Marked By Rejection by Avery Stone
A Pack From Hell
"Wake up!"
Frigid water drenched my body, but the cold wasn't what ignited an intense sizzle within the multiple wounds all over my body. I hissed in agony, attempting not to break out into tears as I curled into a ball.
It was like pouring alcohol over a wound and enduring that stinging pain that came with it, only this was far worse because my entire body was burning like I was on fire.
Laughter broke out into the hollows of wherever I was like my suffering was someone's entertainment.
Surely it was, because they were laughing hysterically.
"Did you mix the water with alcohol?" a male mocked.
"Threw the whole bottle in there. This submissive bitch thinks she can sleep off the time until Alpha gets here? She has shit to do."
My body shook uncontrollably as if I were freezing and couldn't bear the cold any longer.
"Poor girl. She’s shivering like a baby."
"Well, she can shiver and clean the fucking floors she stained with all her damn blood. I ain't cleaning that shit up."
Something slammed into my head, forcing me to open my eyes, which were thankfully only burning with tears and not the alcohol burning the rest of me. My vision was blurry, and it took a few added seconds to clear it enough to see I was in some sort of dungeon.
There was barely any light, just a small glow of orange coming from the corner of the hall that was outside the silver bars. What I did notice was the two large men in the cell with me.
One look made intense dread filter through me as I struggled not to vomit at the scenario already unfolding in my mind. I moved before I could think, scurrying away to the corner of the small square space.
It wouldn't stop them from hurting me - nothing ever stopped any man who wanted what wasn't theirs - but I needed time to process what was about to happen.
Before I lost myself in a panic attack.
"Aww. This ugly duckling thinks we're going to rape her." The man to my left crossed his arms, and goodness, they were all muscle. They were abnormally big as if they had shot themselves up with drugs to make them as buff as possible.
His biceps were covered in his veins, and I wondered if you pressed a pin to his flesh, whether they would bleed or burst with loads of air. He had black hair and brown eyes, and he was tanned, almost an abnormal shade. It was like coal, but you could tell from his face that the rest of him was a darker color on purpose.
He only wore pants, his chest exposed and full of scars and wounds. It was like they were badges of honor to him, and I could tell from his smug expression that he enjoyed my interest - or was getting the wrong idea.
The second dude was similar in shape, but the bulkiness of his frame was more in his legs than his arms. He wore shorts but was shirtless, and his hair was dirty blond. His eyes were black and filled with greed that screamed outward.
He looked at me like I was a diamond he wished to possess and add to his collection, a look that only emphasized the eerie sensation pulsing through me with the intensity of the darkness around us.
I'm scared, Kyle. I'm really scared.
These men would destroy me. They would lay marks upon my body so the world knew what they had done to me. I couldn't go through that shame again, the mockery about what a whore I was, when I didn't want any of it.
Why does this keep happening?
"Got to admit, she has a fuckable body, that's for sure," the man to my right tossed out as his tongue dragged along his bottom lip. His eyes were taking me in from head to toe, and I only shook harder as I came to realize I was completely naked.
I didn't think I could feel so vulnerable, but the realization only emphasized how frail of a being I was. I yearned for death to come. I'd been a fool to think someone like me could survive, but then that little girl flashed in my mind.
Her chains, the irony of her captivity, and the smile she still donned for my sake.
She and the mysterious man seemed to revolve around a new purpose, and I had to endure what was coming if I wished to discover who they were and the meaning behind their desire to keep me upon this land of the living.
I clenched my fists, even as they trembled violently, and worked towards moving until I sat back on my knees. Wrapping my arms around my breasts to cover my nipples, I looked to the floor and bit my lip in hopes of stopping myself from screaming like a maniac.
I could feel the suffocating emotions beginning to fight for freedom, my mind starting to crumble until I was a bundle of screams would probably be knocked out just as fast by the overwhelming sensations. I was fighting myself from breaking down, and I needed to win so that I could endure the pain that was coming my way.
"Oh, look, Richard. Is she trying to be defiant?"
"She thinks crossing her arms like that will stop us?"
They laughed in mockery once again, but my eyes remained on the floor as I began to do what my therapist had taught me.
"When all the emotions are becoming overwhelming to your senses, take each one delicately and place them in a box. It can be any box you wish: a simple one, a pretty, colorful one, a beautiful treasure chest. Whatever your heart desires, Gwen. In your subconscious, you have control. You are the ultimate ruler of this world, the Alpha and commander of these emotions, and you can reel them all up and place them in those precious boxes. That way, on the surface, you'll be a blank canvas, and that's unattractive to those who seek emotion from you."
"Seek emotion?" I quietly asked.
"When someone wishes to hurt another, it's their reaction they seek. If someone pushes you and you don't react, they'll either continue or lose the drive to do it again. Chance are, they'll lose the drive and go to someone who will react. People who seek emotion crave reactions from their victims whether that's bullying them so they can see an ounce of fear in their eyes, or physically hurting them so they can hear them scream. Witnessing the person’s reactions feed these individuals, but when you don't give them anything, they get bored."
"Not give them anything," I whispered.
"You haven't gotten to the stage where you're willing to fight back physically," she quietly noted. "But you can beat them at their own game emotionally. You become a blank canvas. One by one, you take those emotions and seal them and trust me. If...and I say if not to jinx you but to warn you that the sick behavior you endure at the hands of another is sadly something that happens far too often in our dark world, if someone places you in such a situation again and you're unable to fight, let those emotions bleed off you until you’re a void."
She gave me a sad smile. "Will it stop them from committing the deed? I'm not sure, but you'd give them no leverage to promote their dark fantasies. That's a big enough turn-off for them that they'd give up early, or not prolong the act. Understand?"
Her words and the scenario within her small office faded away, but it triggered my actions as I began to take each emotion and place it in a box. The anger, the fear, my worries, and the slight hope I carried to discover my purpose were buried in beautiful boxes of blue and orange.
It was like when I'd play with Kyle in the sandbox and we'd mark places with Xs after burying our toys to dig out later. It was exactly that in my mind, burying the wonderful treasure boxes that glimmered in pride and placing them in the sunken holes of sand.
The process felt slow in my mind, but it was surely only a few seconds that brushed by. Regardless, the deed was done, and it left me with...
Nothing.
I'd done this in the past, but I'd never let it settle within my body. I'd scurried for those emotions, already missing their presence in my mind and body, secretly wishing for their return so I could feel the anxiety, panic, pain, and hurt once more.
Like a safety net that reminded me that I was still amongst the living.
But here, I couldn't do that because those emotions of agony were most precious to me. They were my lifeline and gave me a sense of purpose. My pain and everything that was done wrong against me pushed me to keep going, even if it was a fucked-up way to be motivated.
I wanted them to see I still existed. That the wounds, bruises, scars, and phantom pain of their intense desire for domination over me hadn't ended me entirely.
There was no denying that I looked like a dead girl walking with no life goal, but I was alive, and those emotions I buried would one day be memories I'd healed from.
If I have to endure more pain, so be it. I'll endure everything...I'll survive...and I'll add them to my collection. The pain will motivate me. Their guilt will one day consume them. In the end...I'll be the victor, simply for surviving.
"What the fuck happened to her? Did she zone us out?"
"I don't know," the man to the left huffed and reached out to slap me.
My body didn't have time to brace for the pain, but the slap didn't hurt - no, it did...but maybe because of my buried emotions, my brain could no longer acknowledge anything?
Slowly, my head returned to looking downward, as if nothing had happened
"This fucking bitch. Hey!" Another slap to my other cheek was more forceful, but again, I felt nothing. My tears had stopped when I'd buried my sadness, and now they were dry like the Sahara Desert. "Fucking cunt!"
His massive hand wrapped around my throat, and I was slammed back against the wall so hard, I surely broke something. I felt the drip of something coming from my right nostril, but I paid no mind as my void eyes locked onto his.
This emotionless shell of mine could now vividly see the intense anger in this man's orbs of brown, but just like my therapist had mentioned, his rage was due to my inability to react. He wanted to see me cry. To listen to me beg. To hear my helpless whimpers in hopes I'd do anything he asked of me.
That's what made them hard.
I wasn't giving him that, and it was infuriating to him.
"You won't be able to ignore me when I fuck you senseless, bitch."
I gave no reaction to his words, even though I knew what would happen next. I simply closed my eyes, hoping it would be fast.
The darkness made me notice what lingered in my mind, and it was the first time I noticed that the girl I'd seen at the brink of death was there - in my mind.
She was still chained, sitting there like an obedient kid waiting for her parents. My attention made her beam brightly, and that tugged at my fascination further, even when there was talking happening in the present.
My intrigued wonder made my line of vision zoom in on her until I could see her perfectly. She still looked like me, or inevitably was me, but her happiness was beautiful to see when I couldn't feel my own.
It was a new route of motivation.
"Good, Wren," she praised me and even clapped her chained hands. "Let them be forced to see how disgusting they are."
If I could smile, I would, but a foreign voice tugged me away from this view until I was back and catching onto their words.
"Touch her and Kolt will kill you both in front of the entire pack."
The two men froze in their place, not because of the softness of this new individual's voice, but because the mere mention of Kolt made their bodies tense up like statues.
The man's hand was still evidently around my neck, even when he turned his head to acknowledge the new individual standing in the hollows of the dark hallway.
I couldn't see the figure since the shadows were dark enough to shield his frame, but I could see those piercing eyes of gold that cradled hints of white. It was like his irises were wrapped around a white ring and the gold was blazing energy that could surely do some damage if it were an actual weapon.
"I'm touching her, handicap," he tossed at the man. "Whatcha gonna do?"
"You know what I mean by ‘touch,’ Wilfred," the man replied calmly as if his insult did nothing to him. "You were instructed to wake her up. Not rape her like the other submissives."
"You think because Kolt likes you, I should listen to your bullshit?"
"Kolt's gonna throw you out now that you can't heal shit," the other guy tossed out.
"I'm following instructions," he declared. "Want to defy them, be my guest. I can just tell Kolt neither of you believes me."
That was enough for them to mutter insults under their breath before Wilfred let me go. My legs were far too weak to support me, and I landed on the ground that was wet with blood and what I was going to assume was urine.
I hadn't realized before, but pulling into myself surely made my body limp like a doll. I wasn't sure if I felt degraded or disgusted with myself, but then again, here I was naked, in front of three strangers who thought of me as a tool rather than a human being. My morals, needs, and common human dignity probably meant nothing to them.
"We're not interested in a soiled cunt anyways," the guy on my left tossed out as he made his way to the gate.
"Yet you have a boner, Derek," the new acquaintance tossed back. "You love to talk shit when you don't get what you want. You had no problem fucking that chick last week when she was clearly on her period. Blood doesn't stop you. Why would urine?"
"Keep talking and I'll rip that other arm off and disable you entirely," Derek snarled.
"And waste valuable energy? Wouldn't that make you look like a weak piece of shit who has to use his fists against a disabled wolf?"
The way Derek growled made Wilfred huff. "Don't bother giving him clout. We can go finish shit with one of the other useless bitches."
They both looked back to stare at me, but I remained staring at the pool beneath me, attempting to remain emotionless - before I broke down and cried like a crumbled soul.
"We'll fuck you up once Kolt is done with you," Derek snarled.
"Unless he sees how useless you are. Then you'll be thrown out like the piece of garbage you are."
They laughed as if their mockery and insults could further dig into my flesh and taint my life.
Even when the loud sound of the bars being slammed shut and footsteps and degrading insults faded away, I remained nestled in my emotionless cocoon, all while my head hung low.
The sight of feet in my line of vision didn't tug me away from being absolutely still, but I feared more punishment now that I realized he was stepping within the puddle of...disgust.
I tried to move my clenched hands to try and push his feet away, but they took the opportunity to shake endlessly like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I tried to breathe through it, like how I'd been taught many times, but I couldn't even do that. Each struggled breath held a cracked whimper, and I realized my stilled moment was broken as I trembled uncontrollably.
All I could do was stare at my hands, noticing the drops of blood that fell into my palms while a few drops of tears descended along my flushed cheeks.
The person knelt down, the movement slow. It made me feel pitiful that I couldn't get my point across. I had to say something - anything - so I wouldn't be punished by him as well. So I could defer the rounds of punishment that would surely assault my shuddering, bare flesh.
"S-S-S...S-S-Sor-ry." It was the only thing I could get out with my stuttering voice that sounded like a puny child. This entire experience made me feel like the helpless little girl attempting to hide the moment her older brother "babysat" for the evening.
Mentally, I scrambled for those emotions like they were my lifeline of getting out of this mess, but as I scrambled to retrieve them, it only made me more of a mess as sobs began to escape me.
They weren't ones of sadness. That would have been a blessing if they were. I sobbed out of anger because I couldn't do anything.
Again. Again. Again!!!
I couldn't control myself as I clenched my fists and tried to move away. I didn't get far, my legs unable to move even as I used the brewing fury as encouragement to crawl against the cold, broken concrete floor.
More blood and tears dripped onto the dark grey surface, and it only ignited a blaze of animosity because I didn't ask for this. I'd accepted death and was ready to face the other side, even if it was Hell, but how could this be so much worse?
Why did I wish to be engulfed in flames for all eternity rather than be stuck in this place of living hell?
I couldn't contain the anger within me, and I slammed my fists against the concrete. The pain was evident, and yet I was numb in comparison to the radiant humiliation I'd experienced. Being looked at like a tool for pleasure like I'd always been seen by yet another set of despicable pieces of shit was nothing new.
These scenarios were the same, leaving me realizing what a feeble being I was in the moment and only further emphasizing my vulnerability in situations that outweighed my chance of victory.
They thought I wanted this. To be exploited and toyed with physically, emotionally, and mentally. My voice would always abandon me when I wished to say anything defiant, and my body would crumble like a leaf that'd been cut from its branch, leaving me flailing in desperation to fight what would be inevitable.
Another slap against the pavement, another painful experience to add to my collection.
Just because I was used to the abuse, that didn't make it right, and I fucking knew it.
Then why can't I fight?! Why can't I stop this fucking cycle?
I hit the surface again and again, and I didn't register the screams of rage and sobs until I was so far into the explosive panic attack that I couldn't even grasp the reigns of my emotional chaos.
This poor guy probably thought I was going mad, but then I felt the soft touch to my back. I should have pushed him away, should have blasted him with my anger and let him feel the wrath begging for revenge, but I couldn't stop banging the surface like it was my true enemy that had caused all of this chaos.
My words were incoherent as I let it all out, and I didn't care who heard me, for the pain within myself was too much to contain.
The man's hand continued to rub my back until I couldn't hit the surface any longer. My entire body was drained, and I struggled to even keep up with my desperate need for air.
The person took the opportunity to try and help me up, lifting my entire weight because I couldn't do a single thing.
"I'm gonna move you so I can clean this up, and then I'll take you to the shower room while the rest of the pack is still out for their run," the man whispered calmly. I was surprised he wasn't disgusted by me, but I weakly watched as he helped me off to the side where the ground was dry enough and laid me there.
I noticed this individual was close to my height at 5'6". He could have been one or two inches taller if my estimate was correct. It was hard to tell when he wore a black cape that covered the majority of his body, but I watched him take it off.
He removed it from his broad shoulders to lay it upon me.
That shocked me because it was the most generous thing a male could do after confronting those two assholes and watching my self-harm tantrum, but my surprise expanded further as my gaze lowered to acknowledge what they had been mocking him for.
His...arm...
I felt like a fool for staring - and probably gawking - at the obvious missing limb, which was his right arm, but he didn't seem to pay any mind as he slipped his fitted frame through the space he'd left open between the sliding bars and fetched a bucket with a cloth and brush.
I watched him helplessly as he began to scrub and clean the floors. He eventually got a mop to soak up the blood and urine, and after what felt like an hour, it was clean enough for his satisfaction.
By then, I was struggling to remain awake, but it didn't bother him as he managed to carry my entire weight to this shower place.
I tried to keep my eyes open, for my consciousness to remain so I knew I wouldn't be taken advantage of, but the will to push through the fogginess was far too strong and outweighed my resolve.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my cell and lying on a simple sheet and something that felt like a hay bag filled with something firm to act like a pillow. I couldn't really move, my body in aching pain, but I felt the scratchy fabric that cloaked my body as well as the bandages that wrapped around the majority of me.
I thought the man would be gone, but as my eyes scanned around, I noticed that he was simply sitting in the corner, staring at a single flower in his grasp while humming a quiet tune. It was a soft sound, but it was a melody that was soothing, and for a second, I wondered if he was singing to the flower.
To cheer up the single plant that surely was once a part of a bundle of some kind.
"She's awake?" He quietly spoke as if the flower were having a conversation with him, and sure enough, his eyes landed on me.
His smile was filled with relief and kindness, and I was shocked such a being could exist in this cruel place. I hadn't even seen or experienced the entirety of wherever I was, but I knew down to my very soul that this man didn't belong here.
"It's good you’re awake," he quietly declared. "Maybe we can get some food in you before the pack returns. After that, I'm not sure what's going to happen, but I'm praying you're valuable enough that you won't be killed."
Killed.
He got up and walked over to me. Crouching down, he reached out with his single arm and gently stroked my head. It was odd, and yet it didn't freak me out compared to what I usually felt from a foreign touch.
"Yael. I'd say we should be friends, but I don't think I'll live much longer," he confessed. My eyes widened and suddenly blurred with tears, and he simply smiled as if he'd accepted his fate.
This is my fault.
"I feel like you're the type to try to blame yourself for other people's inexcusable behavior," he noted more to himself but continued to stroke my head. "It's not your fault. What happened earlier isn't very common, but I'm on rejection row anyways."
He shrugged his shoulder and nudged his head over to his obviously missing arm.
"This pack from Hell hates incompetent beings. Regardless of whether I have healing magic or not, there's only so much I can do before I'm considered useless. Kolt's gonna be back by the end of the week, so there’s a good chance I'll be killed the moment he sees my missing arm. He may see some value in you, though. You're pretty," he complimented.
My tears fell as I blinked a few times, and it was the first time I saw sadness twinkle in his golden orbs. "Don't cry. It may get worse before it gets better, but if death doesn't take you first, know you have something special in there."
He moved his hand to lightly tap at my chest. It didn't make me panic as my eyes bored into his, but the conviction in his eyes would be engraved in my mind because he truly believed I had something worthy enough to escape death.
"Your anger," he whispered. "Let it drive you towards survival. You have all the tools to become what you wish to be. You're a firecracker that could fuck all those antihero assholes straight to Hell. I sensed it. That power is there. You just need someone to free it. You need to allow yourself to be what you wish to become."
He rose up then and bobbed his head. "Rest a little more. I'll see what I can snag before Dereck and Wilfried try to fill me with bullets by accident."
My eyes tripled in size, but he simply chuckled.
"Don't worry. I can't die from bullet wounds, but they're pretty painful, especially if they're silver bullets, so I’d rather avoid it."
He turned away and headed on out, but I gritted my teeth before I fought against my struggling vocal cords to speak.
"W-Wren!"
He stopped before the shadows of the hall could hide his stature - the orange hues of the flames flickering against his frame so I could take the chance to admire his shoulder-length hair that was blond with green highlights.
"Wren?" He spoke the word like a question before his smile widened to a full-on grin. "Wren. Small bird. That's a beautiful name," he praised and quietly added, "I hope you spread your wings and fly out of that cage, Wren. You deserve to be free. You have the beauty to do it and probably the brains."
He looked away as he whispered, "You're just missing the confidence. I hope you find it."
As he walked away, I was left with his haunting words, and all I could do now was cry.
Mourn what was coming for me.