CHAPTER 7

You see, some people are born unfortunate, and living life knowing you are part of that wretched bunch isn't the most comforting.

But I sometimes ask myself a question: Was I only unfortunate?

I got rejected by my match, sold out by my father, and somehow found myself in a slave auction on the same day. If I look back at the series of things that had happened to me, I can't help but conclude that I'm far worse than being unfortunate.

I'm cursed.

Cursed by the goddess to live a horrifying life, to never find happiness. To be used and stomped on like a worthless rag.

I held onto the bars of the rusted cage that held me captive. The rancid smell of decay and human waste made even breathing a struggle. My lungs burned with each inhale, and my eyes stung from the constant exposure to filth.

"Don't do that," the low voice of the girl behind me broke the silence. "They hate it when we do that," she added.

I slowly pulled my hands away. I didn't bother to ask her why. Why it mattered if we held onto the bar, why she was telling me that piece of information even though I ignored her when she was wincing in pain a few minutes ago. I didn't ask her why because it didn't matter.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

If I knew this would happen, I wouldn't have tried to escape. Dying as the bride of the Lycan King would be way more honorable than dying as a slave in a slave auction.

"Hey," she mumbled.

Why did I try so much?

"Hey?" She called out again.

Why did I think my life could get better?

"Hey!"

"Shut up!" I yelled, tears streaming down my eyes. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Why can't you just shut up!"

Why did I even read that selfish letter from my mother? I'm brave! Like hell she knows anything about me. "I'm better off dead," I seethe with gritting teeth.

"I wish it was that easy," she mumbled, and I turned to look at her. Her tears traced a clean path down her bloodied face. "Death would be a blessing compared to being here," she continued. "But we can't die." There was an intense silence before she broke it with a sentence. "They won't allow it."

She gestured towards my hands, her lip quivering as she spoke. "You see that symbol on your hands? It's called a tranquilizer. Whenever we try to kill ourselves, it goes off and we get paralyzed for a couple of days while suffering immense pain." She hesitated before adding. "It's really not worth it."

"What do you mean?" I asked as if trying to deny my reality. "What the fuck do you mean!" I yelled, more tears trailing down my cheeks. "My life is mine! I get to do whatever I want with it! Get it! It's mine."

She stared at me blankly. "You don't seem to get it. Your life isn't yours anymore. You don't get to choose what to do with it. Death is a luxury for us now."

"Watch me," I spat, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked around wildly, searching for anything, anything at all that I could use. But the place was barren, a desolate wasteland of concrete and steel.

I tore at my shirt, ripping it into shreds. With trembling hands, I stuffed the torn fabric into my mouth, muffling my screams as I tried to choke myself. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. I could feel the tears dripping down my chin, the salt stinging my wounds.

The girl watched me silently, her eyes impassive as ever. I could feel her gaze on me, a cold weight pressing down on my shoulders. I tried harder, squeezing the cloth tighter, but it was no use. My body fought against me, refusing to let me die.

Finally, I gave up. My arms fell to my sides, and I let the cloth drop to the floor. I slumped against the wall, my body shaking with sobs. The girl remained silent, watching me with a blank unreadable expression.

I was trapped. There was no escape, no hope. I was doomed to live in this hell.

I chuckled, a cold humorless sound. If only I didn't chickened out.