Soryn was sweet and so attentive that it sometimes made my chest ache with gratitude. Even when I snapped at him over trivial things, like the way he arranged my bed furs or if he was being too loud with his movements, he simply smiled and took it with infinite patience, his emerald eyes soft with understanding. He made sure I was comfortable at all times, bringing me cool water when I was hot, adjusting the furs when I was cold, massaging my aching back without being asked. And when I finally calmed down, the anger draining away to leave only shame in its place, I would cry and apologize to him and to my other mates who had felt the sharp edge of my verbal abuse.
I am turning into Hyunwoo, and I hate it.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, memories I had tried to bury rising up like bile in my throat. I would cry and hate myself, burying my face in my hands, wondering what kind of monster I was becoming. Because I remembered all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of such cruelty, back in my old life when I was still alive in that other world.
Hyunwoo. My ex of seven years. The man I had given my youth to, my love, my trust. I remembered how he would get mad at the smallest things, how his face would twist with rage over burnt rice or a wrinkled shirt. He would curse at me, calling me worthless, stupid, a waste of space, his voice loud and cutting in our small apartment. He would throw things, plates shattering against walls, remotes hurled at the floor, once a glass that missed me by inches and left a scar on my arm I carried to my grave. The verbal abuse came daily, a constant drip of poison that eroded my self-worth until I believed I deserved it.
The emotional abuse was worse somehow, the way he would ignore me for days as punishment, the way he would flirt with other women in front of me to make me jealous, to make me beg for his attention. He would berate me for being fat, pinching my stomach with cruel fingers, telling me no one else would want me if I gained another pound. He made me stand on scales every morning, criticizing what I ate, forcing me to skip meals until I was dizzy with hunger but still called me disgusting. Seven years of that, seven years of shrinking myself to try to fit into his impossible standards, of apologizing for existing, of thinking I was lucky he even kept me around. Until he really did cheat on me. Working two jobs was not enough for him. And I lost it.
Finding my voice after years of silence, I tried giving him his just desserts. I told him how many times I faked orgasm because his cock was too small to satisfy me, how I had to imagine other men just to get through the motions with him, pleasuring myself on nights he was out with his friends. I shoved him, wanting to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused me, the years of lies and abuse and his so called love that was really just control. Seven years of being his doormat, his convenient wallet, only to have him shove me toward the railing of our apartment in a rage, his face twisted with the hatred he had always hidden beneath false affection. I fell three stories down to my death, the wind rushing past me, the concrete rising up to meet me, the last thing I saw was his face looking down at me without a shred of remorse.
I shuddered at the memories, the phantom pain of impact ghosting through my bones, the terror of that final moment still able to make my breath hitch. I died hating him, hating myself, thinking I deserved nothing better than what I had received.
And now here I was, doing the same thing to these sweet men who had done nothing but love me. The irony made me sick.
I cannot be doing this. It is not fair to them. They are so sweet and so attentive and loving, bending over backwards to accommodate my every whim. I should not take advantage of them like that. There is no excuse to be mean or nasty about it. But I cannot help the anger or irritation I feel, this constant prickling under my skin that makes everything too loud, too bright, too much. Fucking hormones.
"I am sorry, so sorry Soryn," I cried, the tears coming harder now, not just for my behavior but for the memory of who I had been, that broken girl who took abuse because she thought she had no choice. "I have been so mean to you."
"It is okay Krys, you cannot help yourself," Soryn smiled, his thumb wiping away my tears.
"No, do not say it is okay, it is not," I wailed, shaking my head violently. "I am being mean and nasty. You do not deserve that. None of you deserve that."
Soryn pulled me into his arms, his coils wrapping around me securely. "Krys. You are kind, and loving, and you are carrying our young. Your body is changing; your hormones are raging. You snap, yes, but you apologize. You recognize when you are wrong."
Soryn whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You are not mean. You are just tired, and uncomfortable, and doing your best. That is all we ask of you. Your best."
I clung to him, crying until I had no tears left, letting his words sink in, trying to believe them. Trying to forgive myself for being human, for being imperfect, for not being the gentle soul I wanted to be every moment of every day. I was not Hyunwoo. I would never be Hyunwoo. I just needed to remember that.
Soryn laughed then, a gentle sound that wrapped around me like warmth. "You are cute when you are a little mean. You are even cute now, crying. You are much nicer than my mother. When she was pregnant..." He trailed off, sadness entering his eyes like a shadow passing over the sun, then he blinked it away and smiled again, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "She used to bite my father. Or any of her other mates. Drew blood even. It was a sight for sure."
"Soryn... you never told me what happened to your family beside that the cheetah had attacked... It is okay of course if you do not want to talk about it. But I just want you to know I am here, I am your mate, you can trust me and share your burden," I told him, reaching up to cup his face, feeling the smooth skin under my palm.
"Thank you Krys. I will keep that in mind," He smiled. But he did not say anything else, the wall coming up again, the protective barrier he had built over years of loneliness. It is okay. I will give him time, and trust that he will trust me one day to let me know about his life, to share the weight he carries.
I was ecstatic, in a few more weeks, I would give birth. No more pregnancy, just the laying of eggs and then incubation time, keeping them warm and safe until they hatched. What a short pregnancy compared to the months of carrying mammal young. Not that I would change anything about my previous pregnancies. I am happy that I gave birth to some amazing cubs, that I felt them grow and move inside me. But sometimes it is nice not to have to feel so big all the time, especially when I am already big. I feel like a whale even when my mates tell me otherwise, showering me with compliments that I brush away but secretly cherish.
The three cheetah cubs were three weeks old now, growing faster than I could believe. They have started walking properly, though they still wobble a bit like a drunk, their long legs uncoordinated and gangly. But now they can get into things just like their older siblings, exploring every corner of our home with boundless curiosity. Tavren keeps hiding in the cooking pots so that Aureon would have a hard time finding him, sending his father into panic mode because he lost his baby, only to pop out with a mischievous growl when Aureon was near tears. My biggest cub out of the three, Zarek, has started to punk his older siblings, trying to assert his dominance with his mighty mewing, but one shove from Sikai or Niku and he goes sprawling, landing in a heap of spotted fur and letting out an indignant cry that sounds more adorable than threatening.
"You cannot be mean to your brothers and not expect them to be mean back, Zarek. I am not taking your side," I smiled, watching the interaction with amusement.
Caelion lifted Zarek up and gave him a little spank on his butt, gentle but firm. "Behave, little one. Let us go, daddy will play with you," he rumbled, carrying the squirming cub away.
Kaizen, for some reason, liked going to Levy, seeking her out wherever she was napping. He would go and lay next to her, trying to cuddle, and she always shoved him away with a grumpy huff, too grown up in her own mind to deal with babies. But he never gave up, this determined little soul, returning again and again with stubborn hope. Veylan picked up the persistent cub as he waited in protest, "Come with daddy, little one. Sister Levy is trying to nap. Let us leave her alone," Veylan cooed, rocking him until he settled.
I love that my mates are so accepting, so willing to love these orphans as their own. Yes, those three little cheetah cubs are my babies now. And they will be loved just as my other cubs are loved, no difference between blood and chosen family. I rubbed my stomach, feeling the subtle warmth of the eggs growing there, and smiled, whispering to them, "You will be loved too. All of you, always."
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