Send me "Don't chase the rabbit" and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse's past.
It was Halloween, the year before she returned to Beacon Hills. She was living in New York, going to high school, had a job — even found a pack, who she was incidentally celebrating the holiday with.
There was a guy around her age called Nathan Evans. He was pretty intense, and had tried it on with her a couple of times; both of which had resulted in her snapping a bone or two to remind him how to treat women properly, but for the most part, he hadn’t seemed that much of a threat. He just laughed it off and tried it again some other time.
But there was something about the way he was staring at her as the apartment belonging to their alpha, Maria, began to empty slowly. Jen had humiliated him, more than she had done before; she had actually knocked him unconscious and fractured his shoulder blade in the process after he tried to slap her ass with a few drinks in him. It was the kind of look she’d seen on predators in nature documentaries, and with a thick swallow she began towards the door only to have Nathan’s hand slam out in front of her to stop her from leaving.
“Move your arm,” Jennifer demanded, trying to sound authoritative, strong — not as nervous and uncomfortable as she really was — and when he merely stared at her, looking her up and down, she repeated it, her claws coming out in the hand that hung by her side. “Move your arm, or I’ll move it for you, asshole.”
“Why would I do that, huh, Jenny?” Nathan asked, his other hand caressing her cheek in a way that made bile rise in her throat and her fear changed to unadulterated anger as her jaw clenched. Who was this creep to try and corner her, intimidate her like some little kid that didn’t know how to defend herself?
With an amused laugh, she slapped him across the face, claws still extended, leaving a set of scratch marks across one cheek before shoving him as hard as she could. The suddenness of her movements caught the other beta off guard, and he hit the opposite wall with force, cracking the wall plaster and breaking the coffee table as he hit it on his way down. “Next time, I’ll snap your neck, Evans.”
Once the memory finished playing for Scott, Jennifer looked at him intently. She had told nobody about what had happened that night; not Maria, not anyone. It had shaken her a lot more than she had let on, but she had not let it get the better of her.
