I was in one of my storage rooms, or "hamster storages" as I called them. The name had stuck, coined by Mariella, due to my habit of hoarding boxes of orders like a hamster. This was one of five large storage rooms we had, in addition to eight containers located outside. My plan was to empty these rooms and then activate a spell to transfer their contents into one of them.
This particular room was a concrete cube, similar to my warehouses, measuring approximately ten by twelve meters, and at least five meters tall. The majority of the space was filled with cardboard boxes of all sizes and shapes, containing my orders. This task was a calming ritual for me. I would climb near the ceiling, teleport some boxes down, and then sort through them.
The boxes occupied roughly eighty percent of the space. Along one of the longer walls were marked-out squares with names on them. These were linked to a teleportation spell, sending whatever was placed inside to a specific room: curtains, bedding, kitchenware, machines, clothes, shoes, baby clothes, kids' clothes, and so on.
The interesting part was that not all boxes contained a single item. I couldn't always recall immediately if a box had multiple items, so I had to check. Luckily, each box had a list of its contents in a separate plastic sleeve, which I would open. I would check the list to determine whether I could immediately send the items to their designated storage rooms or if I needed to separate them.
For instance, if a box contained thirty curtains and a few stacks of pillowcases, the curtains would go to their room, and the pillowcases would go to bedding. In this case, I would set the box aside in my sorting pile to be opened later, taking the pillowcases to bedding while the rest of the box went to curtains.
My pack members had done this task in the past, but I hadn't asked them to do it recently. I was still annoyed with the world, and the only reason for that was my hormones, which, in turn, made me a nasty person with no filter.
I was climbing the ladder when the door opened, and Mariella walked in. She was dressed like a doll again, wearing a pinup-style dress with a puffy hem and cute sleeves. The dress was white with light blue and green flowers. Her red hair was styled like a housewife's, and she had immaculate makeup, pumps, and bright red nail polish on both her fingernails and toenails. The pumps had open toes, and she clicked her heels on the concrete as she watched me climb.
I was wearing only my angora shirt, loose velour pants, and no shoes, leaving my bare feet exposed. My hair was loose, held back by a simple hairband, though strands always managed to fall into my face. I didn't mind. Finally, I reached the top and began teleporting boxes down: five boxes at a time, four layers high. It would give me plenty to sort, and I already had six mixed boxes waiting. Seeing Mariella made me grit my teeth, and I struggled not to snap at her.
But then she spoke. "Mimi, should you be doing this? I mean, you know Damon's opinion on this sort of behavior during pregnancy. Shouldn't you take it easy, especially with Thanksgiving coming up?"
I took a breath, trying to hold my tongue, but my hormones wouldn't cooperate.
My tone was quite nasty as I replied, "Damon is not the pack leader; Charles is, and he's okayed this. So, no, I'll go on sorting my boxes. You can go be a perfect little pussy with legs for Damon, as you are."
She looked at me and said, "You are mean, I know I like sex, but there's no need to make this personal."
I climbed down, having gotten a pile of boxes down. Oh, I was so ready.
I walked up to her, my tone venomous as always. "You are nothing. You exist as I willed you to exist, yet your life's purpose is to make my life a hell. First Damon, then Charles, Adam, then the rest of them. Now, let me guess, you have plans for Wulfe too? Or boys? You are nothing but a greedy, selfish cunt with legs, and as I said before, I have no respect for you. You are weak, immature, a sex addict with zero conscience or reason. You are driven only by what's between your legs, nothing else."
Her lower lip trembled as she whispered, "You are a mean, nasty, bitter, old hag with no decorum, and I am not surprised that Damon wants to be with me. No man wants a hag like you."
She turned and practically ran out, ready to cry.
"Bohoo," I thought, "let her."
I felt no remorse, only the dark triumph of finally speaking my peace. No more nice little Mimi with filters and good manners, letting Mariella run over her like a freight train. That wasn't going to happen. I continued working, finding some peace, and a few hours later, I decided to eat something; my nausea was easing up, and it was time to refuel.
As I headed to the kitchen, Number One walked up to me and said, "Really, I get you're hormonal, I really do, but please, Mariella is trying."
I snapped back, "She's trying to keep you away from me, all the Salvatores, and I bet she's trying to get Charles, too. She's a jealous cunt, a pussy with legs, and you're her partner, a dick with legs, so go be with her. No need to think of me."
He raised his brows. "You are quite feisty, sassy, but try to behave. It's Thanksgiving."
I snapped at him again, "I am sick and tired of being the one who behaves, as it gets me nowhere. I try to be the good girl, and I get put in a cage and have to watch you fuck half the world but not me. I behave after that? Well, you take me to the gym, beat me to a pulp, and leave. I am fed up with being the one who always gives, who always pulls back, but it's useless. You have made your choice, she has made hers, and makes sure no Salvatore will touch me, so don't come at me. I am an alpha female, and you say I am unreasonable just because your little pussy ran crying to you when I told her the truth? I hold no respect for her, and frankly, Damon, not for you either. You are not a husband for me, and thank God, not a pack leader. It must dig at you to lose your position so you can't use it to bully me, eh?"
He shook his head and walked away. Yeah, the truth hurts, and it's hard for a selfish bastard like him to hear it out loud. Life isn't always roses and rainbows, and just because he comes to sermonize about behaving when Mariella got hysterical doesn't make him a husband.
I walked into the kitchen to get my meal. The Salvatores were busy cooking and organizing everything. The girls and Wulfe were already eating.
He said to me telepathically, "Feeling hormonal, are we?"
My response was bitter. "I have no idea about you, but I'm pissed off at the whole world, so watch it. I have no filter right now, and I'm voicing my opinions out loud."
He simply nodded, focused on his food with a slight smirk. My hormonal state wasn't a big deal for him. He kept his distance and seemed to enjoy the chaos our raging hormones brought. I went to the fridge and grabbed my comfort food: fish soup.
Number Four came up behind me and said, "Nope, not that. You need some real food, not just what you want. And you smell like aggression, so I guess your testosterone must be quite high. I'm not sure I can help it."
I snapped, reaching for a Jaffa. "No need. I'm fine. Stop fussing over me and let me eat what I can. My stomach isn't very cooperative, so I know what I can eat."
He said, his voice now firmer, "Go sit down. I'll bring your food and a Coke. You need caffeine and some real orange, not this swill with 2 percent juice."
"Oh really?" I turned around, seeing he was adamant, and walked to my place.
May giggled, and I glared at her, causing her to giggle even more.
She finally said, "I was like you when I was pregnant. God damn it, no one could be around me. I snapped at everyone as meanly as I could, and I regretted nothing. I still don't, even though it was just my hormones pushing me. It was liberating to voice my opinions out loud."
Number Two walked into the kitchen, glared at me, and said to May, "It might seem fun, but it's not always polite to be too personal with your opinions."
"Oh really?" I retorted. "Let me guess, the little pussy with legs came crying to you because I told her she has no respect? Well, I don't respect her, and I'm not sure I ever will, because she's a selfish cunt who expects the world to bend to her desires and takes everything from me, acting all innocent."
Number Two looked at me, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, muttering, "I'm not going there. I'm not starting an argument with you when you're being unreasonable, cruel, and full of yourself, as usual, Mimi. You can be such a cunt, most of the time. You walk around here all high and mighty, looking down on us, judging us, as if our way of life is something shameful, and your life is perfect. Well, fuck that, it's not."
"Oh, look who's talking, Mr. Two-Face," I snapped. "One minute you're all over me, begging for forgiveness, and then as soon as 'pussy with legs' whimpers, I'm the bad guy? Fine by me. I can be alone. Hell, I *have* been alone most of the time. Do I need some damn vampire who can't make a choice? Fuck no. So go be with the pussy and kiss her, fuck her, I don't care. But don't come whimpering when you're no longer flavor of the month. Or maybe you should just learn to be like number one, since that's what she wants everyone to be."
I walked away, no longer hungry. I was so damn pissed off, and now I didn't care about eating or taking care of myself – not that much, anyway. I was feeling so much, it felt overwhelming. But one thing that broke loose was, once again, loneliness. And yeah, this time my little raspberries didn't send me anything.
I was just feeling so damn lonely. I walked back to my craft room to focus on my wire wrapping, keeping my hands busy while my mind was pissed off at the whole world. Now, I didn't even care if it was Thanksgiving; I just wanted my own peace and quiet, and not to listen to everyone telling me how to behave or demanding that I behave perfectly and forgive Mariella, as if everything would then be just fine. Well, the world doesn't work that way.
My mood hadn't improved all day, and despite Salvatore preparing our Thanksgiving feast, I wasn't going to bother dressing up. Why should I? The men would be watching the Super Bowl right after the meal—those Mariella allowed, I thought bitterly. The girls would probably be watching Netflix or something. Mariella... I knew what she'd be doing. I was planning to do some hamster storage, as it was my own place and I desperately needed some peace to try and calm down, or at least figure out why the hell I felt so utterly wretched.
There was the thin wire wrapping and learning how to do it. At first, it was slow going, as I had to get it just right and learn the optimal grip on the tweezers and tongs. This wasn't surgery, and my hands, accustomed to gripping everything like a surgeon, had to adjust.
Learning something new did calm me down a bit, but then I got pissed off again because I wasn't very good at it, and my progress felt minuscule. Then again, I hadn't been doing it for long. I was trying to give myself a break—not easy, and it wasn't always working.
I sat next to Charles, eating our Thanksgiving feast. We hadn't voiced out loud what we were thankful for, just ate. Mariella had practically been sitting on number one's lap, and a sharp snap from Charles had driven her to her place. It seemed Charles wasn't too fond of her behavior either.
I was silent, focusing on my food, eating one piece at a time. The girls were talking with Lepard and Demon about a reality show, and Lepard's expression was actually quite funny as Ashley described a plot twist in their reality life. He wasn't really into it, and the Super Bowl, like other sports, called to the men so much.
Charles said to me telepathically, "I am sorry, I have been busy and I will be busy, as we've gotten our bills for taxes, and I need to check on everyone's insurances and our pack insurance, so I have to focus on finances next week. I might not be able to come to work with you, but if there are urgent orders for me, I can do them here too."
I replied, "No need, I have most of them covered, it is fine."
I didn't remind him about my scan next week because I knew I'd be alone. Part of me felt sad, another part satisfied because I didn't need anything, and a third part didn't really care. I was quite confused. However, as I continued eating, my anger slowly dissipated, and I let my mind wander. I knew I'd been hormonally nasty, but I didn't regret it. Those truths – that they saw me as an uppity bitch judging them – well, maybe I was, or maybe they just wanted me to be that way. Hell, I had no idea.
I knew this was my life, and my choices would affect both me and my babies, who were what mattered most right now, not interpack relations or maintaining a perfect relationship with the Salvatores. I guessed my hormones were increasingly influencing me, transforming me into a fierce mother ready to do anything for her babies, even though they were just tiny nubs inside me, and it would be a long time before they were born. What my life would be like then, I had no idea, but at least I had my babies, and this time, no one could take them away from me. That thought both scared and thrilled me.
I maintained a neutral expression as I continued eating the Thanksgiving feast, listening to Mariella coo and croon to various Salvatores, wrapping them, including number five, into her web, making sure she got them all. I didn't need them, or anyone; I was perfectly fine on my own, as I had been so many times in the past.
And Wulfe... it was time for me to allow him his own life. There was no need for him to cling to me like a desperate burdock. He could enjoy family life, watch the Super Bowl with the guys, go to work, and experience it all. I wasn't Mariella; I had no need to tie him to myself. I was letting him spread his wings and see what life could offer him, too. It was wonderful to see this 2500+-year-old creature discover new things in the world; who was I to stop him?