Until Tomorrow

Amelia

"The floors on the first floor need to be moped again Amelia. You did a shitty job. I can still see tracks." Bianca's cold, venom laced demand is enough to make me want to go into a fit of rage and burn this whole damn pack house down. I have moped that floor twice today, yet it still isn't up to her standards. The alpha knew exactly what he was doing giving his only daughter supervision rights over my workload this week. A punishment I received for getting caught sneaking food before my work was done. Apparently I am supposed to starve all day while performing every damn duty demanded of me. Instead of raging, and scratching out this evil bitches eyeballs, I instead turn to her "I am sorry. I will get right to it." because arguing will make the punishments worse and I really don't want any dungeon time. It is cold, smells, and the food is slop when they remember to feed you. I am a nobody to the Feathermark Pack. An outsider found by a fellow pack member at the border 24 years ago at just 18 months old. I have no memory of how I got there. No memory of my family. I don't even know my real name.

I was taken in as an orphan. The elder she-wolves in the pack took turns raising me. Everyone treated me like a burden instead of a family member. They do not like outsiders here and I bounced around from member to member until my teens when I was enlisted as a slave for the pack essentially. I hate my life. I hate my existence. I keep quiet. Keep my head down. Nobody here knows me. Other pups weren't allowed to play with me. I pretty much grew up with nothing. I wear hand-me-down rags and sleep in a tiny home made for me or the dungeon. It really depends on how the alpha feels for the day. At least the tiny home has a bathroom. The dungeon has a bucket. I prefer seclusion with a toilet over a bucket. If being quiet keeps my ass on the porcelain throne and my face from getting slapped around, I will do it, but I don't like it. Years of this torment has piled up. Everyday I fear that I near my breaking point. On a good day I envision burning the pack down while I watch and smile at my tormentors getting burned. On a bad day, I envision ending it all. Giving it up. On a in-between, more sane day, I have escaped to some unknown pack and they welcome my in as one of their own.

I haven't made any recent escape attempts. The last few ended in my being found by the border patrol and brought back fighting for my life. The whipping I received publicly was enough to stave off the urge to flee. People laughing and making a mockery of my suffering is something I will never forget. I will forever carry a grudge of the entire pack essentially ruining me. One day they will get a harvest on the seeds they have sewn.

I trudge down the five flights of stairs to the first floor and just as I expected, the floor looks clean, but if there isn't a new shine to it and evidence it was recently moped, I will pay for it. I proceed to re-do the floors. My back aches from being hunched over all day. A ache for a shifter is a rarity, but I am a weak wolf because I am not allowed to shift to participate in runs, or train. I am allowed to do nothing except read books and work all day long. I also get to wait on whoever the alpha demands that I wait on. Usually guests have no manners and are just as cold and disgusting as the alpha here or they are visiting alphas that too enjoy the idea of having a slave the entire visit. Sometimes that get touchy, other times they get inappropriate.

Shifters come and go while I attempt to mop again. Most ignore me. A few kick over my bucket or make callous remarks to me. I need to ignore all of them. When I get into fights, the punishments are horrible. I will defend myself, but it is a last resort. I flinch every time the bucket bounces off of the floor. I have been conditioned to fear fast movements, loud noises, and quiet. If it is too quiet, I can expect the dread to rise up and something to happen. I hate the feeling. the feeling of waiting to find out the evil that is lurking.

The evil lurking in this pack is the alpha. Alpha Randall Feathemark is old, calloused, and cruel. He leads with fear and oppression. I have heard whispers from others of him only becoming more cruel because his mate died, but I only ever remember his cruelty and hatred. I have never seen him happy or kind. I have never seen him find anything amusing unless it was the punishment of others. He rules with an iron fist. Every other shifter be damned. He has one daughter, a year younger than me that loves making my life a living hades.

I finish mopping the entire floor and then return the supplies to the utility room. It is supper time here and now I have to wait until the entire pack has eaten before I can go and ask for whatever is left, and it is usually not much. The mess hall fills and I have to stand in the corner and watch everyone eat their fill, gorging themselves in their indulgence while I suffer.

I weave in and out of tables, playing the role as a waitress, barely tolerating the tones and the sneers of the shifters that see me as nothing but garbage. I will go to my cot tonight and pray that they get smited with some plague by the fates. I can fall asleep to thoughts of waking up to them all being gone. The thoughts themselves rearing up and causing me to upturn the corner of my mouth, but barely. I refuse to show any emotion to these heathens. They think they are better than anyone because they are a wealthy pack, but I see them as nothing more than a disease that needs eradicated. Any pack that functions as this one needs to be wiped of the planet.

After I play waitress I clean up the mess hall and then eat the half of a sandwich they offer me. I am expected to have the energy to work to the bone, but not given the sustenance to withstand it.

Heading back to my tiny home I am thanking the fates that I was able to stay out of trouble tonight and not have to sleep in the dungeon. I throw off my too small boots and head for my cot. Dead on my feet, I shake out my long, wavy chocolate brown hair and put it back up in a bun on top of my head. I remove my ratty jeans and kick them off into the corner of the room. I am too tired to wash them tonight. Everything will have to wait until tomorrow.