The Lycan's King's Runaway Bride

UNSEEN BRUISES

Every morning felt the same.

Not because the sun rose in the same place or the clock ticked in stubborn rhythm, but because for Nadine Hale, life had become a loop of silence, fear and pain repeating over and over, like a bad song she couldn't turn off.

The mattress beneath her was thin, it's springs digging into her back, and the sheets were damp with old sweat and colder tears. She opened her eyes to the dim ceiling of one-bedroom apartment, but she didn't move. She listened. Not for birdsong or morning light, but for footsteps. His footsteps.

Theo Marris.

Her boyfriend. Her curse.

He was up early today. She could hear the uneven slap of his boots on tile as he paced the kitchen. If he was already pacing, it meant he hadn't slept. If he hadn't slept, it was on edge.

And if he was on edge, she was in trouble.

Nadine say up slowly, making sure the bed didn't creak. The bruises on her arm pulsed, a dull reminder of last night’s argument. Or maybe it wasn't an argument. She never argued. She listened. She flinched. She obeyed.

The slap came before she could register his approach. Open palm. Hard. Across her cheek. It wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last.

"I told you not to leave the damn milk out," Theo barked, throwing the carton against the wall. It burst like a gutted animal, white splashing across the cheap wallpaper. "You want to waste everything? You like making me angry?"

Nadine didn't speak. Her lips trembled, the copper taste of blood already pooling beneath her tongue. Her mother coughed in the other room. A dry, helpless, rattling sound. Another ghost in this haunted place.

"Clean that up," he snapped. "Then go put something decent on. You looked like a dog."

I'm a dog, she wanted to whisper. An omega. A mutt with no voice. A body to be used, a servant in own life.

She moved. Cleaned. Dressed. Wore what he liked... Tight jeans, no bra, loose shirts. Makeup, but not too much. He said he didn't like when she looked like she was trying too hard. But he didn't like it when she looked natural either.

Theo wanted her invisible and beautiful at once. Silent and screaming, perfect and breakable.

He didn't speak of the bruises. He didn't need to. His hands did all the talking.

Nadine had stopped believing in love a long time ago. She lived for her mother. A woman once proud and stubborn. Now wrapped in a shadow of sickness. The only family Nadine had. The only person she tried to protect, even if it meant enduring Theo's wrath.

She worked two jobs, as a dishwasher at a human bar and a cleaner at a motel. She was nothing more than a ghost moving through the world. Always tired. Always hurting. Always pretending she was Okay. All the money she earned from the two jobs goes to Theo.

The morning dragged like a wounded animal. Theo yelled at the television. Drank beer before noon. Played loud music that vibrated through the walls into her bones. Nadine finished scrubbing the floor where the milk has landed, the rag soaked and the skin of her fingers raw.

By afternoon, he had left. No goodbye. No explanation. Just the sound of his boots stomping out the door and silence in his wake.

Nadine didn't relax. Silence didn't mean safety. Silence meant she had to hurry.

She checked the clock. Almost two. Her shift started at three.

But before that, she went to her mother's room. Or what passed for a room. A small, curtain-divided space beside the kitchenette with a rusted bedframe, a side table, and a plastic chair. The air smelled of damp cloth and medicine.

"Mama?" She called gently.

Her mother didn't answer.

She was curled up, her thin frame hidden beneath layers of blankets that couldn't warm her. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her lips cracked from dehydration.

Nadine poured the last of the filtered water into the cup and helped her sip. The old woman coughed, eyes fluttering open.

"Nadine," she whispered. Her voice like a paper tearing.

"Shh, mama. Don't talk. Just rest."

"Are you okay? He didn't..."

Nadine smiled. A practiced lie. "I'm fine."

But her mother wasn't fooled. Her sunken eyes flickered to the purple swelling on Nadine's cheeks. "You shouldn't stay here. Not with him."

"We don't have a choice."

Her mother tried to sit up but failed. Nadine helped her adjust the pillows, then wiped her forehead with a cool rag.

For a moment they sat in silence.

Then her mother murmured, "You were meant for more than this. I just wish you had come back when he... When you still had time."

Nadine stiffened, "let's not talk about the past."

Her mother didn't argue. Her eyes drifted closed again.

Nadine sat with her until her breathing evened out. Then she left for work.

Her shift was uneventful. Greasy dishes. Leering customers. A managers who barked orders but would not look her in the eye. She took the tips she could. Pocketed a bruised banana from the trash bin. Came home to darkness.

Theo wasn't back.

She heated a can of soup and split it between her mother and herself. She cooked a new soup for Theo so that he won't come back home to give her a beating. She ate in silence thinking about her life. But something in her keep saying more is coming but she couldn't understand what exactly it is.

Just as she was about to put down the soup on fire.

The door slammed.

Nadine froze mid-sip, the spoon in her hand clattering against the chipped bowl. Her mother flinched from the corner, her breathing already shallow.

Theo was home.

And he was drunk.

His boots thudded against the floor, each step louder than the last, like thunder building before a storm.

“Nadine!” he bellowed.