Waindale
forty-five. the view for outside

I have the most wonderful dreams of the most beautiful things. Some of it is small and simple, and the rest is so very big, so very vast and infinite in nature, filled to the brim with noise and color and entities beyond my own imagination. I entered this space inside my mind and believed I must have joined the essence of the universe—I must have merged with everything, body and soul—but when I saw him, I knew that I was somewhere else other than death. I saw his face but heard words of another.

“You will be Luna.”

Sometimes I hear it specifically as a whisper or a call, but other times I feel as if the idea has entered my mind as a thought placed by the will of someone else. I am open for anyone and everyone to peer inside or leave a message. It may not be the finality and deconstruction of death, but what I’m experiencing is far from life. It is both the white space of nothingness and the suffocation of everything.

I see her face too, but she appears essentially as light, a creamy, luminous glow that I saw nearly every night before. I float in this space with an invisible current carrying me along through the turns and drops of what is—well, I’m not sure. But there is no desire inside of me to know. Instead, there is an acceptance that this is what is. This is beyond. Then, in my period of both seconds and centuries, the ghostly feeling of touch sparks on my skin. I return then, to the front of my mind where all is painted, where the canvas grows, and where things flourish upon it. My eyes open and I see the artists’ work. Although it is masked by daylight, it is there, her work, her splotch of paint.

My chest takes in air for the first time, as if I had been vacant from my body and no longer required it to function. My body has been here the entire time, though—breathing without me.

My hand falls upon my stomach, sensing life from within me that is separate from my own soul. There is another, small soul slowly blooming. My lip quivers from this physical conformation. Before I was grasping at straws, but now, now I feel it, truly feel it. Did my father give this to me? My body needed time to accept the overwhelming surge of power, and I was too distracted by pain to consider what exactly he returned. Previous instances seemed to offer minor, yet satisfying changes, but this time it is so much more. There is enough energy and potential within me that I am sure I can rise a man from his grave if I tried, let alone a dried leaf on the pavement.

I steadily sit up in our bed, no longer experiencing the crushing pressure in my head that I left with. I’m not tired, or worn-out, but rather coherent and vivid. There is a sudden desire ignited within me to examine myself in the mirror, so I spring from the sheets and leap to the bathroom like a young gazelle. In front of the mirror, I lift my shirt and inspect—turning to the side and no longer needing to stretch into odd positions to see a slight protrusion.

I rub my minuscule belly and drop my shirt. I spin to leave but halt at the site of Adam’s mother. My throat takes in a quick gasp of air, and when she doesn’t vanish like a ghost or strange vision, I begin to notice the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

Her hard eyes stare at my face then fall to my stomach. She’s unwavering, a statue to represent all that is unforgiving, disapproving, and severe.

“What are you doing here?” The words pour out my mouth due to pure instinct. “W-Where’s Adam?”

“He isn’t here,” she says simply.

“Where is he?”

I barely hear the sound of her drawing in a breath, but I see her chest rise ever so faintly. She says again, “He isn’t here,” but adds, “he left. And you—you’re pregnant?”

I cross my arms. “Where did he go?”

“For how long?”

“Not long,” I assure her. “You know more than I do, right? There’s no point in asking questions about it if it’s destined to die inside of me. Just tell me where he is.”

“I cannot. It is not my place.”

“He’s my mate,” I press.

“Yes,” his mother says sharply, “and he left you.”

Annoyance bubbles inside of me, threatening to pour over and feed the flame. We watch each other for another moment before I walk past her, through the bedroom, and into the hall. I glance into every room, closet, nook, and corner of the house and she merely spectates. When I come up empty-handed, I ask again, “Where is he?”

“You may see me as an evil mother-in-law of sorts. While I’m chronically disappointed in my only son’s match, that does not mean that I hope you fail by all means possible. You are, after all, the only human to be mated to an Alpha among the living and the dead. Maybe the goddess sees something within you—a sliver of potential.” She pauses and collects herself. She must have thought about this many times. “Regarding the pregnancy, I don’t have much hope, but if you can make it another day, then one more after that, and so on—well, we’ll see, I suppose.”

Not even attempting to comprehend her short speech, I shake my head and again ask, ”Where is he?"

His mother glances off. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“His father and Alexander have been searching for him for days now. Ben has taken over his duties until he returns.”

My brow furrows. “Days? How long was I—”

“Nearly a week. When we arrived back in Waindale, we came directly here to see our son only to find him in ruins—an utter mess. He refused to explain how exactly you had fallen into your coma-like state, and instead left. I tended to you and assumed he needed time. When he didn’t come back that night, I sent his father to find him. When his father couldn’t find him, Alexander joined in. Ben took control, and now you are all caught up. So, do you care at all to explain what in the world happened?”

“I-I was reckless. I hurt myself doing something he told me not to do,” I throw together and hope it satisfies her.

“From what he did tell us, he was quite convinced that you were going to die. Unless you jumped off a cliff or was mowed over by a truck, I suggest you tell me exactly what happened.”

Pushing past her, I mutter, “It’s private.”

"Wrenley—”

“I’m going to find him, okay? I-I’ll go right now.”

She suddenly grabs my arm. “You are not running off into the woods like a little girl looking for her lost puppy. You are pregnant, and that is me leaving alone the fact that you are human. So please, refrain from doing any more damage. If you want to do right by my son, you will stay here and look after yourself.”

I yank my arm free. She surveys me, waiting for me to stomp off, but I stay. I see the worry behind the green of her eyes, and I recognize the same worry in myself. We both want Adam back. Neither of us desires to be stuck together like this, but he is our common ground, and I guess so is the baby inside of me. It is her grandchild after all. His mother thinks I’m treading on thin ice—she’s unaware of my full capability to provide for this tiny soul—so maybe impressing her with my strength won’t be the worst thing. I know I was through trying to impress her, but she is Adam’s mother and will always be. If he comes back and sees how well we are getting on, maybe he’ll begin to forgive me.

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll stay here. Alexander and his father are much more capable than me anyway. I’d freeze out there.”

There is a strange pleasure to be derived from such an action. Her shoulders relax as she gives me a brief nod. “Alright then. Good. I’m sure he can’t stay away for much longer.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I better call my family,” I say and leave her to find my phone.

Two more days pass without a sign of Adam. His mother and I grow somewhat used to each other’s presence and even have meals together—mainly so she can make sure I’m eating enough of the right foods. It’s bizarre to me. My own mother was always quite laidback, so having one act so controlling and concerned is like having my life switched with some other girl’s. Sure, she wakes me up, makes me go on walks, and feeds me according to nutrition instead of taste, but it isn’t all bad. It is nice knowing that someone is looking after me, especially now that Adam isn’t around. It’s a comforting feeling, and even though I show aggravation on the surface, I really do appreciate it.

“How are you today?” She asks, already sat at the dining table that Adam and I rarely use. We eat together in the kitchen or at the breakfast nook. I noticed that this does not fly with his mother—she has every meal as if we’re at an elegant dinner party. I glance down at the table and see a spread of fruits, steamed eggs, toast, and freshly squeezed green juice. I didn’t even know there was a juicer.

I sit down across from her. “A little tired. I can’t help but feel like it’s growing so, so quickly. It’s like I can feel it consuming energy.”

“Yes,” she clarifies, “our pregnancies are faster than a human’s. About half the time. You said yesterday that you think it’s been around three or four weeks, so to compare with a human pregnancy, you can double it. Where you are now is like a human woman being two months pregnant.”

My lips part and I peer down to my plate.

“It’s daunting, I know. But trust me, you do not want to be pregnant for nine months. I’ve heard it’s terrible.”

“I mean, I would ask my mom how it was for her but, well, I think she would kill me if she found out.”

Adam’s mother frowns. “Yes, it’s quite a complicated situation. But, you know, you won’t be showing so much for the next few weeks. You’ll be able to conceal. You should spend time with her while you decide when to break the news. The weekends should suffice, no? I don’t want to think about what cookies and chips and other processed food you’ll be eating, but it’s a compromise.”

I pick up some chunks of chopped fruit on my fork and agree, “Yeah. I should. She’d be happy to have me for the weekends.”

We eat in a peaceful silence before I build the courage to ask, “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“He has to,” she says simply, “he won’t make it without you. You should know, Wrenley, you’re going through it right now. The baby eases the pain, I’m sure. A piece of him is with you. It gives you a reason to live, but he has nothing out there.”

“What do you think he’s doing?”

She pauses and gazes out the window to her left. Sunlight hardly reaches her face. “I don’t know,” she confesses. “But I hope he realizes what is truly important.”

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