Werewolf Compilations

Chapter 82

November 30th, 1991

I cannot leave my bedroom. I cannot face him. I have lost my baby. My baby has slipped between my

fingers, leaving me forever, never to come back. I feel empty. James feels empty. He has tried

speaking with me, but I have nothing to say. There is nothing I want to say anymore. The doctor says

that many women have miscarriages and it should not stop me from trying again, but there is a cloud of

discouragement over my head. It floats there, never to go away. I want my baby. Goddess, please. I

need my baby.

December 1st, 1991

I feel sad today. I feel sad every day. I want my baby back. Please, please, Goddess give me my child.

December 5th, 1991

James says we can try again when I am ready, but I know she will take my baby again. She took my

baby and I will never forgive her.

James tells me that I need time to heal. I love him. It is soon but I know I love him. He has hurt me, but

I love him. Is that why she took my baby? Because I am a weak woman in her eyes?

I close the diary and regret having opened it in the first place. I get up from my bed and set the diary

back on my desk, not wanting to think about Julianna's pain. I wish I could travel back and tell her that

she doesn't have to be discouraged because one day she would have a son, one day she would have

a child.

Since I have been home, bored and lonely, my daydreams have grown from wishful thoughts to

intricate, imaginary parts of my life. Some of them are with James, and some of them are not. Those

are the frightening ones, the ones where I am wrinkled and alone, sitting in this house day by day,

never leaving, never dying, just existing with no purpose. No mother, no mate, no child to care for.

Nothing. And I think about this often which causes me to scold myself for not making any friends. I Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

should have sat with those people at the table or chatted with that possible Stacey more, but no.

My mother has been telling me about a boy she thinks I should meet. I told her off, angry, upset,

flaming up to my room only to lock myself in and hide. The idea of meeting a boy makes me physically

sick.

The boy's name is Noah and he is my age. He is my mother's friend's son and my mother will not stop

mentioning him. I told her that I have no interest in meeting anyone, but she is persistent. She has

invited her friend and the boy over for dinner tonight, and I swore that I wouldn't come down from my

room like a stubborn child. I swore that I will never meet this boy if it is the last thing I do.

What am I scared of?

Losing my one chance, I suppose. Losing James, my one and only mate. The person who was never

supposed to exist, the person who shunned me, who showed a hint of love then pushed me away for

my own benefit. Would he think me weak if I told him that after everything he has done, I didn't want to

leave? I wanted to stay and work through this, fix the mistakes made, give forgiveness and move on if

he was willing? Does that make me weak? Did forgiving James make Julianna weak?

I don't think she is weak, I think she is strong sometimes but broken on the inside. Is that me? Am I

labeling myself as strong only to mask that I am destroyed by everything that has happened? I don't

know. I can't tell if I am broken or not.

A brief warning knock comes to my door before my mother opens it and peeks inside. "They'll be here

any minute. Can you get dressed?"

I lay on my bed and peer up at her. "I already told you that—"

"Rae, please. Stop acting like this. It's been weeks, it's time to move on now."

My eyes harden as that familiar feeling of betrayal fumes up. I sit up swiftly. "Time to move on? Time to

move on? He is my mate!"

"He was your mate," she interrupts, "not anymore."

I have a need to break things, to slam the door in her face and throw everything in this obnoxious room

out the window. I need to scream and stomp my feet and cry about how he is still my mate, he's my

mate, he didn't reject me, he is still mine! "Get out. Just because you got over Dad's death so quickly

doesn't mean I'm as cold-hearted as you."

I can see the sudden hurt and anger in her eyes before she turns her back on me and returns

downstairs. I hear the doorbell ring and I can't help but swing the door shut, not wanting to hear a word

from any of them. I have to calm down, I have to cool.