Think of the most painful thing, and push past that.
That’s what I was told. In order to break a mated bond, you have to associate them, from their scent to their name, with pain. It is the worst type of conditioning. I don’t recommend it. Worst part? I thought it worked.
I really thought it worked.
I associated Nathaniel with the death of my mother. Of losing a limb. Losing my hands or my sight as an artist. I held on to that pain. I nurtured it, grew it like a magnolia tree. I had no choice. He left me no choice. Think of the most painful thing, and push past that. I thought of my best friend dying in a fire. I thought of Nathan dying–of just ceasing to be in the world. The thought, the mere thought of those bottle green eyes eyes and his six-foot-two frame was too much! I remember being in my dorm bathroom and screaming before I passed out in the white-tiled room. It was a Friday night when that happened, the first official night of Spring Break. I opened my eyes, facing the white cabinet doors below the sink. My face was wet, my dark hair a veil and covering my face. My red shirt sticking to me. Think of the most painful thing, and push past that.
It had been four years since that day on my suite bathroom floor. I lay there, grateful for the quiet. I broke the bond. I broke it. Alone. You weren’t supposed to be alone with the bond broke! I remember weeping, loudly. I couldn’t feel him. I couldn’t hear his thoughts. This feeling of relief, regret, and complete loss. I remember when I researched this during this faithful Spring Break week. I remember Nate and I had this huge fight. “You’re mine, why would you want to leave!” I remember putting my finger in his face and said, “I didn’t ask to be bonded to you! You told me that I was all you could imagine, yet, I found you with a woman not even half of me!” I had seen his eyes grow gold. His wolf nature about to answer me. I heard his thoughts. You belong to me and with me. My eyes were watering, and I bit my lip. You wanted her. Not this! Not us! I’ll get free. Watch me!
He had reached to touch me, and I turned my back as I walked back into my newly deceased mother’s two story house. The same house I was showering in. The same house that Nate walked me home to years ago. The same house my husband, Johnathan, proposed to me in. Nathan found me. The caveat on the site read: It is the depth of a trauma that breaks a lupine bond. It is recommended The Breaking take place with witnesses or possible medical assistance.
Four years I beat him back. Every thought and memory locked away. But when I smelled his soap when I was alone a year ago, I tried The Breaking again. I did it with my best friend Andrea. I remember her cupping my face, willing back to consciousness to breathe. “Lana, wake up! Wake up!” Her sweet brown face, and smooth hands pushing life force back into me. When I came back to consciousness, she said I asked for him. Johnathan was downstairs making tea for me. Andrea sat on my bed, smoothing my dark hair. I couldn’t breathe, heart in my ears. “It didn’t work, Lana.” I closed my eyes, tears leaking down my cheeks. “You have done this twice, if you try to do this again, it might kill you.” She leaned closer, her brown eyes and short red hair super bright. “And Nathaniel.”
I knew then it would be a matter of time. If the bond hadn’t broken, if The Breaking hadn’t worked, my heartbeat was an antennae. He would either kill John and take me. Or just come and take me. Closing my eyes, I counted my breaths.
And I prayed.
I didn’t know if Johnathan kissed me good-bye when he left for is ER shift. But I laid there in this king-sized bed, with the morning sun invading through the crack in the blackout curtains. “He’s coming!” I got up and put on my hoodie and shorts to go run. I was hot. I was cold. I was sweating. I didn’t want to be here when John got here, or when Nate got here. My mind raced as I slipped on my blue Nikes with my shorts and one of his John’s white shirts. I looked in mirror at the foot of my bed.
I heard a heartbeart. Louder and close. My mouth went dry, I couldn’t think. I went down the stairs as if a fire was behind me. The heartbeat was louder, stronger. Nearer then. I got to the bottom of the stairs, and touched the doorknob. I turned it, and saw him. He was on the sidewalk, heat washing over him and through me. It was pulling me towards him. I walked to him, remembered how his kisses made me forget time existed. That it still passed when we were together.
I got to within a breath of him all tall and golden, in a red hoodie and jeans. He wrapped his arms around me. I put my manicured hands through his dark strawberry blond hair. I cupped his face, and kissed him. I forgot I was married. I forgot I promised God and family I would love, did love, someone else. He kissed me, and–I pulled together again. I pulled into him, and there was us again.
I wept and hung on to him. From wall to floor. And to bed. I was in my marital bed. I was fighting to snatch him from his clothes. Memories flooded my mind, as time stopped for me. For this. This kindness of giving him back to me. He growled in my ear as he pinned me against the wall. Pictures rattled as he entered me, and grabbed my hair. Why? I asked. Please. He answered. I heard my shorts and the black panties hidden in them rip. He kissed my neck, and slid into to me. As he growled, he bit my shoulder. Opening the old mark. I felt my body meld into him. I opened, and sang.
Now here I was, showering and quiet. Could feel him in the next room. Hurry up and get back in here. I miss how you taste.
No you don’t.
You’re mine too.
So eat. I turned the water off to find him in my bathroom door, leaning against the door jamb. I held my breath, feeling him count water beads over my lips and chest. I stepped out of the shower stall. I looked at the floor and smirked and my pink painted toes. He tipped my head to face him, eyes gold again. “I will.” he nipped my ear, licking it. “And I still lick my plate clean.”