Powerless

by Catherine Johnson

  “I... I... didn’t mean.... I didn’t know that you felt that way. I’m sorry.” Deep breath. “There’s obviously no point drawing this out any longer than necessary. I’ll move all my stuff tomorrow night. The only furniture I’m bothered about is the stuff in this room; the bunk beds for the boys. I’ll sort that out some other time. I can move the rest in my car.”

  “Good.” Apparently that’s the end of the discussion because he turns and leaves the room.

  I have no idea where this calmness is coming from. It’s not as if I’m not capable of holding my own in a good screaming match. Perhaps I’ve been holding on so tightly for the last few hours that I can’t let go. I continue packing until it’s all done and only the essentials that I need to get ready for work in the morning are left out. What’s left of my life is wrapped in black plastic or stuffed into a variety of cardboard boxes. I don’t want any of the bits and pieces, ornaments and pictures that have made this house a home. I’m not prepared to argue over the TV or the DVD player. It’s been easy to split the CD and DVD collections since we have completely different taste in music and films, and any that we do agree on I’m simply leaving here.

  It’s the early hours of the morning by the time I’ve finished. I lie down, but I already know I’m not going to sleep tonight. Too much has happened today. I’m struggling to process it all and yet I can’t stop thinking about any of it. I can’t make sense of it. I can only concentrate on the next step. I’ll wait for my alarm to go off, I’ll get ready for work, I’ll make my way to the office, I’ll somehow manage not to completely fuck up everything up, I’ll leave, collect the keys and then move all these bags and boxes. Worrying about needing things like plates and cutlery can wait. I doubt I’ll be using them just yet anyway. The flat is unfurnished and I can’t even begin to think about the other stuff I’m going to need like a bed and something to sit on. My head is too full to figure that out.

  Unfortunately it turns out that the office gossips were right after all.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m not entirely sure how I’ve made it through the past couple of days. Coffee has definitely had a lot to do with it. I should probably just walk around with an intravenous drip of the stuff attached.

  It took several trips in my little car to shift all the bags and boxes. I haven’t bothered to unpack most of them yet, that would be pointless since I have nothing to unpack them into or onto. I managed to roll one of the mattresses from the bunk beds tightly enough to fit it into my car with the back seats down. It wasn’t easy doing it without help, but I managed it and at least I had something to sleep on. Rob elected to stay away. I have no idea if he was actually at the office or with Claire, and I’m not sure I care.

  The numbness wore off the first night in my new flat. Once I was alone, and in no danger of being disturbed, I broke down and sobbed myself to sleep. That has been a recurring theme for the past few nights. I can’t think about missing the good times that Rob and I shared without feeling like everything going to shit was my fault. I’m not sure what I’m crying for: confusion, loss, regret? My tears could be for my life being turned upside down, my complete ignorance of everything or maybe I’m crying for all of it.

  I manage to wrangle Friday off work, even on such short notice. The morning is spent assembling flat packs. Thanks to the miracle of online shopping and a small fortune spent on delivery to be able to specify a date and time, I’ve been able to get a bed, sofa and furniture delivered. Anything else I needed has come from supermarkets that were open twenty-four hours. It wasn’t as if I would have been asleep otherwise. My credit card is whimpering in agony, but that’s another worry for another day.

  It’s been hard to find any enthusiasm about what I’m buying; let’s just say it’s amounted to a lot of generic beech veneer. In the absence of any ability to make decisions about colour, everything else has ended up black or white. It’s a modern flat, one of several in a converted church building perched on one side of the valley which the village spans. There are large windows in both the living room and bedroom, with sliding doors leading to a narrow patio that runs the across the building. Privacy is maintained by the substantial drop to the railway line below. If I wanted to, I could probably spot the roof of Rob’s house from here, but I don’t want to. The interior walls have been painted a standard white and I have no desire to change them in any way. Maybe one day I’ll regain the ability to care that I have created an ice cube for a home.

  There has been an element of the surreal about trying to find suitable presents for my Godchildren amongst all this. Donna isn’t going to thank me for buying them remote control cars each and a large amount of chocolate. Call it a small act of revenge. It’s petty, but I think I’m entitled. Despite a complete lack of energy, I shower, dry my hair and apply a little make up before I set off for the party. Making a small effort now will hopefully mean I don’t have to make a bigger effort when Donna starts commenting about me looking like death warmed over.

  I’ve timed my arrival so that the party is in full flow, but not quite over, when I get there. I’m hoping I can avoid having to make conversation with parents who are taking advantage of a couple of hours of free babysitting. I let myself in the unlocked door without knocking. Jonathan and Jacob run up to me when I enter the living room, lured more by the large boxes covered in shiny paper than my personal presence. I assure them that the boxes aren’t going anywhere and send them back to their friends. Donna is trying to corral a game of musical statues. She smiles when she sees me and says “kitchen” before continuing her attempts to control the sugar-filled minions.

  I go where I’ve been directed and find that Michael has already switched the kettle on, having seen me arrive.

  “Hiya Becca. Tea or coffee? You can put those with the others over there.”

  “Hiya. Coffee please.” I look where he’s pointing and spot small avalanche of brightly coloured bags and boxes of all shapes and sizes spilling over in a corner near the dining table. It’s only as I’m adding my gifts to the pile that I realise that someone else is in the room, sat at the table, watching me.

  “Good t’see you lass.”

  I’ve never heard him speak before, and for some reason, his thick brogue surprises me.

  “Hi.” I accept the mug that Michael offers me, grateful for the distraction.

  I can either retreat into the living room, in which case I will be enlisted to help with the kids and thus be expected to smile and be perky; or, I can stay in here and try to avoid making conversation. A particularly piercing scream of discontent from the other room makes up my mind for me and I slide into one of the vacant chairs.

  “How’s work?”

  Michael is obviously planning to sick to banal conversation topics until Donna can join us. That’s okay by me.

  “The usual. You know how thrillingly quickly the world of commercial property moves.”

  We pass comment on the weather and I ask how the boys’ birthday has gone, how they’re doing at school and the progress of the party so far. Callum contributes nothing to the conversation, but he’s still watching me. It’s unnerving, but I opt to ignore him for now, it wouldn’t do to start swearing with a room full of kids within earshot.

  I maintain my hiding place in the kitchen until all the visiting little people have been collected by their respective minders. Once we are again reduced to two children, I volunteer to help with bath and bedtime, rather than be left with Callum whilst Michael helps Donna. The effects of the sugar and E numbers are wearing off, and by the time the boys have finished recounting every last detail of their party, they’re yawning their heads off. Their monopoly of the conversation has prevented Donna from being able to speak directly to me at all. We return downstairs to find that Michael and Callum have restored the house to some semblance of order and opened a bottle of wine.

  There’s no putting this off any longer. As Donna gratefully accepts a large glass of Chardonnay and takes a healthy drink, I take a
deep breath and try to prepare myself for whatever comes next. Although the sofa is by far more comfortable, everyone seems to realise that this isn’t going to be a relaxed conversation, and we gravitate back to the dining table to find seats.

  I decide that offence is the best defence, and besides, I want to get this bit over and done with.

  “Callum, I need to apologise. I have no idea what’s going on, but Donna tells me that you weren’t the.....the..... one who attacked me that night. I believe her. So I’m sorry about my attitude the other night.”

  “No need lass. You couldnae have known.”

  “So, it wasn’t you.” I look at Donna, “Are you going to tell me who it was now?”

  It’s Callum who answers, drawing my attention back to him.

  “It was Bryn.”

  My conversation with Donna the other day had prepared me for it being one of our pack, but I still feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. The wine that I’ve swallowed onto an empty stomach begins to churn. I didn’t think that all my feelings of inadequacy and stupidity from this week could get any bigger, but they have. How on earth have I managed to be part of this pack for the best part of six years without realising, without sensing that my attacker has been so close to me on so many occasions. I suppose in some respects it should have been blindingly obvious to anyone, not just someone with more acute than average senses; but I completely missed it. Bryn, a man who has a reputation for viciousness and cruelty and has a well-known, callous disregard or women, has been in front of me all this time and I never realised.

  I think that maybe all my internal organs have suddenly disappeared. All I can feel inside is a hollow emptiness. I don’t know if it bothers me if the whole pack knew, but it does bother me that Michael and Donna did, and that they never, ever said anything to me. If it wasn’t for the two of them, I would have died that night. They saved me, physically and mentally, and then let me change and run with the very person responsible for it all.

  I look at Callum, he’s watching me again. Bizarrely it feels like he’s the only person around this table who hasn’t stolen a large portion of my life from me. I think about the fact that he was Alpha when it happened, and the fact that Daniel has been Alpha since, and I realise that Daniel is responsible for hiding this from me too. I think I’m beginning to put some of the pieces together, but my confidence in myself has been severely knocked this week and I’m tired of guessing other people’s feelings and motives. I want them to spell things out for me.

  I turn back to Donna and Michael. “How could you? How could you let me join the pack with him in it? You found me, you treated me. You saw the state I was in, what had been done. You saw me bleeding and you put me back together. But you didn’t stop him; you let me be around him. No one did anything about him, no one punished him.”

  I hate that my voice is cracking by the time I finish speaking. I want to be unmoved by the fact that Donna has tears spilling over her cheeks, but I’m not.

  “Lass, let me explain.” Something about Callum’s gentle voice compels me to turn and listen to him.

  “We couldnae risk the police launching an investigation into what happened tae you. We couldnae risk them finding out about the pack. Can you imagine what they would have made o’ us? If we’d have turned Bryn over tae the law, he would have turned at the full moon whether he was in a cell or no’. They would have seen for themselves that we really exist, and you know we couldnae let that happen. The only way tae stop them in their tracks was tae give them a culprit. I was the only one in the pack who could do it. We didnae intend for Bryn tae go unpunished. Before I turned myself over, I made Daniel promise me he’d take care of Bryn. He was supposed tae end him, finish him before you ever turned, but he didnae. He broke his promise, and I didnae find out until I got out. Even if anyone had told me whilst I was inside, I couldnae have done anythin’ about it. Daniel has no’ just betrayed you lass, he’s betrayed the pack by allowin’ that bastard tae live.”

  “How many know?” It’s a perfectly logical explanation, and I feel a little better that no one intended for Bryn to get away with what he did. An irrational part of me is demanding to know why Michael and Donna never stood up to Daniel about it, but really, I know why. He would never have allowed such a challenge to his authority to pass. I have to know, though, how many of my supposed family watched me change every full moon and knew the truth. The thought that every one of them knows makes me feel naked.

  Michael answers me. “The three of us and obviously Daniel and Bryn. No one else was ever involved.”

  The fact that it’s only a handful of people is a small comfort, but I still feel physically sick. I refuse to give into the urge to throw up. For one, there isn’t enough in me to make it worthwhile, and for another, I’m going to need to get drunk tonight. Vomiting would be counterproductive. I swallow until I’m sure the feeling has passed, and then I down the entire glass of wine and hold it out for a refill.

  Once my glass is full again I turn back to Callum. “How did you know it was Bryn?”

  “I knew he wasnae right in the head when he came to our pack. I cannae remember what it was that set me off. There wasnae any stories o’ missin’ women in the papers or the like; but I knew he was up tae somethin’. He begged off runnin’ with the pack one night, a full moon. I decide tae follow him. I heard him drag you intae the alley.”

  I’m beginning to regret gulping down the wine. I might not remember every nasty detail, but the thought that someone was there, that someone saw what happened.... I don’t have the words.

  “You didn’t stop him?” My voice is very small; I can barely squeeze the words out.

  “Lass, who did you think hauled that twisted fuck off you?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything. I don’t remember much and it’s not something I like to spend a lot of time thinking about. If I did, I’d wonder why you didn’t stop him sooner.”

  “Becca, I was a ways off, I couldnae risk him scentin’ me. I heard you scream, but I wasnae close enough. I got there as soon as I could. He was too.... occupied tae realise I was there. I got him off you and I knocked the fucker out. I called Michael, told him what had happened and where tae find you and got you out tae where he’d be able tae see you.”

  The more he talks the more I realise that my instincts are screaming at me that he’s telling the truth. It just feels wrong to even think that Callum could hurt me. I’ve been so introverted that I didn’t realise it on the night of the full moon. I think the wine is beginning to take effect though, and I’m wondering how much is my instinct, how much is his Alpha influence, and how much is down to my purely shitty judgement of character.

  Donna is close enough to put her hand on my arm. “Becca, this is a lot to take in, and you don’t look good. Do you want me to call Rob?”

  It’s too much. I can’t make a sound, but the tears start to fall.

  “Becca? Sweetie?” Donna is out of her chair and hugging me and I can’t stop the tears from falling faster and faster.

  It takes some time before I can answer her. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand until Michael hands me a tissue.

  “No, don’t call him. There’s no point. I moved out a few days ago.”

  Donna holds me at arms length so that she can look at me. I can see the concern in her face as she properly takes in just how much weight I’ve lost, the lank hair and my dead eyes.

  “What happened?”

  I really don’t want to have to answer, but not telling her isn’t an option.

  “He’s been sleeping with Claire.” It’s all I can manage to start with.

  “Claire? Claire Wells? Claire-from-the-pack Claire?”

  I nod. Donna looks like she’s ready to go out and do murder. I think Michael realises it too because he puts a hand on her arm as if to restrain her.

  “When did you find out?”

  “Tuesday.” Donna flinches. “She called me from Rob’s phone to tell me that he wasn’t
working late like he’d told me. I was thinking about moving out anyway. He’d lied to me about knowing about Daniel’s plans to bring Callum back. We just couldn’t seem to get around that. I was packing when he came home. I told him that I knew about him and Claire and he admitted it. It’s my fault. Apparently I showed him up, made him feel small. I should’ve stayed behind him. Whatever.”

  “Oh baby. You’re not going home tonight. No way I’m letting you go back to an empty house.”

  “Flat.”

  “House, flat, cave, hole in the fucking ground, whatever. Tough shit. You can stay here tonight. You’ve still got clothes here.”

  I’m beginning to get a little control of myself. Michael looks like he’s being tortured with hot irons. It’s a standing joke that he can’t deal with crying women, at least not when he’s out of uniform.