Post by Clayton Miller on Dec 27, 2016 21:29:10 GMT
It was odd, being back here. The air was thick with the promise of rain, leaves crunching with each step he took. It’d been too long, and he couldn’t help comparing then to now. The buildings were worn down with age, a few new establishments built over the ones he could sparsely remember. The people of Beacon Hills had aged quite a bit since the last time he’d even thought of stepping foot in the town. Seven years, it had been a long seven years and aside from the few décor changes, everything was cloying- everything was the same, just a little shorter. He’d sprouted up quite a bit since he was twelve- because well, puberty does tend to have that effect on people.
Glancing around the streets now, it wasn’t so hard to imagine himself living here happily- had things been different when he was a kid. Had it not been for the accident, he would have been one of the proud citizens shuffling around in the late winter afternoon, but things were never that simple. Not really.
He’d been fifteen, playing a game of tag with a friend in the woods behind the mansion his mother spent most of her time fussing over, the sun hanging just below the tree line- night an eerie promise. Twigs snapped under their plundering feet, pitched laughter ringing off the tree bark as they dodged each other’s advances. It was innocent play, the moon hitching higher and higher in the sky as they rounded back towards his home- but they didn’t quite make it that far. Both of them tuckered out and leaning against each other as they dragged themselves through the underbrush of summer, they weren’t quite prepared for what came next. How could they ever be? It happened fast, and the details were fuzzy to Clayton now, but in a breath, everything was ruined. In a blink, his friend was locked in the jaws of a wolf-like creature, and struggling to fight it off- but it was too late. A hard snap, and the life drained from the boy’s eyes- and Clay was meant to be next. Had it not been for his father searching for them, trying to reign them in for dinner, he’d have been dog chow too, but he had scraped by with just a few scratches, nails digging deep- scarring permanently.
His friend was dead, the creature gone, and he was shipped away to a private school across the country, living soundly on his father’s money.
Ten years, and he was still haunted with the memory. No psychiatrist could fix the damage done, no pill could stop the nightmares- no chains could hold him back as the moon hollered his name. They’d told him to live with it, to make do with the fact that he was even breathing, but that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. Not when his hands were tainted with blood, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw remorseful faces who did nothing to save his friend.
What happens next can’t be his fault, not when it was theirs to begin with.
Beacon Hills, it was only so long until he found a reason to drag himself back. His parents were dead, ‘freak accident’ they said. Nothing more. (Little did they know.) Mom and Dad gone, but the estate left to him- the lumber business, house, fortune and all- but he didn’t want it. That’s not why he found himself lingering outside of his family mansion, the one that held more secrets than the woods behind it. No, it was more than that.
Revenge, as the story goes. There were people who could have prevented this, prevented who he became, but they stood by. They let this happen. He wasn’t going to do the same thing, it was time to take action.
Hunters let him fall, so his pack was going to tear him down.
Bobbi and little Charlie already fell. Some other nearly fell to their feet, but no one even had a clue what else was in store. After his day with Evans, helping her carry boxes to her elevator-less apartment, his plan slowly came together.
He scoffed at the sight of the mansion, knowing that his betas were out and about, searching as they did his bidding. Clay turned on his heel and marched off, head down as he shoved his hands deep into his coat. There was role he had to play, one he imagined he would have fit in well had that night not happened, so he forced his lips to curl at the ends as he headed into town. He didn’t have a place in mind, but at the scent of coffee, he found his feet carrying into the small café, nose twitching and eyes bright as he stopped in line. What a day it was to be alive.
He couldn’t say the same for some others.
Glancing around the streets now, it wasn’t so hard to imagine himself living here happily- had things been different when he was a kid. Had it not been for the accident, he would have been one of the proud citizens shuffling around in the late winter afternoon, but things were never that simple. Not really.
He’d been fifteen, playing a game of tag with a friend in the woods behind the mansion his mother spent most of her time fussing over, the sun hanging just below the tree line- night an eerie promise. Twigs snapped under their plundering feet, pitched laughter ringing off the tree bark as they dodged each other’s advances. It was innocent play, the moon hitching higher and higher in the sky as they rounded back towards his home- but they didn’t quite make it that far. Both of them tuckered out and leaning against each other as they dragged themselves through the underbrush of summer, they weren’t quite prepared for what came next. How could they ever be? It happened fast, and the details were fuzzy to Clayton now, but in a breath, everything was ruined. In a blink, his friend was locked in the jaws of a wolf-like creature, and struggling to fight it off- but it was too late. A hard snap, and the life drained from the boy’s eyes- and Clay was meant to be next. Had it not been for his father searching for them, trying to reign them in for dinner, he’d have been dog chow too, but he had scraped by with just a few scratches, nails digging deep- scarring permanently.
His friend was dead, the creature gone, and he was shipped away to a private school across the country, living soundly on his father’s money.
Ten years, and he was still haunted with the memory. No psychiatrist could fix the damage done, no pill could stop the nightmares- no chains could hold him back as the moon hollered his name. They’d told him to live with it, to make do with the fact that he was even breathing, but that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. Not when his hands were tainted with blood, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw remorseful faces who did nothing to save his friend.
What happens next can’t be his fault, not when it was theirs to begin with.
Beacon Hills, it was only so long until he found a reason to drag himself back. His parents were dead, ‘freak accident’ they said. Nothing more. (Little did they know.) Mom and Dad gone, but the estate left to him- the lumber business, house, fortune and all- but he didn’t want it. That’s not why he found himself lingering outside of his family mansion, the one that held more secrets than the woods behind it. No, it was more than that.
Revenge, as the story goes. There were people who could have prevented this, prevented who he became, but they stood by. They let this happen. He wasn’t going to do the same thing, it was time to take action.
Hunters let him fall, so his pack was going to tear him down.
Bobbi and little Charlie already fell. Some other nearly fell to their feet, but no one even had a clue what else was in store. After his day with Evans, helping her carry boxes to her elevator-less apartment, his plan slowly came together.
He scoffed at the sight of the mansion, knowing that his betas were out and about, searching as they did his bidding. Clay turned on his heel and marched off, head down as he shoved his hands deep into his coat. There was role he had to play, one he imagined he would have fit in well had that night not happened, so he forced his lips to curl at the ends as he headed into town. He didn’t have a place in mind, but at the scent of coffee, he found his feet carrying into the small café, nose twitching and eyes bright as he stopped in line. What a day it was to be alive.
He couldn’t say the same for some others.