fucking nasty trauma that I had gone through. His choice was always Mariella, nothing more, never me. I was alone. This realization was a raw, devastating truth for me. However, I remembered Mercy's warning long ago that my life would be filled with loneliness, hardship, and darkness, as I was Chaos personified, the strongest ever been.
I was reduced to nothing more than money and a vessel for procreation. Some women may have desired such a role, but not me. I longed to break free from the confines of being an alpha female, to let Mariella handle the burden, but not yet. For now, I need a drink.
Maybe I was overreacting; maybe this was nothing. I mean, it was good to know that neither of them loves me. For them, I had a multitude of roles: bank, power battery, womb, energy source, and even blood source. And the object of unloading rage on. Someone to stab, slash, terrorize, and bully, but not to love. That role was reserved for Mariella.
As I was who I was, something dark was waking up inside me. Pain woke it up. It stretched itself, using my pain as fuel, to get stronger, starting to whisper in my mind things about freedom, our choices, our decisions, our power. I was yet too drunk to really focus on it, but my darkness was getting stronger. It was born out of pain, and pain was one thing that fueled it and made it grow.
In the depths of my utterly shitty, drunken mind, Charles' worried voice echoed. "Honey, what's the matter? Why are you holed up in some old safehouse, drowning your sorrows for a week? It's not good for you."
I snapped back, my words laced with bitterness, "Because I want to! Just leave me be. Let me drown my sorrows and go have fun with the wolves."
But Charles persisted, his concern clear. "Honey, listen to me. This is not the answer. Drinking isn't helping anyone, especially not you. You're better than this."
His words stung, exacerbating the internal turmoil raging within me. "Oh, really?" I spat. "Has Mariella or Damon put you up to this? So I don't ruin my value, my usefulness to them?"
I was pretty fed up with being a good girl, always behaving, always yielding. I had my fucking right to drink my head full if I wanted.
Charles's voice remained steady, reassuring. "No, honey. I have no idea what you're talking about. But we're on our way there soon, and this will all stop. I guess that Damon and/or Mariella have said something to you."
I didn't bother to respond. I reached for another swig of the bitter liquid. I didn't want to think, to feel. I just wanted to exist, if only for a little while longer. I cursed Salvatore for not letting me have a switch to take off. But then again, as I was a hybrid, what would it do?
I had listened to that conversation for quite some time; the words etched into my memory like a broken record. And I had it all on tape, captured within the depths of my glass.
Mariella's faked-out confession to Damon echoed in my ears, her voice trembling with trepidation. "Do you know, Damon, my love? I must confess one thing. I am often afraid of Mimi. We witnessed her rage at that wedding, and even her rage fuels our energy web. I've heard countless stories from witches at the magic house about what she's capable of. She terrifies me. Did you know she has a dark side, a side that craves killing, maiming, and torture? She's a psychopath. We saw her; she killed those humans, and did you see her expression, pure soullessness? And as everyone always warns us, she is so unpredictable, it is hard for me to approach her or even talk to her as I have no idea what her reaction will be."
I had hoped for understanding from Damon, but his response shattered any illusions. "Darling, why do you think I always have strong flanks with me? That creature — she's not the girl I first met. She's no longer the shy little thing I seduced into my bed. No, she's a stone-cold killer. You're right, there's a dark side to her. Managing her takes guts. I have my reasons for not fucking with her, even though I'm a fucking machine. Because she's not just a woman or a female. She's a creature. I have long time seen her as a beast, but she can stay in our pack as she is an asset, nothing more. "
Of fucking course I have a dark side. It was good to know that my own pack was afraid of me. The whole goddamn world was afraid of me. Damon is not the same guy who seduced me. That part of him was pure fiction. Illusion and the core of him have never loved me.
I felt less like a human and more like a beast. Realizing I needed to be alone, my thoughts began to swirl, each one reinforcing my desire for isolation and distrust of others. This vicious cycle of thinking wasn't truly my own; it felt like a bomb planted in my mind by Damien, Krycheck, or perhaps Sark.
The intention was to provoke me, to drive me into self-imposed isolation, hardening me and making me an easier victim. However, back then, I had no inkling of this, nor did I have anyone to catch on to what was happening. The time to deal with these issues would come much later, and although it wouldn't be easy, I would have someone ensuring I was okay and no longer triggering myself.
As the words hung heavy in the air, I took another swig, the burning liquid providing a temporary respite from the pain and confusion. At that moment, I embraced the numbness, desperately clinging to it as if it were my only lifeline in this tumultuous world.
These haunting words echoed in my mind, their whispered confessions lingering in the air, in my mind. I felt a profound sense of foolishness. My trust shattered into fragments. It became painfully clear that I was feared, even within my own pack.
Once upon a time, I might have seen this as a good thing, but now, all I yearned for was love. I longed for someone to come to me and tell me they didn't fear me, that I could do nothing to harm them, that they were the stronger ones. However, this was all just in my mind. The truth was, I was the most powerful being in the world, utterly unstoppable and uncontrollable. The weight of this realization enveloped me in a suffocating loneliness.
I glanced down at the bottle of booze in my trembling hands, its sharp scent mingling with the musty air. I muttered to myself, finding solace in the fact that at least the alcohol wasn't afraid of me. Or if it was, it had no power to act upon it. At that moment, it was my only comfort.
Everyone was afraid of me, and no one loved me. A hard bargain for me. Good lesson, though. Gives one damn excellent motivation for being alone. No need to listen to lies anymore, and try to behave. Hope that my pretender side has gotten it wrong. Fuck it when it did not. I was goddamn right all along, and I was too tired to even try.
I had no idea how I would navigate this tangled mess. The mere thought of it made me recoil. I didn't want to conform, not really. I fought tooth and nail to weaken Salvatore's hold on me, to keep some semblance of autonomy. But the more I struggled, the more worthless I felt.
I was reduced to nothing but my wealth, my reputation, and the role he forced upon me. Soon, the time would come for breeding, for fulfilling my duty as a breeder. I would lie there, legs spread, and allow myself to be impregnated. And once again, I would be left to handle the litter of cubs on my own, without anyone to lend a helping hand. And God forbid, when I would actually care for my cubs, Mariella would get jealous, causing drama, being a victim. I was too tired, too jaded to have to deal with that.
Not anymore. I had drawn my hormones down, and they would stay that way. I could give a few little pheromones if I were in the mood, but not in the mood for breeding. I had goddamn feelings too, and I had made an enormous sacrifice by giving up the fleas. This is what I get, the truth in my face. Goddamn it, I hated my own stupid, trusting nature.
If I were to breed, make a litter, or several, it would still be under what Salvatore says. God forbid I dared to find enjoyment in this twisted fate. If I did, Salvatore would find a way to snuff it out as quickly as possible. And Mariella, as she had confessed to Damon, claimed ownership over Charles and Adam as well.
They would be bound to worship her, leaving me even more isolated and abandoned. She had been so happy that they were now her husbands, and now she would have to say what they dressed, ate, and she would need them to take her too. Not just me.
Adam and Charles were trying to be doctors. Despite their worry over their beloved Mimi, it was not easy for them to get into a medical mood and start thinking about what booze would do to Mimi and what supplies were needed. Adam had one sports bag with him as they were in the medbay.
They were trying to find supplies to take with them, as the medbay or supplies that Safehouse had were pretty nonexistent. Adam sighed. He felt so damn frustrated, and he knew that if this was again one of those times when Damon broke that girl's heart, he would do something and properly. He was furious.
Charles tried to curb his temperament as well, and he felt Mimi's pain, her need to dull that pain, and he knew that this would be only the first step, and the road to recovery would not be easy, as her heart felt so broken.
Charles was pretty sure that the mating couple had again had a good, long discussion in bed, confessing right about everything that they would come up with. He had heard them himself over the years quite damn many times, both of them berating Mimi, calling her ice queen and whatnot, as she was not the clone of Mariella.
Charles tried to focus. He sensed Adam being almost ready to explode, and it took quite an effort for him to do the same. As if those two had no idea who or what Mimi was. They had their twisted ideas about her and Mimi being kind. She did not see the need to teach them, time after time, who she was.
Restless, Damon Number Two was in no mood for having sex with Mariella. As he made his way to the kitchen to prepare food, his curiosity was piqued by the lights on Mebay. Frowning, he wondered who could be there. The scent of ripe apples and juicy pears wafted through the air, teasing his senses and hinting at the presence of Adam and Charles.
Intrigued, he entered the room to find Adam rummaging through a half-open sports bag; He was checking something and then went to the cupboard, took a few packets, and put them in. While Charles sat at the computer, frustration was evident on his face. Adam was about to explode with rage.
Damon Number Two questioned, "What are you doing here, and where are you going?"
Charles, frustrated with himself, had scoured Mimi's files and Colin's notes, but found no information on how alcohol would affect her.
Sensing that Damon Number Two had a different connection with Mimi than Number One or Mariella, Charles decided to ask, "As Mimi's protector, what would happen if she heavily indulged in alcohol for a week? I mean, heavily. Strong booze."
Damon Number Two sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pondered his response. He had recently acquired a deep understanding of Mimi's radar and had kept this knowledge to himself, not sharing everything with Number One during their playful testing. He had even considered creating special dental substances, seductive ones, for Mimi.
Looking back at Charles, he answered, "Nothing good. Her unique physiology would break down and eliminate alcohol just as it does with everything else, causing a severe hangover lasting for ten days for each week when her blood alcohol level surpasses 300 times the lethal dose for humans. And as you know, it takes 200 times the lethal dose to get us buzzed. So, for Mimi to get drunk, really drunk, I suspect her dosage would have to be around 800 times the lethal amount. Meaning that one week would yield a hangover for almost a month. This kind of drinking would cause an incredibly long and intense hangover, placing immense stress on her entire body. Please tell me that was merely a theoretical question. She was not in perfect shape after the operation."
Charles took out his phone. And show snippet number two. Number two shook his head. He said, "My guess is you two are going to go and try to help her. Well, I am in. We need to find out first why."
Charles said, " What I have gotten from our bond is negative feelings and strong ones to number one and Mariella, so my guess is she must have heard their pillow talk, the secret truths of this pack. I can feel her pain. I am trying to keep myself from rushing in there and picking her up in my arms and making her pain go away."
Number two's eyes turned white as he looked into the past. Soon, his soft voice broke the silence of the medbay, "Poor baby, those two are idiots."
His eyes got their fierce ice-blue color back, and he gave a few orders first to Adam and Charles, so they would go have a few phone calls while he got all the supplies. He was furious. Mariella and Number One had been cruel and stupid, and now they would pay for it. He would make sure, and properly, too.
He was much more that Damon, who had been with Mimi, and his love for her was real, whereas his feelings for Mariella were coming from number one's memories, and he had put them in a separate place.
He used them as a reference guide to see what had happened, but it had not been him, and he was making his own memories here, meaning his bond with Mimi, when they would get it on, would be much stronger than what it was with Mariella. For him, Mariella was almost like an arranged marriage; maybe over time, he would have learned to love her, too, but right now, his heart was broken because someone had hurt his baby.
After the men returned, they made those calls that number two had ordered. He had done it as Mimi's husband, as her protector, as someone who loved her truly. It had taken little time to clear his mind, but he knew it now.
Mimi was more important to Mariella, at least right now. They were soon ready to help her, and it would take time. He was not sure yet where to help her, but Adam had told him about St. Louis Manor, and it was a good place. They would have time to link medbay, help the baby, and see what would come out of this.