Meet Talia (2)

I sigh, poking at the pancakes with my fork. "Why do I even care?" I mumbled. "It's not like their opinions matter." But the truth is that no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, their words always stick to me like glue, making it hard to stop the feeling that I will always be an outsider in my pack, no matter how hard I try to fit in.

My last bite of the pancake, I can say, is bitter and, at the same time, sweet. The reason is it reminds me that breakfast can't last forever. I push the plate away, lean back in my chair, and take a long breath.

I returned to my room, looking at myself again through the mirror. This is what I always do, but the mirror never seems to work in my favour. My reflection always stares back at me, showing me a combination of resistance and acceptance. My figure and my curves are fuller than the sleek, toned-bodied of the others. My hair is stubborn and refuses to be tamed, no matter how much I brush or smooth it down. And to make matters worse, my clothes do nothing to hide my size.

As I get ready for the day, I think about the gathering tonight as I prepare for the day's activity, the one event of the year where the entire pack comes together to celebrate... what? I've never really understood the point. It's another opportunity for everyone to show off their perfect lives and bodies while people like me try to fade into the background.

I took a glance at the clock, realising I was wasting time dwelling on these thoughts. I throw on a pair of jeans that are a little too tight and a T-shirt that's seen better days, then brush through my hair with minimal success. The curls bounce back into their chaotic state, mocking my attempts to tame them.

"Good enough," I say with a shrug, giving up on any hope of looking presentable. No one will notice me except to point out everything wrong.

But just as I head out, I hear my mother. Calls from downstairs. "Talia! Breakfast?"

I smile. Mom knows I've already eaten: she can always tell when I've been in the kitchen by the mess I leave behind, but she still offers, just in case I want to join the family. It's her way of trying to include me, making sure I know I'm loved, even if the rest of the pack doesn't see it.

"I'll be down in a minute!" I call back, grabbing my worn-out hoodie and slipping it on. It's like armour, which serves as a barrier between me and the world and something to hide me when the stares and whispers get to be too much.

On my way down the stairs, the smells of bacon and eggs welcome me, mixed with the scent of syrup from my breakfast. My parents are already at the table, my Dad is reading the newspaper while my mom serves plates of food. My younger brother, Jackson, is hunched over his phone, barely acknowledging my presence as I enter.

"Morning, Talia," my Mom says with a warm smile, gesturing to a chair. "We saved you a seat."

I take my usual spot at the table, looking around at the family I know loves me, even if they don't always understand me. There's comfort in their presence, in the routine of sitting together for breakfast, even when I'm not particularly hungry.

"How'd you sleep?" Dad asks, folding his newspaper and giving me his full attention.

I shrug, reaching for a piece of bacon. "Same as always. Woke up to the sun in my face."

Dad chuckles; his deep, rumbling sound always makes me smile. "We could put up thicker curtains, you know."

"Nah, I like the light. Besides, it's not like I'm getting much beauty sleep anyway," I quip, earning a laugh from both my parents.

Jackson snorts as he finally looks up from his phone. "You could use it."

"Thanks, Jackson. Always so supportive," I retort, rolling my eyes but smiling despite myself. It's all in good fun, even if there's a sting of truth to his words.

Mom gives Jackson a look that says she's not in the mood for teasing, and he quickly ducks back, pretending to be engrossed in whatever's on his screen. I appreciate the gesture, even if I don't need her to fight my battles.

"So,"

Mom started to steer the conversation to start waters, "Are you ready for tonight? The packed gathering?"

My stomach tightens at the mention of it, but I force a shrug. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's not exactly my favourite event, you know?"

She nods, softly and with a concerned look. "I know, sweetie... try to have a good time, okay? It's important to your father and me that you're there."

I nod approvingly, not trusting myself to say anything more. The truth is, I'm dreading it. But I also know I don't have a choice. Skipping the gathering would be worse than enduring it - another reason for the pack to look down on me, another sign that I don't belong.

"I'll be there," I finally say. I force a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Good," Dad says with a nod of approval. "That's all we ask," he concluded.

As I clear my plate, Mom reaches out and squeezes my hand. "Remember, Talia, we're proud of you. No matter what."

"Thanks, Mom," I say softly, squeezing her hand back. Her words are a balm to my nerves, even if they don't fully chase away my anxiety.

But just as I'm about to head back upstairs, the front door swings open, and Alpha Bran walks in, his imposing figure fills the doorway. My heart skips as he strides into the room, his face gives no clear expression. What's he doing here?

"Talia," he says, commandingly, "we need to talk."

I freeze still holding the plate in my hand as the atmosphere in the room changes, heavy with tension. What could the Alpha possibly want with me?