Losing the Alpha's Sanity

Her hair was a dark brown color that seemed like chocolate that had been melted, and it went all the way down her back to the top of her hips. She was really attractive. The color of her eyes was a stunning blue, similar to the color of a lake when the sun was shining on it at the ideal angle. Her cheekbones were protruding from the surface of her skin. In spite of the fact that her skin was pale and virtually white, her cheeks were flushed with a beautiful pink color, and freckles were painted all over her face, including down her nose, over her cheeks, and on her forehead.

Her face was further defined by the presence of a white scar that was located on her cheekbone. The scar was a few centimeters away from her eye and characterized her cheek. She was on her way back home, and when she boarded the plane, her garments were draped over her curves in a loose manner.

Due to the strange conduct that Cahlia had developed during one summer, her mother sent her to a boarding school in France. It had been four years since Cahlia had returned home to see her family. On the other hand, she had largely reconciled with her mother, while her father was drunk and was never truly involved in the affairs of the family. It was with great anticipation that she was going to see her brother, who had been her closest companion during her entire youth. She was just 17 years old when she was originally sent away, having been 13 years old at the time.

As soon as she boarded the aircraft, she proceeded to her assigned seat. The prospect of seeing her brother had kept her from getting any sleep the night before, so she sat down and fell asleep almost immediately. She had not slept at all the night before.

During the subsequent nine hours, she dozed off until she became aware of the airplane touching down on the ground and coming to a complete halt. When she stood up and glanced out the window, she saw the outside of an airport in the United States. She was aware of what she was doing, so she stood up and walked over to the door just as everyone else did. She largely ignored the voices that came from the speakers since she was aware of what she was doing.

As soon as the doors were opened, she descended the stairs and entered the airport. She was at the airport without delay. When she got outside, she noticed that there were a number of cars parked, so she collected her luggage and went outside. After entering one, she inquired about the whereabouts of the other.

"Beacon hills, please." After she finished speaking, the driver began the journey to her hometown, which would take an hour.

As soon as the cab pulled up in front of her childhood home, she handed the driver her money and then stepped out onto the street. As she inhaled deeply, she felt a peculiar sense of comfort brought on by the familiarity of the air. When the taxi drove out into the distance, Cahlia took a moment to gather her composure before making her approach to the entrance of the vehicle.

The house had undergone significant transformations since she had last seen it. The rose bushes had died, but they still appeared to be beautiful. There were no bicycles that had been thrown onto the grass, and the gate had been treated with a black paint job. Ivy was still growing down from the roof of the home, but only on the side of the structure. She could see that they had gotten new drapes and a blind, which allowed very little vision into the house. The house itself had mostly stayed the same. A grin appeared on her face as she reflected on all of the memories that were flooding back to her. The door was still a brilliant shade of crimson.

He had been waiting for this day for weeks, and he had even rehearsed what he would say when she stepped through the door, but now his script was gone. Inside the house, her brother, Lucas, was pacing about the living room with a great deal of impatience. He was completely at a loss for words, and his mind was completely blank.

His mother, on the other hand, was washing the last of the plates in the sink, making certain that everything was pristine in preparation for her return home.

"Do you think she'll hate me?" Lucas halted his pacing and turned his attention to his mother while drawing his hands together tightly.

"What?" Instead of continuing to wipe the dish in her hands, she turned her attention to him.

"Cahlia, do you think she'll hate me?"

"What could she possibly hate you for?"

"I'm still not sure. She may believe that I ought to have been more vocal about my disapproval of her being expelled."

"Lucas, you went on a hunger strike for almost a week," the speaker wrote.

"At the very least, you made an effort; we were aware that you were only telling us that after all of the chocolate had been removed from the refrigerator."

"What's up? That might have been Cahlia all along." With a tiny pinching of his voice, he voiced his objection.

"Cahlia is lactose intolerant." As she returned to wiping the plate that she was holding in her hands, his mother gave a sly grin.

As he waited for her to arrive, Lucas did not utter a single word; instead, he simply stood there, staring at the door. When the doorbell rang, he hurried over to fetch it and took a deep breath before opening the door. His heart was on the verge of stopping. The moment he caught sight of her standing there, he immediately wrapped his arms around her and gave her a firm hug. For a moment, Cahlia was able to move her arms to the point where they could rest on his back.

"Hey, Lucas." As he hugged her tightly, she laughed, and her breathing became short and shallow.

"Hey, Lia." He freed her from the predicament she was in and then took a step back.

"God, I haven't heard that in years; I missed it when you'd call me 'Lia.'" She laughed out loud and then let out a long breath.

"Can I help you with your things?" The question was posed while he extended his hand to collect her baggage.

A sigh came out of her mouth as she brushed her fingers through the crown of her head. "Yes, please."

Lucas took hold of her two suitcases, and she took hold of the three bags that she had. Together, they placed all of their belongings in the hallway. Lucas shut the door behind Cahlia and walked away.

Their mother approached them, and initially, Cahlia felt uncertain about how to respond to her arrival. Should she give her a hug, or should she avoid her? Eventually, she opted for the former. Given her mother's small stature, Cahlia wasn't sure where to place her arms or how tightly to embrace her. Nonetheless, she stepped over to her mother and gave her a hug. Cahlia herself was petite. While the hug was somewhat awkward, it still carried a level of enjoyment.

"What kind of dinner would you like to have?" You are free to have anything you choose. As she moved away from their embrace, her mother made the statement.

"I'm OK with anything, honestly." It was a smile.

"OK, well, Lucas could show Cahlia her room."

"Sure." With a childlike grin on his face, he said.

Cahlia turned around to find Lucas, who was already holding each of her suitcases on the other side of the room. After she had retrieved her belongings, the two of them proceeded to climb the steps. It was the same room she had when she was younger, and Lucas accompanied her there. Upon opening the door, they both entered the room.

Astonished, Cahlia stood there with her eyes darting about the room. The room contained a chest of drawers on the opposite side of a double bed that was located in the corner of the room. A TV that appeared to be brand new was placed on top of the drawers. One side of the room featured a sizable walk-in closet, and the other side featured a bathroom that was attached to the room.

"Mom said you can decorate it however you want as long as you don't make too much of a mess." He chuckled as he positioned her baggage in the entranceway of the room.

"It's beautiful."

The walls were a dark grey color, the drawers and bed frame were black, and the floor was a gorgeous mahogany color.

"It's a bit plain." He creased his nose in a frown.

There is a wonderful opportunity. I am an artist, and this is a blank canvas for me to work on. She took a glance around, conjuring up ideas of what she could do with the space she had.

"I missed you so much." It was a laugh.

"As my room director would say, 'ill n'y a pas de temps pour le passé, seulement le présent.'" She cited this with a great pride.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means 'there is no time for the past, only the present.'" In the process of translating, she turned around to gaze at Lucas.

"Sounds stupid." He let out a breath with a puff.

"What gives you the audacity? In reality, she was a very kind and pleasant lady." Using fabricated offences, she stated.

"Was it?" What do you mean by that?

"A bear ripped her to shreds and ate her to death. I lived through it; she was deserving of it. To tell you the truth, she was not that kind of lady at all."

"Well, that's wonderful." He made a tiny line with his lips, forming a smile.

"Yup." She let out a sigh.

Almost immediately after that, Lucas left her room, and Cahlia promptly began the process of decorating and unpacking her bags. She stuffed all of her clothes into the closet, arranged her amenities in an orderly fashion in the bathroom, and tucked away her books along with everything else she had packed.

When she was finished, it was already time for dinner, and her mother informed her that she needed to come down. As far as dinner was concerned, it was nothing particularly noteworthy; it was a pasta dish of some kind that Cahlia had cherished when she was younger but hadn't had since then.

It was an unpleasant environment while they were eating, and they were sitting on the island in the kitchen with each other. Cahlia was seated across from Lucas, who was seated close to his mother. The only thing that could be heard was the distant sound of whatever was being broadcast on television. No one spoke a word.

After she had finished eating, she rinsed her dish and went upstairs, where she thanked her mother before going into her room. There, she lay down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

Jet lag is a real pain.