When I was younger, I convinced myself that I would never have a Mate. Maybe it was for dumb reasons like, my face is full of pimples, or my legs are too fat, or my hair is dry and not as soft and shiny as hers. In my young mind, I believed no guy would want me because at the time I didn't possess such traits. It is a stupid thing to believe—that I am too ugly for a Mate—but the thought grasped onto me for years. The thought brought me to tears while I sat in my bathtub, only in the tub so no one could hear me. All in all, I was depressed.
Me, a sixteen-year-old werewolf at the time, was depressed because of my physical appearance. I mean, werewolves are supposed to be beautiful right? Flawless skin, vibrant hair, lushes lips, soothing voice, perfect body, a list of traits that surrounded me, yet traits I didn't have. All of the girls my age were beautiful, and I was the ugly duckling.
"Don't worry, you'll grow into your ears," my mother would tell me, pushing my dull, knotted brown hair over them.
"Don't worry, I'm sure your breasts will come, you're just a late bloomer," she'd say.
"Your feet aren't too small."
"Your face will clear up."
"Having brown eyes is lovely, people want brown eyes like yours, Rae."
I'd stare up at her and think about all the lies she's told me. Will I really grow into my ears? No. They'll always be a little too big, and they still are three years later.
My mother was a beautiful woman, and a beautiful wolf too. She looked more like one of the other girl's mothers than mine. She could have been an Alphas Mate, that's how perfect she was. Only the most beautiful girls are mated with an Alpha. Sadly—in my theory—I wouldn't get a Mate at all.
At first, the thought made me depressed, but as the years went by, it made me feel free. As the other girls prepared for gatherings—ones where packs would get together in search of their Mate—I would sit at home and argue with my mother.
"I don't have a mate, mom!"
She'd cross her arms. "That's ridiculous, Rae."
"It's not. I can feel it. I don't have a mate; it doesn't matter if I go. It'll be a waste of time."
"Stop that. Now get on the dress and let's get going. You're going to be late!"
That year I actually attended one. I wore a purple dress and sat in the corner all night while four girls my age found their mates. One was a Beta. A Beta! It was understandable; she was a pretty girl.
I sat in the corner, playing judge, judging everyone and their mates, their dancing, their dresses. Sure, I found it easier to accept that I'd never find a Mate, but part of me was still jealous.
This year, my fourth year of the gatherings, I plan on not attending again. I've only been once, when I was seventeen, so I'd like to spare myself from that pain. My mother doesn't seem to mind after that one time. Maybe she has begun to believe my theory too.
