Ruby
Does it ever drive you crazy?
Just how fast the night changes?
It was funny how everything I had ever dreamed of disappeared right before my eyes, and eventually I had to wake up to my new-found reality.
Seven years had slipped away, yet the wounds from that haunting night remained etched in the deepest recesses of my soul. It became the main purpose of my existence, finally helping me understand the saying that even though time flies, scars and wounds still endure.
Each day I wake up, I struggle to suppress the bitterness, yet life has a way of presenting unexpected challenges for me. So far, in the last seven years, I have had less drama and a somewhat peaceful life.
The morning was beautiful as usual, painted with hues of hope as my son and I got ready for the day. Alex was almost finishing middle school, which was faster than expected, but then again, my son wasn’t ordinary, and everyone in the sapphire moon pack could attest to that.
He was too wise and intelligent for his age, and that scared me a lot. He was basically the little prince of this pack, and I hated the fact that it was bringing us attention.
The last thing I wanted was attention, as my life was already hard enough as an omega.
Every child wanted to befriend him, eager to absorb knowledge from his intelligence. Surprisingly, even adults sought his assistance, benefiting from his broad understanding. However, I, on the other hand, remained unaware of the extent of his knowledge. We rarely spent time together or formed a connection.
Our interactions were limited to moments when we slept or prepared for the day. Even then, our conversations were scarce, as we had little to no conversation as there was nothing to say. However, one precious memory remained etched in my mind-the way my little boy would snuggle up to me at night, thinking I was asleep. Through the cold night, we found warmth in each other’s presence, and during those moments, I discovered his fear of being alone in the dark.
Others would think I was a bad mother, but I knew what I was doing. I was training him to be strong both in body and mind and not to be weak like me, who wanted to throw him off a cliff just because she couldn’t deal with pain and rejection, and that was a big secret I never want my son to find out.
At the age of three, Alex could do everything on his own without needing my help, which somehow brought me relief and comfort because, even though I tried so hard to deny it, looking at his face hurt me so much, and I guess he figured it out.
My son was observant beyond his years, and when he noticed my dislike or how hard I tried to avoid his eyes, he made sure he always wore eye patches, which gave him the nickname little pirate of the pack.
It was a simple, transparent accessory that shielded his eyes from my inadvertent glares-a silent acknowledgment of my struggle to meet his gaze, a struggle he, unfortunately, bore the brunt of.
And I could read his mind, which was filled with millions of questions swimming in it, like, Why does mom hate my face? Why doesn’t she like me or hug me? And I hated that the bond we shared could make us read each other’s thoughts, but unlike him, I have never let my guard down and allowed him to do the same for me, seeing my vulnerability.
Thankfully, he was wise enough not to ask just to please his mother. A part of me felt guilty for making his life a little uncomfortable just to please myself, but other than that, I did all I could to provide everything my son needed to make his life normal without lacking some basic necessities.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my clothes, and I caught a glimpse of my son through its reflective surface. He was seated, diligently tying his shoes, a simple act that spoke volumes about the passage of time and the growth of the young soul I had nurtured for seven years.
“Mum, today is ‘Bring Your Dad to School’ day,” he chirped, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he finished tying his shoelaces.
The smile I had on my face dropped after hearing his innocent declaration, shattering the fragile peace I had built.
I swallowed the huge lump in my throat as I stared at him through the mirror. He was now focused on wearing his patches. My irritation surged, a reflex reaction to the mention of a presence that had long been absent and forgotten.
All these years, I have tried to protect my son, shielding him from the harsh reality of his father’s rejection. But I guess all I did was never enough because my son was a curious genius, and now today, that protective shield I had tried so much to build threatens to unravel.
But I would never allow it over my dead body.
I slowly turned around to watch my son beam with anticipation, causing a whirlwind of emotions to stir within me. The bitterness in my soul threatened to burst as I thought of the past clashing with the present if my son continued to seek a connection that I wanted to remain painfully elusive.
“Mum, are you okay? Why aren’t you saying anything?” He asked as his gaze captured the storm that flickered across my face. I inhaled deeply, faking a smile on my lips to mask my internal struggle.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out for ‘Bring Your Dad to School’ day. Your grandma will go instead of your dad, as she has always done. Isn’t that awesome?”I clapped my hands happily, but my voice was the opposite.
I was trying to act strong, but unfortunately for me, my son wasn’t buying it, and from the look he was giving me under his covered eyes, I knew it was just a matter of time before his curious soul found out the truth.
Why did he have to reject us? Why did he have to kill my friend?
All these years, it’s been really difficult for me as I had to grapple with the complexities of parenthood alone, and if I didn’t have my grandmother by my side, I would never have made it to this point.
I had always tried to create a balance between shielding my child from pain and acknowledging the brutal truths life had presented us.
The scars of rejection marked my story, yet I tried to be strong, and right now, if my son doesn’t want to appreciate that fact and stop asking questions that don’t have answers, then I had no choice but to fill him with nothing but hatred in his heart.
“Mum, be sincere with me; do I have a father?” He asked, and I hesitated, grappling with the words that held the weight of an unspoken truth.
“Yes, you did. But he’s dead, and when you go to heaven, you get to see him,” I replied, bitterness unintentionally seeping into my voice. My gaze unintentionally became hardened as I spoke, which proved that the pain I felt still lingered on the surface.
My son became silent, and a heaviness settled between us as I could see the hurt in his eyes, even beneath the protective cover of the eye patch. My harsh words lingered in the air like an uninvited guest, casting a shadow over the room.
“Mum, I just want to know about him; what was he like when he was alive?” He finally whispered in a vulnerable voice that tugged at my heart.
I softened for a second as the armour around my emotions cracked under the weight of his yearning.
“Look, it’s complicated. Your father… made choices that hurt us. Now, it’s just you and me. We don’t need anyone else, so forget about him, okay?” I tried to convince him just so I wouldn’t say things that would hurt him, but my attempt at reassurance fell flat.
The patch that covered his right eye shifted slightly to the side, and his steel grey eyes became visible to me, reflecting a mixture of sadness and confusion.
“But I still want to know about him. I want to understand.” He argued, making me slightly irritated, and I sighed, grappling with the conflicting emotions within me.
“Fine. We can talk about him, but don’t expect some fairy tale. He’s not a hero, and he’s not coming back. You have to accept that.” I said it in a hard tone. This was something I had tried so much to avoid, but I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.
He nodded early, preparing to journey with me into the territory of my painful past.
“I never wanted to tell you this, but now that you’re wise enough to understand, I guess I better do. Your father is a monster, a beast, and I’m afraid that if you meet him, you might turn into a monster just like him. Do you want that?” I asked, attempting to plant seeds of fear in my son’s innocent heart.
As I spoke, I couldn’t help but unleash a vision of the past, giving him a glimpse of where his father pushed my head into the concrete table, hoping it would drive home the severity of my warning.
“Mum, please stop. I don’t want to see that again. Make it stop, please,” he begged, his eyes filled with tears, mirroring the vulnerability that only a child’s heart could hold.
“I hope this teaches you a lesson not to ask about his father again.” I scolded, and before the weight of my words could fully settle, my grandmother pushed the door open upon hearing his screams.
She ran towards him, sensing the distress in his eyes. She glared at me before taking him away, shielding him from my attempt to scare away his innocence.
As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled, and I braced myself for the scolding I deserved. The room felt emptier without their presence, and the weight of my past choices bore down on me as I awaited for my grandmother’s return.
Seconds later, my grandmother’s stern gaze met mine as she walked back into the room, closing the door behind her. I could sense the disappointment etched on her face, a silent reproach for the way I had handled the delicate matter with my son.
“Ruby, you can’t keep using your pain as a weapon against your own flesh and blood. He deserves the truth, but it should be delivered with care, not fear,” she said, her words a gentle but firm reminder of the responsibility I carried as a mother. I nodded, feeling guilt slowly creep in on me, and her words settled on my shoulders.
“Also, I’ve heard that the principal has been trying to meet with you. You can’t keep ignoring her, Ruby. Your son’s education is important, so please don’t try to tame his future,” my grandmother insisted, her voice laced with concern, but I ignored her advice.
“I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need to focus on work.” I responded dismissively as I stormed out of the house in determination to escape the weight of responsibilities, which led me to prioritise the distractions of the restaurant over the pressing issues awaiting my attention.
I knew why Alex Principal was trying to reach out to me, and there’s no way in hell I was going to send my son to the werewolf academy.