Rejected Mate and Following Fate

The tears mist my eyes, my throat swelling so I almost can't breathe as ache hits me low in the gut and threatens to make me crumble. I push the note back inside quickly, trying to combat it and flick through the cash, mentally counting almost two hundred dollars and it breaks the wall that's been holding in the tears. I slump down onto the floor, like a disheveled sack and begin to cry, holding it close to my chest and completely break down. It's not just for this, but for everything.

Why now did I find my pack, at a time when I thought I had no other option? Why would the fates give me something closer to a real home, only to make it unreachable by the tiniest stretch?

I have to pull myself together and stop being weak. None of this matters, and it doesn't change things. I have to get my crap together and stick to what I decided. I have to stay strong and determined. I can't break, because if I do, I won't be able to put myself back together.

I pull myself to get up and walk to the closet, despite heaving with wracking breaths, sniffing, as I try to stop the tears. I have to find some sort of bag to pack my shit up and focus on doing, not feeling. Luckily, whoever brought my things from the orphanage, packed some of them in a large backpack that had been Vanka's. I drag it out of the bottom corner, holding it for a second, a fresh wave of pain twisting my insides as I stroke across the corner where she wrote her name in a black marker pen. Bold, jaggy letters, that somehow represent who she was in life. I numb it out, swallow it down, and begin to haul out essentials and stuff them inside.

I need basics, like a couple changes of clothes, toiletries, the money, the snacks I have in my room. I need something to sleep with too, like a blanket to lay on the ground, and something to carry water in, just in case I can't find a stream or river in hours. I don't know what else to pack, and I end up shoving things in haphazardly. A book I never got to reading, the iPod that was among my belongings, and then I realize I probably won't be able to charge it if I stay in the wilderness and put it back on the shelf. I find a lighter, a swiss pen knife that I kept among my treasured items from my father's possessions. Some old camping matches, and his flint stick for making fires, should I run out of the others.

I push through my stuff and come to Colton's grey t-shirt, pausing painfully, recognizing it as the one he gave me to wear when I shredded my clothes. I thought I 'd given everything back to Meadow for him, but this still remains, like a scar on my heart. His human smell still lingers in the fabric, despite it being washed, or maybe I'm just conjuring it up for myself, his scent so ingrained in my head that I will it to come back at me. I impulsively push it in the bag, stroking it for a second too long, and zip everything up inside. I shouldn't take a part of him with me, for my own sanity, but I can't bear to take it back out.

I keep checking my watch, even though I know I have another 3 hours before they assemble for dusk patrol. I have to kill time without going back downstairs and acting weird. I need to occupy myself up here until it's time to go, without obsessing and driving myself crazy.

A shower!!! The thought hits me… that's an idea, and a nap if I can force it. Refresh myself, change into more suitable clothes than this sport pant and t-shirt duo I have sweated all over. Tasks will pass the time and keep my brain centered.

I pull my clothes off without hesitation, throwing them in my wash basket and head to the bathroom quickly. Yanking my hair down from my ponytail and turn on the shower, testing it before I go to step in.

Lorey? You there? Colton's voice hits me in the center of my forehead, the last thing I was expecting and I almost slide with surprise as I lay my foot on the wet shower floor, grabbing onto the door to stop myself falling, like a newborn fawn on unsure legs, almost crashing into mayhem.

For the love of all that is holy!! Why are the fates screwing with me today?

Yes, what do you want? I snap, a little harshly, instantly remorseful at my knee jerk reaction to him, then not, when anger kicks me in the butt and reminds me what an ignorant asshat he is. That he's all good to reach out now, after an unexpected brush with me downstairs, that clearly pushed his need to contact me button a lot harder. I rub my bruised shin which bashed the shower screen and jump in under the hot water instead of standing out here like an idiot.

I just…. after seeing you downstairs….. I wanted to make sure you're doing okay. I can pick up on the hesitation, the agony in his tone and I end up sighing heavily. Madness wavering, because I'm a fool when it comes to him sounding like this, this boy, and against all my better judgements, I soften my tone when I should be cutting him off instead.

this? He's killing me, making all those emotions spiral up and mess with me all over again and I need to be stronger than this. I need to bring back the bite to my voice, the steel to my

get drawn in again, it's only going to go like every other time. A couple days of pulling close and then he backs off and leaves me feeling desolate again. I get it, I do, because the need for him is always stronger when we have some sort of contact, but I'm not

have to talk to me… go talk to Carmen. I'm sure she'll love that. I focus on something to be pissed about and it does the trick. Moody, bitchy tone initiated. I can always count on my broken-hearted jealousy to find the fire in my soul. I sound as bitter as he makes me feel, and I'm glad the water is pouring over my face and camouflaging the tears that have started to fall of their own accord. I have zero control of that right now, and glad he can

face you. I guess we both know what's going to happen in a week's time. I don't know how to say the words to you, or how to say sorry for what I'm going to do. In that one little statement he confirms my worst fears and solidifies my decision. Ripping what's left of my

to shake with the buildup of sobbing coming my way. Trembling as I try to hold it in, breathing fast and shallow. Throwing cold and snappy in there, while my limbs are quaking with the effort, but I can't let him know what it is I am planning on doing. He would stop me, even with his mind

your chores…. I guess, I'll see you around. He lingers, saying it slowly as though looking for a reason to not let this

as I do. Doing something I haven't ever done to him, it was always him that did it to me, metaphorically shutting it, bolting it tight, and pushing the soundproofing button on our link so he can't come back anymore. I don't want him getting through, I mentally lock it and toss the key aside. I'm not going to lie, it feels like I just stabbed myself in the chest with a dull object, and I gasp sob when the dead silent noise consumes that part of my mind. It's horrendous to know I'm the one to cut

despite trying so hard to be strong, I end up sitting on the floor under the full force of my shower head, and sobbing my heart out

contact me. It's harder when we do, especially touching, and we did when we collided. I probably played on his mind after I left because of that simple moment, and I'm just as pathetic, sitting here crying over him. I shouldn't have responded to him at

an idiot. I'm a fool for him in every way, and I can't even stay mad, or hateful, no matter what he does, because the second I get a chance at connecting, I let him. I shouldn't have left the link open all week; I should not have

and aggressively wash down while refusing to break down anymore. It's

though cleansing my head of thoughts and feelings. I finish up fast, tug a towel on when I step out, and focus all my efforts on drying quickly, rubbing my hair as dry as I can get it, before combining it into a sleek ponytail and pulling on fresh underwear and clothes. I slide on jeans, a tank, and sweater, pull

room, make the bed, and then lay down on top of it and try to force myself to take a nap to kill some time, staring blankly at the ceiling and

pause, stare at it, praying to god he hasn't decided to come here and start this shit all over again. It's what he does… and I

me, or touch me, or get close.

carts and I exhale in relief when it rolls right on by my room and fades into the distance. My

to get yourself in such a mess and not

too much. I picture a meadow, a sweet-scented field full of pretty flowers, and one by one as I walk through them, I count the heads, picking them out, touching them as I go. I visualize the colors, the feel of their softy silky petals on my fingers, and the way the subtle scent blows around on the breeze. Coming to me in mixed smells as they all dance and sway in ripples. It helps me drift into a calmer state of mind. The noise of nature drowning out everything else in my mind's eye. If I can just focus my energy for

seems to work, I drift into a semi hazy state of rest and before I

of the space around me and check the clock on my wall. I'm shocked that it's been more than a couple of hours since I came up here already. I guess I spent a long time in the shower to begin with and

for the guards to take up position and maybe it's a sign I shouldn't wait until the dusk hour. Maybe too many will be out there, and I might not be able to make up excuses