Chapter 12

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TW: SELF HARM, THOUGHTS OF DEATH

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TW: SELF HARM, THOUGHTS OF DEATH

I need to wait. Just a little while longer.

I tell myself as I try to focus on the pain I should be feeling in my feet. There are 300 million tiny little glass shards in them, for Goddess's sake! I shouldn't be able to walk, let alone sprint.

But I am. And I hardly feel it.

All I feel is cold rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

At Blessing. At my parents. At Maxton. At the Goddess. At everything.

Why was this my fate? Why? What did I do to have my mate leave me for my sister? For my parents to not love me? What did I do?

Why?

Why?

Why?

That why is the only thing keeping me from going full rogue. Rogues have no thoughts other than revenge and rage. They want to destroy everything in sight. I can't succumb to it.

If I lose, the rogue in me wins.

So, I need to do what I do best: think.

Why?

Ants don't have lungs. They breathe through spiracles, which are nine or ten tiny openings on different parts of their bodies. I read that in a book about insectology.

Why?

The research article titled "Sociology of the Family" states studies have shown that families with two daughters have reported higher levels of harmony and happiness. Because daughters tend to communicate and get along more. What a bunch of bullshit.

Why?

In ancient Rome, exile, or exsilium, was considered a form of "social death." Banished individuals were stripped of their citizenship, property, and connections, making reintegration nearly impossible.

Why?

Why couldn't shunning have just been in Ancient Rome, Babylon, or even in Hammurabi's code? Why did it have to happen to me? What did I do? Was there no place in the world for me?

As soon as I think that, I realize I'm laying on the Archives floor in front of the door. The warm light of the moon basking over my tired body.

How did I get here? When did I get here?

I'm panting hard. My lungs should be hurting, but they don't. I look down at my feet. They're bare. I don't know when I took my shoes off. But they're painted red with my blood. I don't feel it.

I bark out a laugh. Of course, I came to the Archives. There is one place in the world for me. It's here. Even my half-rogue-self knows that.

I'm going to die, I realize.

I can think all I want, but I'll eventually turn rogue. When I go rogue, I'll go after my family. Then my mate. Then the rest of my pack. And they'll be forced to kill me. No matter what I do, I'll die. And I'll die alone.

This can't be it for me.

I can do this. I've always been able to do it. I will continue to do it.

"These things don't happen without reason, Hazel. It'll be alright in the end."

"You're really smart, and you're really kind. You work hard."

"You've helped us more than enough already. Do you want to stay and hang out for a bit?"

"I think you'll fit right in."

"Will we see you tomorrow?"

I will always have somebody as long as I have myself. I will always have somebody as long as I have myself. I will always have somebody as long as I have myself.

It's enough.

That's it. I won't die alone. And I won't die a rogue. I'll die myself. As long as I have myself, I have somebody. And it's enough. It's enough for me.

I force myself to recall a book I read in my father's library of medical papers. There's a certain part on the right side of a human's stomach, and if pierced, it'll hit a major artery. They'll die, slowly, but eventually.

I force my fingers to feel around my stomach as I measure the distance. Right side. Three inches from my back. 2 inches from my hip. Below my ribs.

Right here. The skin is soft. There's fat on my stomach. It's moving up and down as I breathe. I never had the perfect body, perfect skin, or a perfect face. But I have a body. And I feel it. This is it. This is where I'll die. And I choose it.

I force one claw out and pierce my skin, slicing through it.

With a soft sigh, I close my eyes.

There aren't many things I've been able to choose in my life. I didn't choose my parents. I didn't choose my sister. I didn't choose to be shunned. I didn't choose to be rejected. I didn't choose my mate. I didn't choose this life, but it happened to me regardless. But it's alright because I choose this.

"Wait for him."

I don't know what I was waiting for. Or who. But, maybe this was it. Maybe finding a final, peaceful, and safe place to rest is what I was waiting for. I don't feel pain. I don't feel anything.

As I drift off, I think of one last fact I learned long ago when I first took over the Archives.

The Ancient Greeks had two different conceptions of time, using two different words: chronos and kairos. The former refers to time as we know and measure it today, the chronological time. The latter signifies a proper or opportune time for action. Kairos, in other words, means the right time.

Word Count: 911 words

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Word Count: 911 words

AHHH sorry this is a short chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!! this was the best place to end but don't you worry, the next chapter will be up TOMORROW!! it's also another short chapter. but the one after that will be back to the regular lengths! breaking up this way was best for the story. it's for the plottt yall the plotttttttttttttttttttttttttt

this was a heavy chapter. i hope you all take care of yourselves. please remember that you are loved and you are worth more than you could ever know. you are not alone and you have a place in this world, always. as long as you have yourself, you will always have somebody. and you will always have somebody as long as you have yourself.

please remember to comment and vote! i love hearing from you guys :). i respond to every comment!!

hope you have a wonderful day jaanis <3

love, libahrary

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