Chapter 5 .

~Kimmy~

I stumble into my room, my legs feeling like they might give out beneath me.

I collapse onto the soft mattress, feeling a strange emptiness; I never really understood what people said they felt before.

But right now, I can relate. I find a certain solace in this emptiness; it's the best thing that's happened to me today.

Ayesha and Kimberly stand at the foot of my bed, their concern palpable.

I told them about my decision to leave the pack, and Kimberly immediately launched into a tirade, her anger and disappointment clear.

Ayesha, on the other hand, has stayed silent, just watching me with a calm, steady gaze, as if trying to memorize every detail of my face.

You could call Ayeesha my Dan but in a different way. Ayesha doesn't take crap from anyone, making her the perfect counterbalance to me.

I tend to let people walk all over me and hesitate to take decisive action. But she's the "Do-now-regret-later" type, and we balance each other out perfectly.

We even look like complete opposites. Ayesha has a warm brown complexion that makes you crave coffee just seeing her, while my skin is creamy.

She's five feet, nine inches tall and muscular, whereas I'm five feet three with a very curvy build.

She sits quietly beside me, gently massaging my head. Her touch is soft and soothing, and I lean into it, feeling a bit of the tension drain away.

"You don't have to do this, Kimmy," she says, her voice tender.

"There's still time to figure something out."

I turn on my side to face her, gently moving her hands away. I look into her brown eyes, expecting calm but finding anger instead.

Her anger somehow makes me smile. She seems to feel for both of us.

"I don't think I can survive seeing them together without losing it. I don't want to punish myself anymore. I deserve better," I whisper, still smiling at her.

Ayesha's expression softens, but her resolve remains firm. "You deserve the best, Kimmy."

Kimberly sits down at the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

"I didn't raise him this way. I thought he understood commitment."

Ayesha gently places her hand on her shoulder. Kimberly looks at her, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Kimmy has made her decision, Kimberly. Let's help her pack."

They begin packing my clothes, the room quiet except for the rustle of fabric. I stand to help, but then realize most of my clothes are in Harry's room.

I don't say a word. I know they will immediately offer to help, and they're already doing enough. I quietly back away, my movements slow and deliberate, and slip out of the room to get them myself.

Harry's room always had this quiet warmth about it, like it was both chaotic and comforting at the same time.

The walls were this soft, muted gray, which somehow felt calming against the dark, solid furniture he had.

His bed was enormous-he used to say nothing else could contain him.

Harry is freakishly tall, and the sheets always smelled like him-a mix of his cologne and that fresh laundry scent.

The small stack of worn paperbacks on his nightstand is still there, books we'd read together on lazy nights, our bodies curled under the same blanket.

There were little personal touches everywhere.

A framed photo of his family on the dresser, the old guitar leaning against the wall that he swore he'd play more, and his hoodie draped over a chair-the one I'd stolen more times than I could count.

I wore it this morning. How did he feel letting her wear it?

"Probably like the selfish, two-timing bastard he is," Akira finally breaks her silence. I don't answer though. There's nothing left to say. He's exactly that.

It was a space that felt lived-in. It was ours, even though it was his. We shared so many quiet mornings and late-night laughs here.

But now, standing in the middle of it, it feels different. The warmth is gone, like all those memories are just hanging in the air, and I don't belong here anymore...

The walk-in closet was both chaotic and organized in a way that made sense only to us. On one side, Harry's clothes dominate-neatly hung shirts in a range of dark blues, grays, and blacks, with the occasional white button-up peeking through.

Before I mated Harry, he wore only black, white, and gray.

His suits were arranged by color, each one perfectly pressed and lined up as if ready for some important meeting.

The materials in the pack do this for him. He's their beloved Harry, and his clothes shouldn't be anything less than perfect.

Below, rows of polished shoes were neatly set in place-leather boots, dress shoes, and a few well-worn sneakers thrown into the mix.

My side was much more colorful. Dresses, skirts, and sweaters, in no particular order, spilled over into Harry's space.

The soft fabric scarves and cardigans draped from hangers, and a small collection of bags sat haphazardly on a shelf above.

Shoes were tucked into a cubby beneath, though they were far less tidy than his-heels, flats, and boots scattered in an organized mess, the way I always liked it.

I wonder how I'm going to take them all.

It had always been a comfortable kind of chaos, a visual reminder of how we fit together.

But now, his clothes hung there like they always did, solid and predictable, while mine felt out of place-like they didn't belong in the same space anymore.

I pick up my clothes and shoes and put them into my travel bag. I double-check to make sure I don't leave anything behind.

Wouldn't want Kylie to get angry that I didn't pack as efficiently as she would. She already did before.

I remember one night in this room like it just happened yesterday.

It was storming outside, the kind of storm that rattles the windows and makes everything feel far away.

We were supposed to go to some pack meeting, but neither of us felt like leaving.

So we stayed, wrapped up in blankets, listening to the rain beating against the glass, pretending like time didn't matter.

I later heard Harry had canceled the meeting instead of missing it.

Harry suddenly suggested we build a fort.

A blanket fort, like we were kids again. I laughed and told him it was ridiculous, but he gave me a mischievous grin-it was the first time I'd seen him smile like that, and I couldn't resist that new part of him I was seeing.

Before I knew it, we were raiding the closet, pulling out blankets, pillows, and whatever else we could find.

The whole thing was a disaster, lopsided and barely standing, chairs and pillows holding up the mess of blankets.

We crawled inside, cramped and squished, laughing so hard it hurt.

I can still hear his laugh, that deep, contagious one that always made me forget anything outside of that moment. He looked at me then with this soft smile, a kind of smile that made everything feel lighter, like the rest of the world just... vanished.

We stayed in that ridiculous fort for hours, talking about nothing, then everything.

The storm raged outside, but inside our little fortress, I felt safe. I remember thinking that nothing could touch us.

It was one of those perfect nights where time seemed to stand still.

It was just Harry and me, in this room, in our little world. And for that short while, nothing else mattered. God, I was a fool, wasn't I?

I roll my duffel bag, the wheels making a soft thump-thump sound against the floor.

As I reach the door, I bump into Harry. We both come to a halt and for a moment, we just stand there, emotionless.

Harry breaks the silence, his voice steady.

"So, are you moving back into your parent's place at the pack house?"

I avert my gaze, my voice clipped and firm.

"That's none of your business."

Without waiting for his reaction, I push past him and head for the door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

I can feel the weight of his question lingering behind me as I walk away.

Ayesha and Kimberly are done with the packing.

Ayesha stands facing the windows but turns when I drag my bag in.

Kimberly is back to sitting with her head in her hands.

I walk over to her and gently hug her. She finally lets out the tears she's been holding back, huge, wracking sobs that shake her entire body. I pat her hair softly.

"Listen to me, you are the best thing that has ever happened to Harry, and the best Luna you could have ever been, alright? I want you to remember that." I nod, wiping the tears from her face.

There's a knock on the door, and Ayesha goes to open it. I'm not surprised to see my parents standing there, my mom looking elegant as usual, a huge contrast to my dad, who looks rumpled and tired.

I stand and turn to them. "Mom, Dad..."