Tala Bennett
|| Werewolf || Inside, with Peter || Nineteen ||
I pressed my lips together, fighting off something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It wouldn't be until later that I realized that sensation was fear. Not of the then and there, but about the past and the future. Peter took my hands and I could've sworn, had I been any weaker, I would've been in tears. I kept strong though. I could trust him.... So he claimed. I had not the slightest idea of whether this would remain true. But, in the moment, I could believe it, "Peter, I-" I struggled to find the right way to go about this, "It's so random and irrelevant... I shouldn't even be worried about it." I had never told anyone of what my past held. Why I had the scars that I did. I always danced around the questions or diverted the conversation in another direction. Bottling up those feelings, though... it was crippling. At last I decided that if I were to ever consider myself genuinely happy, I needed to get it off my chest. I just felt bad for spilling it all out to Peter, "When we first met, you asked me of where I had come from and why I had run away. I was confined to my room for the same reason that I fled." only when I pulled one hand away from him did I realize that I was shaking. I pushed up the sleeve of my sweatshirt to reveal my scarred arm, "These aren't from fights." My voice was just a whisper, "My parents... they don't like what I am. Ever since I was seven, when I first shifted, they've coped by..." I almost choked on my words. I almost broke down. Still, I made myself stay strong, "They hurt me. If I left my room when they did not call for me, my dad would grab whatever was near him and throw it at me, my mom would always scream that I was a monster." I had broken eye contact long ago and stared down at my feet, "As I got older, it got worse. I told them I wanted to go to school and college, but..." I couldn't continue, my voice was caught in my throat, so there I stood, fighting back tears as I had learned to do so many years ago.