37. Sweat.

After finishing my satisfying lunch, I made my way to the bustling hamster warehouse, aptly named because of my tendency to hoard like a hamster. Upon arrival, I noticed several Salvatores already engrossed in their tasks. The warehouse was abuzz with activity, offering plenty of work to keep me occupied.

Unfortunately, I wasn't always quick enough to secure the highest quality items when my pack members made their requests. Nevertheless, I diligently sorted the boxes in their proper order, ensuring everything was in its rightful place. Whenever someone approached me for a specific item, I would direct them to its designated location.

The hamster warehouse was vast, with magical sections occupying three sides. A sign on the wall indicated which magical area each box should be delivered to. For instance, curtains had their own space, as did rugs, computers, TVs, and clothing, among others. I simply teleported the boxes to their respective areas, and, like magic, they were transported to the correct storage rooms.

If a storage room was full, the boxes would remain in place, allowing me to identify which areas required unloading. The stacks of cardboard boxes nearly touched the ceiling, prompting me to climb and inspect the top ones before sending them away. I worked tirelessly to lower the towering piles of boxes, knowing that new deliveries arrived daily from the Magic House, where they were inspected for any potential harm.

As a result, I quickly became familiar with the stock that needed to be unloaded. My time at the warehouse stretched on for eight hours, and then it was time to eat again, repeating the cycle.

The kitchen was crowded with pack members, including the amorous duo of Damon and Mariella, whose activities were evident through the tantalizing aroma that filled the air. They were undoubtedly the lustful couple in our pack. Now, with some free time, I plan to indulge in some crafting.

As the pack finished their meal, I continued tidying up, but Charles remained in place.

Suddenly, he forcefully pressed me against the wall, gripping my throat, and uttered, "Little bitch, do you still remember how to behave?"

His determined gaze sent a shiver down my spine, and I knew what he had in mind. Unbeknownst to me, Mariela and Damon had stayed behind, observing the scene unfold. Charles deftly slid his hand under my skirt, tearing off my panties, and forcefully inserted three fingers into my wetness.

He began to fuck me slowly, roughly, and with an undeniable dominance. I met his gaze defiantly and attempted to close my legs, but the depth of his fingers inside me made it impossible to resist.

Charles growled, "You're not allowed to come, you little bitch," asserting his control over me.

I let my climax develop, feeling the intense pleasure building up within me. I moaned softly, biting my lip, as I spoke to Charles in a low, seductive, but dangerous voice that conveyed my knowledge of his intentions.

"I'm not listening to you, not at all."

Mariella suddenly appeared beside Charles and confronted him, her voice filled with defiance. "What about me, Cornick? You wouldn't dare do that to me, especially with Damon right next to me." 

Charles locked eyes with me, his gaze filled with malice. "Little bitch, this isn't over yet."

He forcefully grabbed Mariella, pushed her against the wall, and tore off her panties with brutal force. The sight of blood running down Mariella's thigh made me aware of the extent of Charles' aggression. His claws were out, causing harm. Damon observed the scene with a mixture of interest and arousal. 

As Mariella experienced a violent climax, Charles kissed her and released his grip. Damon swiftly intervened, slamming Charles against the wall, taking control, and passionately kissing him. Their connection was undeniable, their desire insatiable. In an instant, they teleported elsewhere, leaving Mariella smiling. When she noticed number two watching from a short distance away, she made her way towards him.

I chuckled to myself, reveling in the relief of not being an energy creature. If Charles had continued, I would have reached a point of no return, and fast as Charles knew how to drive me over the threshold and it had been his intention, but I didn't mind that Salvatore needed a taste of Cornick. 

After taking a shower and changing my clothes, I retreated to my craft room. Sitting on my comfortable sofa, I retrieved a sack from my cupboard, filled with patches, a needle, and thread. As I began piecing the patches together, I reflected on everything that had transpired.

Our argument had left a mark on our relationship. While I had partially forgiven Damon, I knew things had changed for me. Perhaps I had retreated into my shell, but I was still willing to share, as long as he could handle it. I suspected that the passion between Mariella, Charles, and Damon was a direct response to my memories and emotions, and how Damon chose to confront them. 

I realized that I was not meant to change in certain ways, as every time I tried to be open, vulnerable, and reveal everything, it never worked out, at least not with Damon. Our relationship would never be perfect until we truly got to know each other.

As I settled onto my plush, velvety sofa, the warm autumn light bathed the room, casting a soft glow on my knitted pieces. The gentle illumination allowed me to work comfortably, each stitch guided by the subtle play of light and shadow.

As evening descended and darkness enveloped the room, I reached for the remote and softly clicked it, illuminating the space with a warm, cozy glow. Lost in my thoughts, I let my mind wander freely.

However, deep down, I knew Damon would never truly understand me like Charles did. I couldn't allow him to see the real me, the person hidden beneath the facade. In his eyes, in his expectations, I could sense a misconception, a misguided perception of who I truly am at my core.

Yes, I could share seven years of memories with Damon, but those memories were merely glimpses into my thoughts and emotions. He did not possess a complete understanding of my perspective, and revealing it would only drive us further apart.

Perhaps Damon and I were not destined to be the endgame. Maybe my path was meant to intertwine with Adam, Charles, and the boys instead. Someday, I might reveal my true self to them. Charles, though he knows me best, still doesn't know me completely. And I'm uncertain if anyone ever will.

I may have a deep understanding of Damon and his intricacies, just as he does of me, but there are other factors at play. My ability to read people and creatures, my pretender side, and, above all, my life experiences have shaped me. Decades spent with them all have brought about change, growth, and maturity, but they have also hardened me.

I've learned countless bitter lessons about the world, its cruelty, and the inevitable presence of injustice. I've come to accept that I can't save or help everyone and that I am far from invincible. Lost in contemplation, I hadn't realized how much time had passed. As I connected the last pair of patches, I let out a weary sigh, the weight of unresolved thoughts lingering in the air.

The door swung open, creaking softly as Damon and Mariella strolled in. Oblivious to my presence, they carried on without a glance my way. In the corner, my neatly arranged quilts were assembled, their vibrant colors catching the light. I had already prepared the smooth silks for the backing, their sheen reflecting the room's warm glow.

Curious, they inspected the fabric drawer, its towering presence resembling a colossal filing cabinet. Each drawer held neatly packed fabric bundles, an enchanting use of magic to store such delicate materials. Their exploration continued, peering into the machines and rummaging through my cupboards, their curious gazes leaving no corner untouched.

Breaking their exploration, Damon approached me with a puzzled expression. "What have you been doing all alone for days on end?" he questioned.

With a week's worth of work behind me, I explained, "Just sorting my thoughts, don't fret. In the process, I'll also fashion a few quilts for cozy blankets."

Mariella gracefully settled beside me on the sofa, marveling at its beauty. "Such a splendid piece," she murmured. "It's no wonder you find solace here. This sofa is meant for relaxation, not indulgence."

Damon joined her, enveloping her in his arms, sighing contentedly.

I tidied my work, carefully folding the quilt and returning it to the cupboard. Needles and threads found their rightful place as I organized my tools. Deciding to give them privacy, I retreated to the adjacent room.

If my creations disturbed them, I would consider a different pursuit. Stepping outside, the crisp autumn air embraced me, carrying the distinct scent of the season. Settling into the swing, I let myself be enveloped by its gentle sway.

Charles emerged from inside the house, his footsteps echoing on the wooden porch as he made his way towards me. As he settled down on the swing beside me, a gentle creak filled the air. Looking into his eyes, I could see a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Oh, did the power couple come to evict you?" Charles asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. 

I turned to face him, the warm breeze rustling through the leaves overhead. Taking a deep breath, I began to speak, my words carrying a weight that had been building up for days.

"I've spent the past week reflecting on everything, drawing conclusions. I've realized that I no longer have to witness Damon sitting on the couch, enveloping Mariella in his arms, a contented sigh escaping his lips. I don't have to subject myself to that anymore. That's the lesson I've learned. I've grown less masochistic because the world and the universe seem to take pleasure in being sadistic towards me. I don't have to add to that anymore."

Charles grunted, his voice laced with understanding. "When they don't know you, honey, they cannot grasp just how incredibly sensitive you are. But I do. And I don't want to hurt you unless that's what you desire," he added, his tone turning dark.

Meeting his gaze, I felt a swirl of emotions. "At some point, amidst all this confusion, I'll figure it out. I won't let that fight define me, although it has changed me far more than it has Damon. He cannot see that. I've given him fragments of our seven years together, day by day, memories, emotions, experiences. But soon, I know there will be experiences within those memories that he won't be able to bear. And that's where it ends. I shouldn't feel disappointed, but I know I can't escape it. No matter how much I've tried to prepare for it, I understand Damon better than he understands me."

Charles reached out and gently stroked my arm, his touch offering comfort. "Salvatore is Salvatore. If he wants to be a masochist and subject himself to your experiences, it's not your burden to bear. I comprehend your disappointment completely; it's something that accompanies life. Those close to me countless times have let me down, and it never gets easier. But I'm here, and if you ever need someone to confide in about that time, I'm here to listen. I can handle it. However, if you're seeking someone to erase or fade those memories, I can't do that. But that's why we have a Lepard. The four of us can support you, just like Damon."

Leaning into Charles, I could feel his warmth enveloping me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me closer, and whispered, "Oh, honey, I've missed us. It's so wonderful to be with you. You wouldn't believe it."

At that time, I let true happiness come to me, take me with it as I leaned into his embrace, and let our love help and heal me, surround me with its warmth. This was just perfect to be.