I braced myself against the hallway wall, a tear escaping. I wouldn't cry in front of them. That hurt. Pain radiated from my tailbone; I might have broken it. I lifted my shirt, trying to examine my lower back. A bruise was definitely forming. I took a deep breath. I couldn't stay long; people would be arriving for breakfast soon.

I slowly made my way to the fifth floor, grabbed cleaning supplies from a closet, and began working my way through the bathrooms, descending to the first floor. The pain in my backside made cleaning harder.

One chore at a time… One room at a time… Three months and seven days…

I repeated these mantras. I could endure it. It had been worse. Beta Damien had once broken my left hand—my dominant hand—making chores take twice as long for about four weeks. Then there was the time Gwen poured scalding tea on me; those burns took ages to heal.

I was on the third floor when he found me. Why wasn't he at the lake house with everyone else? Don't they usually go there on weekends when there aren't pack events? He entered the bathroom, towel around his neck and shorts in hand, looking sweaty and dirty from training.

I stopped when he looked at me, immediately setting down my mop and starting to leave. Please, just let me walk away… I didn't want any more trouble.

No such luck. I froze as I was soaked from behind. Turning, I saw Alpha Liam holding the now-empty mop bucket. I looked at the floor—great, now I was covered in filthy mop water. "Well, don't just stand there," he snapped.

I grabbed rags from my cleaning cart, knelt, and began wiping up the water. It was futile; I was dripping all over the areas I was trying to dry.

"Liammmmmm. Where are you—" Gwen's voice stopped abruptly as she entered. "Oh, I found you!" she said far too sweetly. Gwen, Beta Damien's daughter, had been fixated on Liam as her mate since she was three. She's a pretty blonde with long legs and blue eyes, but her beauty is only skin deep. She noticed me.

"You can't even clean a floor correctly? No wonder your wolf never came. She knew you were just a useless traitor," she sneered, walking through the water, deliberately stepping on my fingers, and joining Liam.

"Come use my shower. This bathroom stinks like dirty mop water," she said, clinging to his arm.

"Yeah," he replied, and they left, Gwen knocking me over as they exited. Today just kept getting better.

The rest of the day involved the usual shoves and trips, resulting in a new bruise on my shin, but nothing more. I relaxed slightly and went to the attic. It's small, but it's mine, and no one bothers me up here.

In the corner, by a window, is an old mattress with a couple of blankets I'd managed to acquire, and two pillows. One day in the laundry room, another house worker brought in a cart of pillows to be recycled. I grabbed two, thinking it a perfect opportunity. They had a wonderful scent.

I don't have wolf senses; my wolf has essentially abandoned me, and we never shifted. But my sense of smell is stronger than average; the pillows smelled of the forest, and I loved it.

I also had a cracked standing mirror—good enough. I wasn't pretty enough to worry about my appearance. I mostly used it to check for hidden bruises and cuts.

Opposite the mirror was an old desk. I used some drawers for clothes, one for pencils and paper (for homework), and one for my stash—a box of change I'd been saving since I was eight. It's my escape money for when I graduate.

I pulled my mop-water-soaked shirt over my head and checked the mirror. I sighed at my reflection. My ginger hair was dull and limp. My skin was pale, with dark circles under my dull green eyes, which sometimes seemed to be sinking into my face. I've always been skinny and short—unusual for a wolf. Combine that with bruises, cuts, and old scars, and I wasn't pretty.

I could see a dark bruise forming on my tailbone. Sitting would be miserable all week at school. If my wolf would just return, maybe I could heal faster. Sometimes I felt the Moon Goddess had simply changed her mind and taken her away. She was only in my head briefly. I waited for a shift, but it never came. After two months, I gave up trying to communicate with her. Maybe she considered me a traitor, too. It wouldn't be an uncommon opinion.

I remembered my half-eaten croissant from breakfast and frantically searched my pockets. Food would be great. I hadn't made it back to the kitchen after lunch, and there was nothing left after dinner. I'm always hungry on weekends because of the extra people and the lack of leftovers—worse when the pack house has guests. At least at school, I can eat in the cafeteria.

My croissant must have fallen out during one of my falls. Sighing, I crawled onto my bed and buried my face in my forest-scented pillow. Hopefully, I could grab extra food at breakfast. Tomorrow's a new day.

Three months and six more days…