A Rejected Wolf and a Court of Ash (Eden and Azriel) novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Edem

Later the same day I come home to a crid house. My mother must be too broke to pay the beat bill and this is why I never len Elona come over. Our house is cold sometimes we don’t have decandry and there’s no telling in what state I’m going to find my mocher

Grimatting at the trash in the billway, I wander inside and find her throwing up in the bathroom. The whole place reeks of vodin and cigarette smoke. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but my mother’s lifeless body does.

“None” I ask carefully checking to see if she’s still alive or if it’s time to call the pack docce–or an ambulance. Her head is almost down in the taler water when I peek inside the bathroom, her hand chunching an empty bottle.

Whan–de–you–wan Her words slur imo each cher

I cake one of the towels hanging above the washing machine, dip in in cold water and hand it to her. “Here”

“She–shouldn’t you be an school

“School is over.” I reply with my heart down in my stomach. I hate seeing her like this. It’s Friday so I’m going to bead answers and em a more

Her eyes zero in co my smile, but she doesn’t say anything. She never does when she is sobering up. I’m surprised she even said something at all. My mother and I live in a house filled with tension when she isn’t drunk and violence when she is. I feel a pang of gait when i on my beek, but I’ve left ber alone enough times to know she will manage.

Soon I might not have to live here. Soon my birbiry will come.

I prodige upstairs to my my room the one place in this house that feels te mine

My computer screen comes to was a from Elvira’s family. They aren’t rich, but they know how hard it is for me. Caring is second nature to them, especially to her dad who repairs old electronics.

I check my page where I share all the fantasy stories I write, and th my head when I notice a new private message waiting for me in the top right commen.

I dick the notification, curious who might have messaged me. Most people who read my stories just leave comments below them. The username canches my mention immediately. Uncantedfridge.

The message is simple but nice enough to make me smile like an achot on top of my bed.

Unwantedfridge!e. Your writing is beautiful. Like you.

I haven’t posted a picture of myself, so this must be a joke..or someone who knows who I am. But I’m not beautiful. Gods this person must be someone wanting to bully me. See if I’m stupid enough to bite and firt back so they get a good laugh

My fingers hover over the keyboard, half–expecting the cruel twist that always seems to come my way. But the message stays sweet and intact, waiting for me to believe its sincerity.

I finally type a response before the doubt creeps back in.

Me: Thank you. I didn’t think anyone would say that about either of those things 3

Their reply is almost instant

Unwantedindge99 I’ve read all your stories. I keep coming back to them. There’s something about the way you write that feels real Like you’re not just making things up but sharing parts of yourself.

1/3

10:19 Mon, 23 Jun

Chapter 3

ПР

22%

Okay, I did not expect that sort of compliment. No one’s ever analyzed my writing like that before. Most comments are just “nice story” or “update soon.”

My heart pounds…once….twice…until my fingers itch to type back to this person.

Me: That’s actually really perceptive. My stories are little pieces of me. Like the sprinkles on top of a donut. It’s easier to write what you’re feeling and turn your mental illness into different characters rather than visiting a professional therapist, you know?

Unwantedfridge99: Hah. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.

There’s another message before I can type.

Unwantedfridge99: But I know what you mean. I also use the internet to feel better. Sometimes it’s easier to be yourself when you’re pretending to be someone else.

The message hits so close to home I get nervous. What if I am walking straight into a trap?

I tuck my legs underneath me.

Do I write more? Or do I block them?

Who is this person? They must be messing with me. It wouldn’t be beneath Paris to make a fake account to try and make me open up so she and her friends could laugh.

But what if I’m wrong?

I inhale and roll onto my stomach to type another reply.

Me: So who are you? Do you write too?

I send the message, waiting with my eyes on the screen.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Ten minutes.

Just when I’m about to give up and watch Netflix, a new message pops up.

Unwantedfridge99: I’m just a guy trying to figure things out.

A guy? That’s all I get?! He could be anyone!

I want to push for more answers, but I don’t want to scare him off. This is the most thrilling thing that’s happened in…forever.

Before I come up with the next thing to say, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

“Hey,” Elvira’s voice chirps when I pick up. “Want to come with me to Luca’s party tonight? I’m not invited, but there was a post on Facebook saying anyone could come. Wanna crash? The alcohol is free.”

“I’m not sure.” I don’t drink, and also…

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify