Luna Queen

7 - Testing Room

7 - Testing Room

Loupe Fiasco, California
USA - North America
The Pack's Testing Room

Sativa
It was day two of my Testing week, and nothing was slipping past Brandon.

I had lied, many times. But, the man seemed to believe me. Guilt, that had died with my integrity a while ago. I tell him what he wants to hear, that way we both get out of each other's faces faster. I irked him, I could tell by the way his jaw was always set in a firm clench, and how he would glance at the door multiple times. I liked that I intimidated him - it gave me an air of power.

"You have a sister?" He asks, his eyes trained on mine.

"Milly." I say, swinging my legs on the gurney. "She is my half-sister, Mr. Hayes."

"Call me, Brandon."

I nod.

I am simply dressed down in a pair of black Yoga pants, and a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. My beloved pair of NewBalance trainers on my feet. I stared at him as he furiously captured notes in his clipboard. Humming every now and then as I answered more questions.

"That night, that you're parents were killed - can you tell me something that you can remember?"

"Eight."

"Excuse me?" He raises a brow and gives me a wary glance. But, I was serious.

"Eight - there were eight men, it was eight minutes past twelve, and they carved the number eight into my parents' chest." I answer. It was true, the most prominent number that rang in my head was the number eight - yes, odd.

He simply nods, writing quickly as he chewed on his lips, "Has anyone ever told you, what an interesting girl you are, Miss Carter?"

"Please, call me Sativa." I chuckle, my mood isn't completely sour today - and I am not sure why. "And no, I have never been informed of my interesting manner."

"Hmm."

The silence hangs in the air for a minute, "You have a mate, Brandon?" I ask, giving him an encouraging nod as he frowns cautiously.

"No, not yet." He sounded disappointed as he sighed, scratching his neck as he leaned back in his chair.

"You sound, disappointed." I note, pushing my wild locks away from my eyes.

"I am," he says. As usual, he had on his lab coat, underneath, dark-washed jeans and a white shirt. I wondered why he bothered.

"You shouldn't be," I frown, tapping my nails against the metal of the gurney. "Mates aren't all they are cracked up to be, Brandon Hayes."

I wasn't sure why I had exaggerated his callings.

"Bad experience?"

"No," I lie. "Just a warning."

He nods. Today, he seems laid back - he isn't asking as much questions as he did yesterday. His desk was piled up high with an array of numerous files and papers. I could have almost felt sorry for the werewolf.

I watch him as he shuffled round the papers on his desk, before settling on one.

"It says here," he suddenly clears his throat and holds up a file - my file. "That you have been to a Juvenile Correction Facility before?"

"Yes," I shrug casually.

"How did that happen?"

"I don't want to tell you," I say childishly, clicking my tongue in slight irritation.