FATED TO THE ALPHA KING

I stood up in response to a shout. "B*tch, wake up. You're running behind schedule. In 10 minutes, make me breakfast; else, it won't be healthy for you." Without even going to the bathroom or brushing my teeth, I hurried downstairs to start preparing breakfast after hastily getting out of my tiny bed. I finished preparing breakfast and left it on the table after ten minutes. I was violently pulled back by my hair as I turned to go upstairs. I screamed in agony and fell to the ground as my scalp hurt so much. Then I was met with a barrage of punches to my face and ribs. I cringed in agony, too terrified to speak.

"You, shithead! How in the hell did you prepare bread and eggs? I'm looking for something different." He slapped me, hauled me to my feet by my hair, and roared.

"I'm sorry, sir," I muttered. My 'father' gave me another smack and a strike to the jaw. And I collapsed to the ground, shielding my face.

He said, "It better doesn't happen again or I'll give you the worst," and walked away.

I didn't wait for anything and got moving despite my body being in excruciating pain, fearing that he would hit me much more. That was something I knew very well. I managed to crawl to the top of the stairs and into my room. I sobbed on the floor for a few minutes. Then it occurred to me that I had to go to school and that if I missed it, my body and mind would not be able to withstand my father's fury. To ease my bruises, I dragged myself and took a cold water shower. I dressed in black pants and an enormous cream full-sleeve blouse to hide the bruises and scars on my arm. I wrapped my blonde hair in a tight ponytail and applied makeup to cover up the bruises on my face. I left my so-called home and headed to school without eating anything. When I got there, I moved inside and toward the locker without looking at anything or anybody. I picked up my books and headed to the lecture.

As the day went on, I remained silent, showed up to class, and spent my leisure time doing what I enjoy best—sketching. I'm not one to boast, but I can say that I'm fairly excellent at it; it's something I'm confident in and proud of.

The arrival of a new boy who was the talk of the school today—talking about how "hot" he looked, who he was, and other things—was what was different. I chose to ignore it and carried on with my work as if nothing strange had occurred. The individual becomes a hot issue for the school because it's uncommon to find fresh students at this particular institution. However, I did see him, and sure, he was attractive. He had dark brown hair, light brown eyes that were almost hazel, a toned body, and, of course, an attitude. I mused absently,

Why do attractive boys have to be so self-centered? I shrugged off my pointless thoughts and carried on with my dull, lifeless school day before heading to my place of employment, an ice cream shop. I work here Thursday through Sunday on a part-time basis. I was envious of the joyful, smiling faces of children, couples, and friends as I went about my work of scooping ice cream, but I was also relieved to know that other people didn't have as bad of a life as I did and that at least they were having fun. I exhaled. I'm working and pretending to smile at folks.

I went home, a place I didn't particularly want to be, after my shift. I went inside to be ready for more torment because I was unable to flee just yet. Fortunately, the house was unoccupied, so I cleaned everything up, finding empty pill packets and empty booze bottles everywhere. My stomach began to grumble loudly as I was preparing dinner, alerting me to the fact that I had not eaten. I cooked spaghetti for myself as well, covered it, and placed it on a plate, leaving it there till I finished it and went to my room. After eating it, I put on my nightgown.

As I lie down, I start thinking about how horrible my life is. I am an introverted person who doesn't interact with others much, has no friends, no parents, isn't wealthy, doesn't have a nice figure, shows my bones, isn't happy in life, doesn't have life; I just survive it. I went to bed with these somber, melancholy, yet honest feelings, and welcomed the nightmares.

I stood up in response to a shout. "B*tch, wake up. You're running behind schedule. "Make me breakfast in ten minutes or it won't be good for you." I hurried out of my tiny bed and downstairs to begin preparing breakfast without even cleaning my teeth or using the restroom. I finished preparing breakfast and left it on the table after ten minutes. I was violently pulled back by my hair as I turned to go upstairs. I screamed in agony and fell to the ground as my scalp hurt so much. Then I was met with a barrage of punches to my face and ribs. I cringed in agony, too terrified to speak.

"You, shithead! How in the hell did you prepare bread and eggs? I'm looking for something different." He slapped me, hauled me to my feet by my hair, and roared.

"I'm sorry, sir," I muttered. My 'father' gave me another smack and a strike to the jaw. And I collapsed to the ground, shielding my face.

He said, "It better doesn't happen again or I'll give you the worst," and walked away.

I didn't wait for anything and got moving despite my body being in excruciating pain, fearing that he would hit me much more. That was something I knew very well. I managed to crawl to the top of the stairs and into my room. I sobbed on the floor for a few minutes. Then it occurred to me that I had to go to school and that if I missed it, my body and mind would not be able to withstand my father's fury. To ease my bruises, I dragged myself and took a cold water shower. I dressed in black pants and an enormous cream full-sleeve blouse to hide the bruises and scars on my arm. I wrapped my blonde hair in a tight ponytail and applied makeup to cover up the bruises on my face. I left my so-called home and headed to school without eating anything. When I got there, I moved inside and toward the locker without looking at anything or anybody. I picked up my books and headed to the lecture.

As the day went on, I remained silent, showed up to class, and spent my leisure time doing what I enjoy best—sketching. I'm not one to boast, but I can say that I'm fairly excellent at it; it's something I'm confident in and proud of. The arrival of a new boy who was the talk of the school today—talking about how "hot" he looked, who he was, and other things—was what was different. I chose to ignore it and carried on with my work as if nothing strange had occurred. The individual becomes a hot issue for the school because it's uncommon to find fresh students at this particular institution. However, I did see him, and sure, he was attractive. He had dark brown hair, light brown eyes that were almost hazel, a toned body, and, of course, an attitude. I mused absently, Why do attractive boys have to be so self-centered? I shrugged off my pointless thoughts and carried on with my dull, lifeless school day before heading to my place of employment, an ice cream shop. I work here Thursday through Sunday on a part-time basis. I was envious of the joyful, smiling faces of children, couples, and friends as I went about my work of scooping ice cream, but I was also relieved to know that other people didn't have as bad of a life as I did and that at least they were having fun. I exhaled. I'm working and pretending to smile at folks.

I went home, a place I didn't particularly want to be, after my shift. I went inside to be ready for more torment because I was unable to flee just yet. Fortunately, the house was unoccupied, so I cleaned everything up, finding empty pill packets and empty booze bottles everywhere. My stomach began to grumble loudly as I was preparing dinner, alerting me to the fact that I had not eaten. I cooked spaghetti for myself as well, covered it, and placed it on a plate, leaving it there till I finished it and went to my room. After eating it, I put on my nightgown. As I lie down, I start thinking about how horrible my life is. I am an introverted person who doesn't interact with others much, has no friends, no parents, isn't wealthy, doesn't have a nice figure, shows my bones, isn't happy in life, doesn't have life; I just survive it. I went to bed with these somber, melancholy, yet honest feelings, and welcomed the nightmares.

The following dull, lifeless day of my day began when I woke up. The things that happen every day also happened today: I got bruises, and blood, and was abused while doing chores. I was thinking about giving up while I was in the shower. There are two sides.

The first is exhausted and fed up with the crazy life I lead. I mean, who wouldn't be when all you have is a father who doesn't even deserve the title, beats you up without cause, mistreats you, makes you do duties around the house and other things? That side is sick of seeing my body covered in scars and bruises; she despises her frail body and the daily sight of blood seeping from it. and is content to wait and hope that something positive will happen while the other side pursues life.

Something nice when I graduate from this hell and become eighteen. Perhaps, just possibly, I would live my life as though I were merely surviving rather than truly living. I'm not giving up since these ideas were winning.

However, this hope is gradually dwindling, and I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stop myself from hurting myself or simply giving up. I'm not sure. I pray every day in the hopes that things will improve, but they never do. Every day I hope that maybe I'll be content and able to smile—not just a phony one—to please people. Perhaps I'll feel appreciated today. Perhaps today I would have some importance and be something to someone, but every day of my life, my fate just shatters my hope that it never turns out the way I want it to. My life is really sad. I'm so pitiful, too. My life is something I detest. I detest my circumstances. I despise who I am.

And it was with these realizations that I broke down in tears. I lost it. I'm damaged. I was never going to be fixed. I'm not loved by anyone. And I began to cry even more. Nobody is aware of the true Elena. I'm an Elena Dominic girl, and nobody gives a d*mn about me!

When there were no more tears to come, I sobbed for about an hour. I got dressed, showered, and went to bed. I noticed I was running late for school when I looked at the time. After missing my first lesson, I raced to school in the hopes of making it to the second lecture without eating. I didn't regret being late since I needed to cry—I just held it in for too long.

Thank god I was able to make it to the second lesson. Similar to yesterday, Mason, a new boy, was the subject of conversation today. As usual, I chose to ignore everyone. Even though these folks see me every day, nobody talks to me. They see me as an existential freak, a nerd, and a freak. Even if this has been the case for years, the agony persists because it must be felt. I wish I could just be immune to it, but that's not how it works.

The remainder of the day is terrible and slow. As I was leaving the school, I noticed a black BMW with the new boy Mason standing next to it. Mason was an older lad, but he was still the most attractive boy I had ever seen, and he was leaning on the car. They were conversing with one another. The older boy was really attractive, or hot in the eyes of other girls. I couldn't resist glancing at him. His eyes were the most exquisite shade of green—I could stare at them for a lifetime—and his hair was a dark walnut hue. He was dressed in faded blue trousers and a tight black shirt that exposed too much of his toned torso and muscles.

He turned to face me as if sensing my intense gaze, and he looked much too nice. I had a full view of his face, including his prominent cheekbones and well-defined jaw. Everything that would entice a girl to fall in love with him. He gave the air a strange sniff spoke a word that sounded like "Mine." and made his way in my direction. I began to run because I was terrified and thought my life depended on it. I sensed him following me. However, I persisted and, happily, my place of employment—that ice cream shop, which I hurriedly entered while gasping for breath—came into sight. I believe I lost him. I let out a relieved sigh. and got to work on my task.

I was driving to my brother Mason's school to talk about anything involving packs and rogues. I wondered, while I was driving, how my friend would be. What would she look like? And the methods by which I might express to her my unwavering affection for her. She would receive everything she wanted. I will spoil her. I grinned. I'm 22 years old and I still haven't found my mate, I sighed. Werewolves typically come into their own around the age of 18. Yes, I am a werewolf—but not just any werewolf, but Lucian Kings, the Alpha King, and King of all werewolves. All I want is for my partner to come around soon; I'm missing her. She needs to adore me, complete me, hug me, and kiss me.

As soon as I arrived at the school, I told Mason that I was waiting for him. I then exited the vehicle. He came over in a few seconds, and I returned the smile.

"Hey, there have been reports of rogues in the vicinity. I said seriously, "So I want you to warn every pack around and take care of your