Silenced Despair

(Alina's POV)

The walls in my room felt looming over me, the air stale despite the soft breeze, the open window let in. I sat on the bed and began running my fingers up and down the frayed stitching of my dress while my mind worked out its unruly thoughts. Days had passed, each one spent within these very walls, convincing myself that this was the safest haven for me. The world outside wasn't safe; it was just so very unpredictable, full of memories I didn't want to go through.

But it wasn't helping to stay in here, either. It made me trapped, not just physically, but in every other way, my life was contracted down to this space. The only thing I had was my thoughts: dangers, spiraling thoughts, remembering me of all I'd lost.

And then there was him.

Kennedy.

There was a mate bond, tenuous but insistent, this thread I couldn't quite cut. Every time I thought about leaving the bond tugged at me, made me hesitate. How was I to move on when his presence weighed on every decision? He was nice, kinder than he needed to be, but that was somehow harder. I didn't want his niceness, his patience. I didn't want to owe him anything.

I ran a hand through my tangled hair and let out a sigh. No, this just wasn't going to do. I needed an open head, to breathe in air that wasn't tainted with my despair.

I allowed myself no time to second-guess my decision and got up to dress quickly in a simple gown that covered me decently. I didn't care whether I looked good or bad, but just wanted to feel normal, at least for a little while.

I pushed out into the street and found it alive. The noise, the motion-there was so much of it, almost too much as I met it for the first time. I hadn't noticed how accustomed I had grown to silence. Before me, the marketplace lay in utter chaos of color, smell, and sound.

The traders hawked their wares to the passersby; voices droned together in rich, melodic tones. Stalls were bursting with goods: bright fabrics, flashing weapons, fresh produce, and fragrant herbs. Children flitted between the adults, their giggles rising above the din. In one corner, two wolves grappled in friendly spar; growls drew a small crowd.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a flicker of something that wasn't despair. It wasn't happiness, not exactly but it was a distraction, a momentary reprieve from the heaviness inside me.

As I walked, I caught snippets of conversation.

"Did you hear? Alpha Kennedy dealt with rogues again."

"Of course he did. He's unstoppable."

"They say he's ruthless. Cold as ice.”

I stopped and strained my ears to make out their words. It didn't sound like the same man I had met; ruthless, cold, no such thing. He had treated me with nothing but consideration. Even when I wanted to hurt him with those words, he hadn't fought back. He had walked away.

Who was the real Kennedy?

I shook my head and passed on, trying to drive thoughts away. Before I caught my eye or rather my nose a stall with golden-brown buns steaming up toward me. My stomach growled with the faint reminder that I hadn't eaten much today.

I walked toward the vendor, my footsteps unsure but optimistic. The buns looked soft, their surface sprinkled with sugar. For a moment, I indulged in the thought of the taste, so small, something normal and comforting.

He was smiling toward me with a friendly warmth when he saw me. "Hello! Would you like to try one?"

I opened my mouth automatically to respond, to ask how many there were, but nothing came out.

Nothing at all.

The sound escaped syllables were framed, my lips uttered them, but my voice refused to speak. My hands went up as if old involuntarily to my throat, as though I would force it, but in vain.

I couldn't utter one word.

The vendor's smile lost its cheer and a line furrowed his forehead. "Miss? Are you okay?”

I heard her with a lot of shock. Was I OK? No, I wasn't all right.

Reality weighed me down with the knowing of a fact that I was mute; worst perhaps, disabled. And today I am not able to ask for buns.

Thereafter, before she could carry further with the conversation, turning around, I fled out of the shop.

The world blurred in a haze, and I took off, my eyes blinded with tears. My legs carried me haphazardly through the streets; my heart pounded against my chest, and everywhere, people were talking, shouting, laughing, and arguing voices filled the air of what I had lost.

I stood dead on the road, my chest heaving with every struggle for a breath. My eyes went around, drinking in what lay before me, a mother fawning over her child, some friends laughing in mirth, a merchant singing off-tunes to allure buyers.

Me? Voiceless. Mute. Incapable of uttering even a thing.

Despair weighed upon me like a vice, clamping and wringing that little bit of air inside me from my lungs. I sagged to the ground, embracing my knees as I buried my face into them.

The tears came hot and fast, soaking into the fabric of my dress. I didn't care that I was sitting in the middle of the road and that people might be staring. All I could feel was this overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

Pain. Embarrassment. Disgust.

I hated myself. Hated my weakness, my helplessness.

Why? Why did this happen to me? What had I done to deserve this?

My body was wracked with silent sobs, my cries clogged in my throat, and It refused to break free. The deafening silence was one cruel reminder of what I had lost.

I did not know how much longer it had been, how much longer I sat and wallowed in my despair. The world outside seemed to be very far away, and I was in a bubble that separated me from all others.

And then there was the touch of a hand upon my shoulder.

The sudden sight of one standing before me, kind-faced and concerned-eyed, startled me from my thoughts.

"What is wrong?" she asked softly. "Will you come along with me?"

Simple words, but they rent the fog in my brain to tatters. For one blank moment, I could do little more than stare at her fumbling for what to say, or rather how, without words.

I knew not what to do.

What was I to do? I can't even talk.

Just like that, I was lost again.