Chapter 42 Gone Before Than
Maddie Pov
Morning light stabbed through my window and straight into my eyes like tiny knives. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter but it didn't help. The damage was done. I was awake. My head was pounding like someone was hitting it with a hammer from the inside. My mouth felt like something had died in it. Dry. Bitter. Disgusting.
I groaned and rolled over. Immediately regretted it. The room spun even with my eyes closed. My stomach lurched. I might throw up. I might die. Maybe both.
This was a hangover. My first real hangover. It was worse than I imagined. Way worse. How did people drink regularly if this was what happened the next day?
I forced my eyes open slowly. Let them adjust to the painful light. My dorm room came into focus. Clothes scattered everywhere. My shirt on the floor. My jeans tangled with someone else's jeans. A larger shirt I didn't recognize.
Reality crashed into me like a truck. Last night. The party. The drinking. Calix. Oh god Calix.
I sat up too fast. The room spun again. I put my hand to my head and waited for everything to stop moving. My other hand went to my neck automatically. Touched something raw. Swollen. Painful.
I pulled my hand away. Looked at my fingers. No blood. But when I touched the spot again it hurt. Not surface hurt. Deep hurt. Like something had broken the skin and gone deeper.
The mark. He marked me. The memory came flooding back. His teeth in my neck. The pain. The pleasure. The bond exploding between us. Him claiming me as his forever.
I stumbled out of bed. My legs were shaky. My whole body felt like it had been hit by a bus. I made it to the small mirror hanging on my wall. Looked at my reflection.
I looked terrible. My hair was a mess. My eyes were bloodshot. My skin was pale. But that wasn't what made my stomach drop. That wasn't what made panic flood through my chest.
The mark on my neck was huge. Dark red. Swollen. The shape of teeth clearly visible. Two puncture wounds where his fangs went deepest. Surrounded by bruising that was already turning purple.
Everyone would see it. Everyone would know. Everyone would know exactly what happened between me and Calix.
I touched it again. Winced at the pain. It was real. Not a dream. Not something I imagined while drunk. Real. Permanent. Forever.
I turned away from the mirror. Looked at my bed. The sheets were tangled. The pillows were on the floor. Evidence of last night everywhere I looked.
But Calix wasn't there. The bed was empty except for me. I touched the spot where he'd been sleeping. The sheets were cold. He'd been gone for a while.
My chest went tight. Where was he? Why did he leave? Why wasn't he here when I woke up?
I looked around the room for a note. Something. Anything. Some explanation for why he'd left me alone. But there was nothing. No note on the nightstand. No message on my phone. Nothing.
He just left. Marked me. Claimed me. Bonded us together for life. Then left before I woke up.
Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. Hot. Suffocating. Drowning. He used me. He took what he wanted. Then disappeared before having to face me in the morning.
I was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid. I threw myself at him. Begged him to mark me. Practically forced him to claim me. All while drunk off my ass. Not thinking straight. Not considering consequences.
And now I was alone with a permanent mark on my neck and a mate who couldn't even stick around to face me the morning after.
Tears burned my eyes. I tried to blink them back but they came anyway. Spilled down my cheeks. Hot. Angry. Humiliated.
I felt used. Felt stupid. Felt like the biggest idiot who ever lived. How could I have thought last night meant something? How could I have thought he actually wanted this? Wanted me?
He was probably regretting it already. Probably woke up this morning and realized what a mistake he'd made. Probably ran away before I woke up because he couldn't stand to see my face. Couldn't stand to tell me to my face that last night was a mistake.
I sat back down on the bed. Pulled my knees to my chest. Wrapped my arms around them. Let myself cry. Let myself feel everything. The pain. The embarrassment. The rejection.
Gory was quiet in my head. Hadn't said anything since I woke up. She was probably ashamed too. Probably disappointed in how weak I'd been. How desperate. How pathetic.
"Say something," I whispered to her. "Tell me I'm an idiot. Tell me I messed up. Tell me anything."
"You're not an idiot," Gory said finally. Her voice was sad. Sympathetic. "You followed your heart. You did what felt right."
"It doesn't feel right now," I said. "It feels wrong. It feels like the biggest mistake of my life."
"He marked us," Gory said. "That's not something wolves do casually. That's not something that can be undone. He claimed us as his mate. That means something."
"Then why did he leave?" I asked. "Why isn't he here? Why did he run away?"
"I don't know," Gory admitted. "But there has to be a reason. He wouldn't just abandon us. Not after marking us. Not after bonding with us."
"Wouldn't he?" I asked. "He's been running from me since the day we met. Why would last night change anything?"
Gory didn't have an answer for that. Just went quiet again. Left me alone with my thoughts. With my pain. With my humiliation.
I needed to shower. Needed to wash last night off my skin. Needed to try and feel clean again even though I felt dirty. Used. Worthless.
I grabbed clean clothes from my dresser. Wrapped a scarf around my neck to hide the mark. Made my way to the communal bathroom down the hall. Prayed nobody would see me. Prayed I could get in and out without running into anyone.
The hot water helped a little. Washed away the sweat. The smell of alcohol. The evidence of last night. But it couldn't wash away the mark. Couldn't wash away the bond. Couldn't wash away the memory of his hands on me. His mouth on mine. His teeth in my neck.
I got dressed. Looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The scarf covered the mark but just barely. Anyone who looked closely would see the edges. Would see the bruising peeking out.
I needed to talk to him. Needed to know why he left. Needed to understand what last night meant to him. Needed answers.
But I was terrified. Terrified of what he'd say. Terrified he'd confirm my worst fears. Terrified he'd tell me last night was a mistake. That marking me was a mistake. That I was a mistake.