The Silver Necklace

I did my best to clean up the mess around my home. With so few possessions to destroy, it didn't take long for me to clear everything away or simply toss it in the trash. At least that's taken care of now.

With my father's threats still hanging in the air like a guillotine blade, I retreat into my trailer. The wreckage remnants inside are too accurate a depiction of exactly how I'm feeling. Like the last pieces of my fragile sanity will soon splinter, broken windows beneath his heavy boot.

But I can't dwell on it or anything else without potentially disintegrating under that very same boot. There'll be nothing left of me but dust and shards of what I used to be.

Also, I don't have time to waste on metaphors and sadness.

There's an event to prepare for—a mask to put on. It's a bit sickening, really, how I have to mold, shape, and scrape myself together to appease the same people who've spent my entire life tormenting me. All of this to survive.

"Is it worth surviving?" The question slips from my lips as I ruffle through the donation box finds I've snagged over the years.

"It is worth surviving, Kay. I promise you, we must survive."

There it is again; she's stalling with the tone I hate. It is as if there is so much she has to tell me, yet she chooses not to. Her every word is loaded with secrets that I'll never hear.

I don't care anymore.

I can't afford to. Those secrets aren't helping me prepare for this terrible dinner or any of the shit I'll have to deal with this evening. So, she can keep her precious secrets until we die for all I care.

My rummaging produces a dress that's too big but appropriate nonetheless. I slip into the sateen garment, the fabric draping a little too loosely around my hips and bust. But my reflection in the broken mirror betrays none of the gown's flaws.

A serene deep blue with subtle sparkles that glitter like distant stars. It's truly too lovely for someone like me to wear. Or, at least, that's my fear. This gorgeous gown falls firmly into the "drawing attention" category of Deadrick's list of rules.

Making a spectacle of myself is expressly forbidden and against my best interest, and this dress is… stunning. Even on my slim body, it hugs and accents the curves I didn't know I had. And I can't deny this color looks beautiful against my skin.

I need to tread carefully.

Mindful of the delicate fabric, I tie a simple black ribbon around my chest to secure it without obstructing the silhouette. We wouldn't want it slipping off during dinner and causing a scene. A few test jumps, and I'm confident I won't embarrass myself.

The next issue to tackle is the wild mess on my head.

My hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, hangs just past my waist and freestyles into a mess that makes me impossible to miss. I blame not having a mother to teach me the nuances of styling this atrocity.

But, thankfully, I've learned some tricks over the years of wrestling my wild locs. I choose one of three methods to tame my hair into a more conservative style: a subtle braid rolled into a tight bun at the nape of my neck.

Uncomfortable? Yes. Presentable? Maybe. We'll see how my father feels this evening.

All that's left is my face. A light touch of makeup is my best hope of masking the remnants of last night's brutality. Mismatched fragments of discarded powders, blushes, and eyeshadow palettes serve as scarce supplies for this undertaking.

Magically, I manage to smooth away any lingering evidence of Wesley and Russel's attack. Anger flickers in my chest as I stare at my reflection. The person in the mirror doesn't feel like me. I hate her and everything that I'm not.

This girl is pretty and graceful and put together. She looks like someone's daughter who was raised well in a home with rules but also love. She looks like she's got friends who will encourage her to sneak away from the event and let her hair down under the moonlight.

And she's not me in every way that matters.

"You look so beautiful, Kay. Really, your mother would be—"

"What? Proud?" I snort, unable to mask the bitterness in my voice. "Let's not pretend to know what she would think. It's more important to focus on staying out of trouble tonight."

"Kay."

I don't bother responding internally. I need her to hear my voice.

"Milla."

"Tonight, everything is going to change for you. I promise."

"And how do you know that, exactly?" Agitation rises and tightens my throat as I glare at my reflection, knowing she sees it from my eyes.

"I can't—"

"Can't tell me. You can't tell me anything. Ever. And, you know what? I was fine with that." I shrug. "It was nice to have someone on my side for once. Sure, I thought it was strange that my wolf was secretive and vague. It's weird how she rarely says anything to me at all. Maybe we're both shy and don't know how to open up."

She's pacing within me, that same nervous energy as always. All those secrets keep her wound up tight. I'm over it.

"Truth is, you don't want me either," I sigh, pulling a dainty silver chain from under the mattress. Milla whimpers at the sight, and my stomach aches along with her. I can't count how many times Deadrick wrapped a similar chain around my waist, thigh, or neck when he wanted to keep me in check in public.

Like he was walking a wild animal around the territory. And whenever I was more than two steps out of his reach, he'd pull that chain, the silver biting into my skin, stinging, burning, branding me like hot iron.

And when I got my wolf at seventeen… he delighted in using the silver to mute our connection. His words still ring in my ears whenever I see this simple piece of jewelry. "You don't deserve a wolf, rat."

I used to think he only said this to wound me. Maybe he was right all these years.

"Kay…please don't." Angry as I am at her, I hate to hear Milla beg.

It breaks my heart, but we both know I have to. I show up unchained, and Deadrick will lose his mind. And I need a break for her and the secrets and the mysterious bullshit.

I hurt. Every part of me hurts.

"You must have been so miserable being chained to me all these years. But don't worry, Milla." I wince as I latch the chain around my neck, marveling at how comfortable I am with the sting after all these years. It doesn't bring tears to my eyes as it once did. I no longer whimper as Milla's presence disappears from my consciousness. "I'll make sure you won't have to deal with me for now."