CHAPTER 15

Tensions Mount

"Something's not right tonight, isn't it?" I whisper as I take a seat at the long table, the pack's voices blending into a low murmur behind me. "I can feel it—every unspoken look, every unspoken word."

Gabriel's calm voice cuts through the tension. "We all want to help you, Sophia. We're here, step by step," he says to me, his eyes soft with reassurance.

Caleb's answer is defensive, his voice low and filled with something that escapes me. "Are you sure the past must be kept secret?" His words cut me softly, full of cautiously protective language and a subtle undertone of jealousy.

I drew a shaking breath. "Lucas is home, and with him, an avalanche of memories I thought were locked away forever. I don't know if facing them will heal me or just tear me limb from limb all over again."

Gabriel leans forward, his tone warm and smooth. "Sophia, we understand you're hurting. But maybe it's time to face those ghosts, so you can finally move on. We're all here to help carry that burden for you."

Caleb’s eyes narrow slightly as he adds, “Sometimes, burying the past can protect us. Not everything needs to be dug up again.” His voice is quiet, but each word resonates with a worry I’ve heard before.

I can sense the weight of their words and their burden settling over me. "But how can I heal if I lose every bit of who I am?" I ask, my words trembling on the edge of hope and despiration. "Every night I glance over at Lucas, I remember the nights lying alone, the promises that vanished into thin air.".

Gabriel's response is soft and positive. "Your history is yours, Sophia. It's the fibers of your soul, although it's blemished by pain. We're your kin—we're in it with you for every hurricane."

Caleb's message becomes sharper, more insistent. "I'm simply saying, Sophia, that some wounds opened only bring additional pain. Do you want to take the risk of shredding everything to bits again?

I look around the table, feeling the unseen pull-of-war gripping my heart. "I'm torn," I confess, barely above a breath. "Between recalling the love I once felt and fearing it will ruin everything I've done since."

Gabriel's hand is soft on mine as he takes my own. "Maybe it's not about deciding which of the two. Maybe it's about finding middle ground—a balance of respecting the past, but welcoming the future." His voice is as soothing as a lullaby to calm the painful places inside me.

Caleb is reserved, his dark eyes filled with unseen horrors. "Some things are better left alone, Sophia. I just don't want to open old wounds only to have us more battered than when we began.".

I swallow hard, like every word is a blow to my already battered heart. "But if I reject the past, won't I be rejecting part of who I am?" I ask, my voice harsh with emotion. "Every memory, every scar—they're all me. How can I ever get on with my life if I'm not allowed to feel every inch of it?"

Gabriel's eyes sparkle with sympathy as he goes on, "Your scars tell you enough, Sophia. They speak for themselves. They're a testament to your toughness and resilience. We're not here to keep anything from you; we're here to help you face the facts.".

Caleb leans forward in his chair, his voice softening a little. "I know that you're hurting, Sophia. I'm worried about you, more than you could ever imagine. But sometimes the further we descend into the past, the more it haunts us.".

I chew my lip, split by the authority of our arguing voices. "I don't think I can decide right now," I say, my voice trembling under the stress of uncertainty. "Every time I attempt to trust, I'm haunted by what I've lost—and what I might lose if I open these doors to memories."

Gabriel pinches my hand tightly. "Take all your time, Sophia. We are not going anywhere. We will teach you how to find your way through this obscurity, if it takes all eternity.".

Caleb's eyes narrow, and in a low, angry whisper that is meant only for me, he says, "I need space to determine who I can trust." His words, flavored with raw emotion, cut through the fragile peace at the table, and leave a chill that I am powerless to shake off.

I look at him, eyes asking for answers. "What do you mean, Caleb? Am I not good enough? Is my past so heavy that you would rather that I keep it hidden?" My voice trembles, a mixture of anguish and yearning, as I try to bridge the widening gap between us.

Caleb's answer is guarded, nearly defensive. "It's not that I don't care, Sophia. It's just that I'm afraid your heart might break if you have to relive every painful memory. Sometimes, trust is something fragile that must be protected."

Gabriel cuts in, his tone soft but insistent. "We all have our fears, Caleb, but Sophia is our heart. We must ensure we don't let our own phobias dictate her healing."

I can feel the tension growing in the room with unspoken words, the two of us stuck in a tango of care and contention. "I want to believe in our future, in healing," I whisper, my eyes full of unshed tears. "But whenever I'm forced to face the past, whenever the memory of Lucas and what we had seems ready to swamp me, I'm filled with fear of losing what little I have left."

Gabriel moves closer, whispering softly as he comforts me, "Sophia, your heart is strong. It's bruised, maybe, but it's still beating strongly. We're here to help fix those cracks, step by step, if you let us."

Caleb, exhaling a deep sigh that is full of unfiltered feeling, goes on, "Just remember that occasionally the past is a kingdom of shadows. And if you head too far back, you will never learn how to get back into the light."

My throat tightens with the weight of his words. "I'm torn between these shadows and the light," I confess, my voice thick with emotion. "And I don't know which side will ultimately shatter me—or if I can even choose at all."

A charged stillness falls on our table as the words come to rest like dust in the pale light. I feel the vibration of each memory and each tear, each a silent witness to the complexity of our entwined fates.

Finally, in a near-whisper, I say, "I need to have some space to decide who I can trust." The words hang suspended in the air, thick with the potential for more fighting and unresolved pain.

As the dinner reaches reluctant end, our gazes remain locked in a wordless battle—a struggle of hope against fear, of love against the very demons of our past. I find myself asking whether in our desire to do justice to both what we had and what we could be, we are inviting ourselves into a future where trust is but a very thin illusion.

"Are we ever going to take solace among such shattered vows, or remain perpetually astray in the echoes of the unsaid truths?"