"Veiler! Good work." Sergeant Bruce yells at me after I finish the course. I frown, standing straighter and flexing my shoulders back. I wipe the sweat from my brow, looking back at the obstacles with a raised eyebrow as my comrades fall behind. None are as fast as I am. They're still pushing through the course with difficulty. Not one of them is even half way through.

I glance at the Sergeant and shrug, because its really nothing new. It's not a brag, it's just a fact. I've done the course in 4 minutes flat before. I don't rush through it in an effort to be better than everyone else. I do it because I want to get away from these people as soon as possible.

"Hardly my best." I say absently, feeling far away from here as per usual. I may be surrounded by the Rocky Mountains, but I'm far from home. I've become so detached from this place. I don't care how long I rot here for. It doesn't matter.

Sometimes I miss home, sometimes I don't. I constantly think of my family and what they're doing, but it doesn't make a difference. I mostly reminisce about my mate. My sweet Opal. I can't forget her, but I find that the image of her face is slowly fading away in my head. I'm ashamed of that. How can i forget any aspect of her? She's my whole life.

"You can go back to your tent and wash up before dinner." Sergeant Bruce brushes me off, his attention now focused on the other "soldiers" as he calls out criticizing remarks in his harsh, diomineering voice.

Poor Bruce has an ego problem

I shift my gaze and start walking the long stretch of land to my own private tent. That's one thing that I admire about this awful place. There's some semblance of personal space here. If I was locked in a communal bedroom I'd probably end myself then and there.

"Hey, Keifer! You coming to the poker game tonight?" Someone shouts, I know it's Henry, so I grin and salute him. He's one of the only people I can stand here. But not for too long, I can never handle someone for too long.

"Of course." I reply quickly, wanting to quickly get away, but enjoying the company of the few other lycans here. They worship me, and most days I don't know if I like it or not. It's nice to be adored by the masses for once. I'm used to being judged and gossiped about back home. It's a good change of pace.

Especially when I see the werewolves around. I spot one on my trek back to my tent, and he shifts his gaze away quickly, looking at his feet while he walks in the opposite direction. Werewolves are viewed as lesser here at Arrowhead. They're weaker, and therefore they aren't shown as much respect as the lycans like myself. Or even the bear shifters.

It's moments like these where I think that I should be thankful for my status, and that I'm not picked on, or resentful. I hate seeing anyone treated that way. And yet, I remain silent about it.

I'm miserable enough without someone else's problems to take care of. I hate to consider it, what would happen if someone knew that I sympathized with an outcast. I would become one of them.

I'd be a laughing stock. I would lose my respect, and that's all I have at this point. Sometimes I honestly question if my respect is because I've earned it, or because my Father is the strongest Alpha in the world, the strongest being in the world, the only royalty left. He's the King.

My comrades that worship me because of my Dad don't know that I was adopted, or that my birth Mother and adoptive Mother are both human, and most of all, they don't know that my mate is a werewolf.

That would be the kicker, the last nail in my coffin.

I'm not necessarily ashamed of those things, but I'm more protective of myself than anything. To hell with my stupid reputation, I just don't want another thing to worry about here. Being an undesirable would make my life harder. I don't need a harder life, it's already difficult enough. The biggest thing is the emotion bubbling underneath, hardly restrained by my skin.

I'm always holding back a beast. The last thing I need is another thing to irritate it.

I enter my tent, my breath already picking up. And not from exertion or fatigue, no, it's from all of the anger.

It's always been there. A beast that is barely tamed enough to stay hidden. My slip ups are what make my life a wreck. That's how I got sent here, that's how I screwed my life up. It's a fact of life that I'm cursed. The Moon Goddess hates me apparently, because she set me up with a temper unlike any other. She stole me away from the person who makes things better.

Every day I get closer to becoming the monster buried inside, and I can't do anything about it. I have to simply sit by and watch as my life falls apart. I'm a bystander to my own horrid destiny.

And poor Opal is stuck with me as her mate.

Opal, just the thought of her makes me groan as I collapse on my bed, putting my head in my hands. I grip what's left of my hair in my shaking fingers, determined to rip the strands out if this gets too out of hand. Better lose some locks then find the nearest person and punish them.

Words of reason echo in my skull. If I don't improve, I won't get out of this place.

But I haven't improved. I'm not sure if I ever will get better. I feel like I'm in an endless loop of gaining hope and then snapping when I least expect it. Then it's back to square one, and I'm right where I started.

I'm never progressing, never moving forward. I feel like I'm standing in the same place, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even cares. There's only one person who makes things better, and she's miles away from here. Maybe its better this way. She's safe from me.

I lay down on my bed, continuing to cover my face in humiliation as I try to keep the fury contained inside of me. I can't breathe. I want to break something, kill someone, release this painful energy that courses through me like a hurricane biting at the bit for destruction.

A hurricane is a good way to describe it, or any natural disaster really. My condition is a storm. I am a storm. Unpredictable. Unforgiving. And worst of all, absolutely enialating.

I don't blame my parents for sending me here, and how could I? They were looking out for me, and for the pack. I don't blame Opal either. It's my fault she almost died that day, one of my last days at home, the last straw that sent me packing.

That day, I couldn't care less that I was leaving. It wasn't the last thing on my mind. Seeing my precious mate laying in a pool of blood was the worst thing I've ever been through. I had to protect her the best way I could, by leaving her.

I can only blame myself, and that's the worst part. I almost killed the person I love most. How can i not hate myself even a little bit. But I can't keep feeling sorry for myself and moping around. I need to keep trying, for the people I care about. If I can't fix myself, I certainly can't help them. If I don't change, then I could fall apart before I get the chance to see them again.

And so, I stand up, and I walk out of my tent, ready to push through this anger strike with my head held high. Maybe I should go for a swim.

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If you're reading this, you are brave :)