Page 1 of Plus-Size Bullied Mate

Chapter 1 - Tessa

The cabin creaks every time the wind changes direction, carrying with it the scents I’m long used to.

The structure is old enough that I can now tell the difference between every sound. The sharp tick from the kitchen means the temperature dropped another degree, the scrape overhead means branches are dragging across the roof because I still haven’t climbed up there to trim them, and the subtle pop sounds from down the hall are from the boards settling with time and age.

I don’t mind the noise, since silence is worse.

It leaves too much room for ugly memories and pointless thoughts that make me go in destructive circles.

My laptop glows from where it sits on the kitchen table while the cursor in my word processor blinks back at me. The online articles I’ve been writing about don’t mean much to me, since I’m not an avid gardener, but it pays the bills. It’s work that nobody really cares about as long as it gets done correctly and on time.

It’s perfect for someone like me.

Shifting in the wooden chair, I rub at the ache in my lower back before taking another sip of coffee that’s long since gone cold, which I should’ve stopped drinking hours ago. Outside, rain taps steadily against the windows, surrounding the cabin in complete darkness.

The Willow island is beautiful in the kind of way that hurts. With dense forests, stony cliffs, and salt-heavy air, it has everything a wolf could ever need. While it is beautiful, I don’t stray far from my cabin.

I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen, catching sight of it as it reads 10:43 PM.

It’s too late to still be working, but sleep doesn’t come easily anymore, and in all honesty, it never really has.

When I eventually finish off the last paragraph for the night, I close the laptop with a quiet sigh, and the cabin immediately feels darker without the screen light, leaving behind the kind of emptiness that presses inward.

My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, and I know what that nudge means by now. Loneliness tugs at my insides, and she silently urges me to get out there. To join the others, like I was always meant to, but I ignore her. It’s easier that way.

Pushing back from the table, I stand and stretch slowly. My oversized sweater slips off one shoulder, exposing the faded scar near my collarbone that’s more like a souvenir from growing up in this pack.

In general, we heal quickly and thoroughly, but some wounds stay anyway.

Moving toward the kitchen window, I stare out into the trees and remind myself that I don’t need it, and I don’t need them.

There’s enough space separating me from the rest of the pack grounds, but not far enough to be in another pack’s territory. I’m right on the outskirts, almost like living in the middle of two different lives.

I used to think I belonged there once, but that was before everyone decided I didn’t.

At first, it was small things, like whispers that conveniently stopped when I looked over, followed by snickering, as if they somehow trapped me or pulled a fast one. The girls my age made comments about my body whenever they thought I couldn’t hear them.

They always said I was too thick and too soft around the edges. In their eyes, I was too human-looking, as if my size made me inherently lazy or unmotivated.

Wolves prized strength, speed, and sleek muscle. The women around me looked like they’d been carved from marble, all lean, graceful, and intimidating in their own ways.

Then there was me, stuck in a body that was curvy in ways the others weren’t.

With round cheeks, thick thighs, and breasts that developed too early and drew attention I never wanted, I was doomed from the start, even if I could outrun most of them. Despite it all, that never mattered.

Their cruelty rarely needed logic, and I learned that from a young age.

By thirteen, the boys had joined in too, as some mocked me openly and others looked at me in ways that made my skin crawl.

Hunter did both.

My throat tightens instantly at the thought of him, even now. Even after all these years, he’s still a sore spot I never quite learned how to heal.

Pushing away from the window, irritated with myself for letting him invade my head again, I try so hard to push them away, but the memories come anyway.

Hunter Reed was already broad-shouldered with sharp blue eyes and total arrogance. He was set to be the alpha one day, the golden boy, and untouchable.

It was so easy to remember the way he spoke to me with that same dismissive tone, as if I would never amount to anything. He didn’t even sound angry, as if I wasn’t worth enough emotion for hatred.