Chapter 4

The screech of the bus door unfolding and locking in place echoed like the harsh clang of a jailhouse door. On that particular day, it felt akin to a casket sealing shut, confining me inside with no means of escape, suffocating my very breath. The driver accelerated, amused as I stumbled forward, only managing to steady myself before face-planting. As anticipated, all eyes fixated on me, their laughter piercing. Some even hurled paper wads or gum in my direction.

Sliding into my seat, I shut my eyes, seeking solace as I fought back the tears I refused to shed. When I reopened them, the bus had devoured the road ahead. In a brief span, I would enter the inferno of Satan, where his minions were relentless in ensuring my torment knew no bounds. No respite. No liberation. My personal hell.

***

Alice Cain stood before the class, our Senior year Health and Wellness instructor, delivering a lecture that I struggled to focus on since the class commenced, probably about half an hour ago.

Another half to endure, I absentmindedly mused, silently urging the clock above the teacher's head on the wall behind him to hasten its ticking. Following this class would be our second and final recess for the day, then two more classes to endure before I could escape.

History followed by Mathematics remained. Ugh... I detested the latter beyond comprehension, a sentiment evident in my consistently dismal test scores. I simply couldn't muster the motivation to care about that aspect of my life enough to make a change.

Whenever Mr. Severon, our enigmatic math teacher who had journeyed here all the way from Portugal, attempted to discuss working harder to avoid failing his subject, I would give him a look that conveyed, "That is the least of my concerns, you know?" He seemed to grasp the unspoken message, offering a glance of pity before awkwardly looking away, though not before discreetly assessing my bruises and injuries.

The knowledge of the turmoil at my home with my father was common among everyone, and despite Mr. Severon joining the pack only two years ago, he was well aware of the ongoing situation. He opted not to delve further, seemingly understanding why I consistently declined his offer for private lessons after school.

Moreover, even if I desired to accept his offer, my father would never permit it. Merely broaching the subject would result in harsher punishment that evening. I was certain he would agree to it if he knew it would only add to the torment in my life.

I held back a humorless laugh at the thought of how ironic my life had become. Each morning, I left what remained of my home to attend school, finding temporary respite from my father, or what was left of him. Yet, once away from that particular malevolence, I yearned for time to pass swiftly so I could depart this place and escape this torment.

Away from those who incessantly taunted me. Away from these monotonous classes I had no interest in, except for the teachers providing a brief respite from the bullying, as even bullies had to pay attention in class if they aimed to graduate. Each day unfolded as a delicate dance between two realms of torment, both intent on making my life wretched and solidifying a sense of utter hopelessness within me.

***

I always found Mrs. Cain to be incredibly enthusiastic, using her hands and expressions to convey her emotions vividly to the class, just as she was doing at that moment.

Mrs. Cain had a remarkable talent for finding reasons to be excited about anything, a quality I greatly admired. I wished I could feel that same level of excitement about something, anything at all. However, I knew that this ability had long eluded me for reasons that were quite obvious.

Time and time again, my classmates took advantage of Alice's easily exploitable trait, purposely asking her questions unrelated to the day's lesson but knowing she would find them interesting. It was like a game of bait, hook, set, and catch, with Mrs. Cain willingly taking the bait each time. Many classes had unfolded in a similar manner, with shifter students leading her into their traps with knowing smiles.

In many class sessions, they never even opened their books or put pen to paper. Every time, she fell for it, and I suspected they had done it again, judging by the way she rambled on with a glint in her eyes. Her wild black curls danced around her face, her caramel skin aglow as she spoke.

This should have piqued my interest, but as the young, distracted girl at the back of the class, I couldn't muster the focus to pay attention to the teacher's animated words. Truth be told, I struggled to concentrate in any class since my first day at Terry High, a place I detested despite its prestigious reputation in the town of Terry, which bore my family name. Every moment here was a torment, driving me to escape into my thoughts, the only solace available to me.

Anywhere would be a welcome escape from this wretched place, where half of the shifter students either ignored me or offered sympathetic looks, while the rest sneered or bullied me, both verbally and physically.

I hoped that my bleeding arm would at least give them pause today. Could I please catch a break, just this once? It felt like wishful thinking, knowing that hope often led to bitter disappointment, as it had before and likely would again. So, was there any use in investing my energy in hoping for such small mercies?

Especially when Andrew Brook was in the vicinity. That morning, he slyly tripped me as I rushed around the corner to my first class, nearly causing me to be late. As I tumbled to the ground, my arm's tender wound reopened, prompting me to stem the relentless flow of blood once more.

I glared at his handsome yet deceitful face as he smirked down at me, pondering how someone could exude such external beauty while harboring such internal ugliness. His impeccably styled jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes created a striking contrast, hinting at a darker side beneath his appealing facade. It was evident that others at school sensed this too, yielding to his whims without question, swayed by his charm and allure.

Despite the faculty's supposed authority, Andrew always managed to evade consequences, aided by his influential mother's ties to the Lemuel Pack and Thor, the Alpha, not to mention their considerable wealth. If his silver tongue failed, politics and corruption often smoothed his path.

After his deliberate act that morning sent me crashing into the classroom, exacerbating my already sore ribs, he sneered and belittled me, reinforcing my sense of worthlessness in this environment. He callously suggested, as he had done before, that I should do everyone a favor and end my existence, sparing him the displeasure of my presence.

Although I had entertained the idea of escaping this torment by following his cruel advice, I lacked the courage to act upon it. Despite the allure of liberation from this hellish existence, I couldn't muster the resolve to take such a drastic step. Not yet, at least.