The broken warrior

*Rose*

“Four million dollars? Isn’t that an awful lot of money for only a few months’ worth of work?”

Quiet voices filter into my ears from the living room, and I pause to listen, hoping that my parents are not discussing me.

Then… I hear my name, and I know that they are talking about me. Again.

“Rose is a fine young woman,” my mother is saying. “Any Alpha would be happy to have her.”

“I know, I know,” my father agrees. “I definitely think it’s worth it for us to send her.”

An Alpha having me? I don’t know what this is about, but at least it’s not about a job.

The last time I stumbled upon my parents discussing my fate, I was sorry I’d overheard any of it. At the time, they were going on about a new job for me. That didn’t seem bad at first, but when I finally had to report for duty, it was at a sewage factory. It turned out to be hard work, but I just plugged my nose and dealt with it. I may have been the daughter of an Alpha, but I had to do something to help out with my family’s crushing debt.

“I know that it would be the answer to all of our prayers, Karen,” my father adds, before confessing, “But I’m worried she won’t be able to do what they want her to do. After all, our little Rose isn’t that bright. She can be a real idiot sometimes. She might not even know which hole to put it in.”

My father's callous words slice through me like a jagged blade, intensifying my confusion over their cryptic conversation. What in the world were they even talking about? The sting of his hurtful remarks triggers a flood of memories, a barrage of insults that he has hurled at me over time. "Idiot" was relatively mild when compared to the other venomous labels he has called me. Yet, despite my attempts to remain composed, a surge of pain rises within me, causing tears to well up and sting my eyes.

Why can’t my parents just love me like the other kids I know who have parents that love them unconditionally?

Alpha Howard, my father, and Luna Karen, my mother, possess a glaring deficiency when it comes to maintaining accurate financial records for the pack. The truth is, the coffers are nearly empty, rendering their task all the more challenging. Everyone within the pack is well aware that they have shamelessly dipped their hands into the funds, redirecting them toward personal projects at home.

The gradual depletion of our natural resources a few years ago shattered any illusion of concealing the pack's massive debt. It became painfully evident that my parents had been the primary culprits responsible for the reckless expenditure.

And so, I stepped up, doing everything within my power to aid them in their dire predicament. I sacrificed and would continue to do so if necessary. The pack holds an indescribable significance to me, despite the horrible actions of my parents. Someone must bear the burden of salvaging our pack and taking responsibility for its future.

As I continue to eavesdrop, a flicker of confidence washes over me, dispelling any concerns of being dispatched to another wretched sewage treatment plant. After all, my previous work at such a facility ended unceremoniously with my dismissal due to an unfortunate tendency to vomit on the job. Irony, it seems, has a peculiar sense of humor.

"This is unlike anything we've encountered before!" My mother's voice resonates with annoyance, and though I'm unable to witness their expressions through the narrow opening of the door where I discreetly listen, I can almost see her rolling her eyes in exasperation. "She's not going to disgrace herself in front of the Alphas!"

"You hope," my dad retorts, catching me off guard. Before I can dwell too much on his words, he continues, "But mark my words, daughters of Alphas and Betas from every corner of the kingdom will vie for this position. Why on earth would they ever select Rose? She's utterly inept!"

So, this conversation revolves around a job. I strive to conceal my frown at my father's profound lack of faith in me. Even though I remain oblivious to the precise nature of their discussion, perhaps his skepticism holds some validity. Maybe I truly lack the capabilities required for whatever task they are alluding to.

The notion of embarking on yet another dreadful job twists my stomach into knots. As torturous as it is to live with my cruel parents, at least within these walls, I know what to expect. Leaving is not a viable option. I am the Alpha's daughter, and abandoning my home prior to marriage would ignite rampant speculation, tarnishing the pack's reputation—an outcome my parents would never permit.

But the intensity of their present conversation leaves my palms sweaty and my head spinning. I longingly yearn for the possibility of escape, a chance to depart this place that has held me captive for far too long.

I want to uncover the truth before forming any judgments, but fear paralyzes me, preventing me from advancing even an inch. I cautiously shift my weight, causing the ancient floorboards to let go a loud squeak. It should have alerted them to my presence, yet they continue their conversation, oblivious to my eavesdropping.

Our dilapidated and worn-out house has deteriorated to such an extent that my subtle movements go unnoticed. Thankfully, they mistake the sounds I create for the usual settling of the foundation—nothing more–and continue speaking.

"We will send her. Undoubtedly, she will find a way to bungle it, but we must make the attempt. It's preferable to letting her remain here and further disrupt our lives," my mother asserts.

"Fine," my father grudgingly agrees. "I'm merely cautioning you not to get your hopes up. It's highly probable that she will disappoint us, just as she has with every task she's ever been assigned on our behalf."

My heart plummets into the pit of my stomach, a feeble throb amidst the crushing weight of disappointment.

Is this truly what my parents think of me?

Whatever dreadful task they are preparing to assign me, it fills me with a sense of terror. Perhaps they are right in their assessment that I am incapable of accomplishing it. After all, I find myself failing repeatedly in the face of their unattainable expectations. At least, that's the narrative I've convinced myself of.

Considering the involvement of other Alphas, it's safe to assume their standards will be equally exacting, mirroring those of my father.

No, I simply cannot bear the weight of this burden. The instinct to escape, to find a hiding place, engulfs me entirely. Regardless of the nature of the task, it feels unbearably atrocious for someone like me to even contemplate attempting it. I can’t wait to leave this place, to distance myself from these overwhelming circumstances.

As I hear approaching footsteps, a surge of panic compels me to conceal my eavesdropping. I hastily retreat several steps, finding refuge near the sink. I turn the tap on, its steady stream camouflaging my presence, and grab a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water as if innocently quenching my thirst.

"Oh, there you are, dear," my mom's voice resonates, although the endearment sounds strained, as if it were forced from her lips. "We were hoping to talk to you. Wait—were you listening?"

I face them, feigning nonchalance, taking a sip from the glass before gently placing it on the counter. "No, I wasn't listening," I say, hoping my performance convinces her. She appears to believe me. "What is it, Mom?" I ask, my tone curt and guarded.