Memories

Isabella

It's been days. I've moved into Sebastián's apartment, but I've been here... alone.

Zoey had shown me around when I first arrived, even told me where I could find Sebastián if I missed him. She said I should give him time. Some she-wolves had it worse, she explained, dealing with mates who rejected them outright. The idea rattled me. I'd heard stories of rejection, but I'd never witnessed one—nor did I ever want to be the one rejected. Still, I told myself to be patient. After all, he hadn't rejected me. He hadn't said anything. He just... didn't stay.

Days dragged on, stretching into what felt like an eternity. The patience I tried to hold onto frayed at the edges, and the frustration began to settle deep in my chest. Sebastián still didn't budge. He never came home to stay. Not once. I started to feel like an unwanted ghost haunting his space. He never looked at me, never spoke to me. Was I that repulsive to him?

I never imagined being with my mate would hurt this much. The ache in my chest was unbearable at times. My mind couldn't focus on anything else, and the worst part? I couldn't ignore the bond, even when I tried. It drove me crazy.

And so, one night, I sneaked into his room. I know you'll probably blame me, but the bond... it makes you do things. Sometimes it feels like I'm losing control, like I'm not even myself. Natie was restless, I was restless, and I just needed something—anything—to feel connected to him.

I searched his room, desperate for something that smelled like him. His room already carried his scent, but I needed more. I found a shirt in his closet, picked it up, and buried my face in it. The first time I smelled it, it was just him—comforting, familiar. But then... I smelled something else. Something off. A second scent. Coffee, dark and rich like an espresso, and then something else—a sickly sweet strawberry perfume.

My heart sank.

That perfume... I knew that smell. I didn't want to know, but I did. My mind raced as I paced through the house. I wanted to demand an explanation, to confront him, but I couldn't. Not when I didn't even know how to explain why I was in his room, touching his things. What would I say? "Sorry, I was looking for your scent because the bond is driving me insane."

I could ask Zoey, but I couldn't bring myself to. I'd already burdened her too much. So, I did what I always do when things get too much: I slumped to the floor and cried.

I stayed there for hours, or maybe I even fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my bed—my new bedroom, the one Zoey had made for me, all pink and welcoming. I stayed still, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of my thoughts. But all I could focus on was that damn strawberry scent. It lingered in my mind, sour and unbearable. I was going to hate strawberries forever.

I forced myself to get up. It was morning, and I had to face the day. So, I took a shower, hoping it would wash away the confusion, the hurt. As the water cascaded over me, I felt a strange sensation, a flicker of something in my mind. The memory hit me like a wave—yesterday, on the floor. I felt warm arms pulling me closer, a solid chest beneath me. He was lifting me effortlessly, and I heard his voice, low and almost to himself. "Why is she so light?"

The image wouldn't leave. It kept playing in my head like a broken record. I saw myself, still half asleep, moving my arm to cup his neck, nestling closer to him, unwilling to let go. He tried to remove my arm gently, but I refused, holding onto him as if my life depended on it.

His touch was careful, almost reverent. It made my skin burn with awareness. And then... then I heard a sound. It wasn't a hum—it was more like a moan. A soft, involuntary moan that came from deep inside me. My face flushed with horror.

I snapped out of the memory, my breath shallow, the water still running over me. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and stared at myself in the mirror. The steam fogged the glass, but I could still see the flush on my cheeks.

"What the hell did I just do?" I shouted, not caring if anyone heard me—there was no one here anyway.

I sank to the floor again, my hands gripping my hair in frustration. Did he hear me? Did he feel it? What had I done? I had to be the biggest idiot alive, humiliating myself in my sleep like that.

"Argh!" I groaned, messing with my wet hair.

What do I do now?