Page 3 of The serpent-beast despises me as a weirdo

*Bang!* The door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

Peter stormed out in a rage. I didn't need to guess; I knew he was hiding in some nearby corner, waiting for me to rush out and coax him back.

But not this time.

I pulled my suitcase and walked out of that small house.

On the way, I tripped over a pebble, and the heel of my high shoe instantly snapped off.

I sat numbly on the ground, a memory flashing through my mind: Monica twisting her ankle once.

Peter, who was walking behind us, immediately supported her, his face full of tenderness. "Monica, are you okay?"

Monica, blushing, stood steadily, then pulled my hand and laughed.

"Oh, Nina, you're so lucky! You have such a thoughtful shifter!"

Thoughtful?

I had never felt it.

If Monica had found you that day, you would have been happier, wouldn't you?

I felt inferior for being a freak, and I envied the love Monica received.

But Mom and Dad were her parents and mine. If I couldn't get their love, I accepted it.

But Peter was *my* shifter. Only mine. I couldn't accept the fact that he didn't love me, that he even loved someone else, and still foolishly continue to be good to him.

I couldn't just get over it in a short time, so I decided to leave this painful place.

Separate ways, to the ends of the earth. I needed to start a new life, to live for myself.

My new job was as a junior clerk at an electronics company. My salary wasn't high, so I rented a small studio apartment near the office.

Though small, it was cozy in winter and cool in summerperfect for a cold-blooded creature to hibernate.

I instinctively started to say, "Peter, you won't have to worry about hibernation now."

But the words caught in my throat, and I swallowed them, a lump of pain.

I couldn't help but remember Peter's retreating back that day.

No matter how much he pretended to care then, he was probably overjoyed now, wagging his tail as he ran off to find Monica.

I opened the window, and the cool evening breeze brushed against my face.

I let the wind flow into my heart, letting the chill settle over my scars.

I remembered something I'd read in a book: True sorrow isn't about dramatic highs or lows, but a quiet, steady current, like a flowing river.

I never understood it then.

But now it was clear. Just like for decades, Peter would light a cigarette on the balcony after every family dinner.

A subtle sadness always lingered in his eyes.

I thought he was upset because I'd been called a freak again, that he was furious for me.

But, just like I thought he was reluctant to move out with me, I was just projecting.

He was only sad for himself. Sad that he couldn't see Monica. Sad that he couldn't be with her.

To numb myself and completely let go of that relationship, I threw myself wholeheartedly into work.

I eagerly took on new tasks and helped seniors with theirs.

Unexpectedly, I won over many of my senior colleagues. They admired me, giving me a thumbs-up and showering me with praise: "Small but mighty!"

The first time I heard it, I paused, surprised. But I had to admit, I felt a little thrill.

After tasting that sweetness once, I buried myself deeper into my work, hoping to use my abilities to hide my flaw of being a freak.

They praised me for my ambition. Some of the bolder seniors even leaned in and asked, "Nina, do you have a shifter, dear?"

I just stared blankly, nodding instinctively, then suddenly snapped out of it and shook my head vigorously.

Alston furrowed her brow and asked, "Do you or don't you?"

I answered honestly, "I did, but we dissolved our bond."

Alston looked a little awkward. Another senior subtly gave her a look, and her "Why?" was swallowed whole.

She grabbed a handful of pistachios for me, trying to comfort me.

I fumbled, and they scattered across the floor.

My eyes fell on a pair of gleaming bear paws. I looked up in confusion, meeting a pair of light brown eyes.

Above those eyes, a pair of fluffy ears twitched unconsciously.

Before I could even process how a shifter had suddenly appeared in the company, I heard one of the seniors quietly whisper, "Boss."

The bear softly grunted in response.

I quickly pulled the nearest senior colleague and whispered, "Why didn't I know our boss was a bear?

"Will he fire me for slacking off and eating snacks?"

The thought that this job, where for once no one seemed to hate me for being a freak, might be gone, made my heart ache.

The entire room fell silent. It was the bear boss who broke the silence first. He bent down, picked up the scattered pistachios, and steadily placed them on my desk.

"I won't fire you."

Then he extended his bear paw.

"I was in hibernation when you started. Let's reintroduce ourselves. My name is Steven."

After shaking his paw, my cubicle was surrounded by a crowd of curious faces.

One senior, her face full of curiosity, asked, "Nina, what did the boss's hand feel like?"