|sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may,|
@ 2014-01-11 18:07:00
|Entry tags:||#flashback, #solo, sam|
my world is a lie that's come true.
Who: Sam, and some of the Evans Pack (NPCs).
Where: The Evans Pack home, Montana.
When: October 18th 2008. After midnight.
They came back well after midnight, stirring him from sleep and turning his gaze towards the stairs leading up from the basement. Their voices were loud, rowdy, their laughter sharp and as he sat in the quiet he realised he could smell something. Alcohol. They had been drinking. Sam twisted on the mattress on the floor and watched the door, saw the silhouettes of their feet as they passed it by. Passed him by. Sam held his breath, waiting. Hoping.
That held breath caught in his throat and he shrunk against the wall, dropping his gaze from the door immediately, knowing what that call meant. The wolf inside him was torn, pulled in two directions, wanting to obey but understanding what was coming. It wanted to obey but instinct told it to stay away from danger. Wolves didn’t readily run towards things that would hurt them but he still felt that pull, that desire to do as he was told and he had heard his name called that way enough times by now to know that he was being told to come upstairs.
“Sam.” There was less humour in the voice now, more impatience. Some of the laughter had faded from the first floor of the house. Sam heard footsteps overhead, saw a silhouette of a pair of legs appear at the top of the stairs. Frozen in place now by the fear of what was coming he stared at those shadowy shapes, his stomach turning and twisting and knotting in on itself in dread.
The key turned in the lock and the door opened, spilling light on the steps leading down into the basement. Sam shied away from it, his breathing shallow now, his legs hugged up against his chest, his heart beginning to race. Someone started coming down the steps. He knew who it was before they stepped into view, their scent preceding them well enough that his wolf brain could connect the unique traits to an individual.
Lacey. Her hair was curled tonight, she had spent time on her appearance, wanting to look good for the others. In failing to answer her call Sam had made her look bad. Unable to keep the sound from bubbling up he whimpered, shying further away against the wall, shrinking from her gaze, lowering his own to the tops of his knees, close to his face as they were.
“Samuel,” she sighed, disappointment thick in her voice, shaking her head enough that her blonde curls tumbled around her face and shoulders. “Have you gone deaf?” she asked him, and when he didn’t respond she moved closer. “Huh?” With one foot she nudged the edge of his mattress.
Sam shook his head.
“No?” She sounded surprised and even with his eyes downcast he saw the way she glanced back at the stairs. Others were looking down. Watching. “Well, that’s the only reason I could think of why you wouldn’t come when we called you.” She crouched down then, more wolf than woman in her posture, predatory and aggressive. Sam couldn’t shy away any more than he already had, could only keep his gaze turned away from hers.
He didn’t see the strike coming. Lacey’s hand caught him across the cheek with enough force to knock his head to the side. His temple cracked against the wall hard enough for his vision to blur, his ears ringing, and then there were fingers knotting in his hair, yanking him from the corner. Sam couldn’t keep from crying out, equal parts fear and pain as she pulled him clean from the mattress and across the floor, his struggle automatic and unconscious, instinct and reflex only making things worse.
Lacey’s fingers twisted and heaved with enough force that Sam had no choice but to go with them if he didn’t want her to rip a chunk of hair out of his head. When he hit the stairs he felt pain lance through one leg and then his hip. The landing was rough, messy, and when he looked up he saw them all looking down at him. Waiting. Sam whimpered and tried to shy back, off the steps. Lacey was blocking his way.
“Up,” she told him, her voice clipped and assertive, commanding. When he didn’t respond right away she slapped him, a sharp crack across the same cheek. “Get up those stairs or I will drag you up there myself.” Her voice was run through with the first trace of a growl when she said, “If you make me drag you up there I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Sam shivered and then started moving forward. Lacey always kept her word. If he didn’t climb the steps under his own power she would make sure he was very sorry that he hadn’t and Sam knew to take what small scraps of mercy he could get. Whatever lay ahead would be bad enough without him making things worse. So he climbed the steps, the first few on his hands and knees, and then he dared to rise to his feet, the soreness in one leg worsening with every step. When he reached the top of the stairs they stepped back enough to let him do so, allowed him to clear the basement door. That was where he stopped.
His father was in the doorway leading from the lounge into the kitchen. Sam couldn’t help the way his gaze turned in that direction. His mother was in the kitchen proper, digging through the refrigerator. Looking for something to eat, probably. Sam felt sick. He had long since given up asking them for help. One of the males close by turned to look at the pack’s Alpha and received a smirk in response. Encouragement.
Sam winced in the split second before the blow struck him, snapping his head to the side hard enough that his neck ached afterwards. He hit the door when he fell, slamming it back against a table set against the side of the staircase leading up to the house’s second floor. Something fell, breaking against the floor with a low ringing sound. Maybe the ringing was in his ears, Sam realised, pushing his hands against the floor to try and push up. One side of his face had gone numb. No, not numb, it was tingling. It felt like he had gone deaf in that ear, the sounds were hollow and muffled on that side.
Lacey’s long fingers twined in his hair again, pulling his head up and back, forcing him to rise as well if he didn’t want to choke. “Do you really think we enjoy this, Sammy?” she asked him, her face close to his. He could feel her breath against his ear, against his jaw. When she laughed it was a hot rush over his skin and through his hair. Sam couldn’t help but shudder. “You’re right,” she said, amusement rich in her tone, “of course we do.”
With that she struck him again, not across the face this time but lower, in the stomach, doubling him over, releasing her grip on his hair just in time to allow him to do so. She laughed as he wrapped an arm around his front, staggering, breathless, tears in his eyes.
“Next time,” she said to him, “come when we call you.”
That was the last thing any of them said before something struck him in the face hard enough to flip him over onto his back on the ground, blood on his tongue and spilling from his nose, sliding down his face to the floor. They laughed as they struck him, kicking and punching, cheering when he knocked into furniture, applauding when something was spilled from its perch to clatter on the ground. It was a game to them, entertainment after a long night of drinking and loud music, and Sam could do nothing to stop them. He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t brave enough. Sam knew his place, that on some level he deserved what they were doing, that he would spent the next few days in agony because he had earned it. His pack had decided he needed to be punished and so he would take it, because that was what Omegas did. They did as they were told.