"Oh, um. Just something still lingering from being sick, I guess," Camelia responded faintly. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled again, as if she were being watched, and she refrained from rubbing her hand over the skin there to make the unpleasant sensation go away.
Aria nodded, her dark eyes sympathetic as she reached out and patted Camelia's hand. "Maybe you should have taken another few days to get better. You were excused, weren't you?"
Camelia nodded, but she wasn't listening to her friend anymore. She was looking around, avoiding eye contact withanyone who seemed to be expressing more than a simple, passing interest in her. Her sandwich was abandoned on her plate, and she knew that if she would just sit and have a conversation with her friend and eat her lunch like she normally would, she wouldn't draw any attention to herself.
She just...couldn't help herself.
The only thing that made the constant theoretical scrutiny any better was...Evan and James. They were suddenly popping up much more often wherever Camelia was. They didn't come to join her, but she could feel their presence the moment they entered the space, and she found herself inexplicably comforted.
She didn't know how to explain it to anyone else, but each man...he radiated a certain energy that Camelia was knew wasn't just from their presentation, and her sensing of it wasnew. It almost had a taste. James was mildly bitter and radiated energy like he was ready to bite anyone who looked at him wrong, and Evan was smooth. Not sweet or savory, but almost...unobtrusive, with a tiny hint of spice. Like an expensive wine, one that you wouldn't expect to cost three hundred dollars a glass, but ended up being completely worth it.
The fact that Camelia now knew their auras, their energies, theirtasteintimately...
It was just...nice. Knowing that they had her back, if she really needed it. Not that shedid.
But then again, with this new legislation...maybe she did need backup.
When her father finally came back, he was a nervous wreck. He unpacked his bags from the trip in half an hour flat, and then spent a good amount of time pacing around from the living room to the kitchen and back again, muttering to himself while Camelia sat on the couch and watched him. Part of her wanted to comfort him, to make sure that he didn't feel responsible for the mess that was happening in Congress, the mess that washappening in herlife, but she forced herself to keep her mouth shut.
She had learned long ago that her father's anxious, capricious, and downright depressing moods weren't her obligation to fix, and the only thing that she could do was address what she could personally affect.
Finally, though, Carson sat down, running his hand through his hair and looking at her with an intense expression. "What is your plan, Camelia?"
It was the one question that Camelia dreaded, because she didn't have an answer. "I don't know," she answered honestly. Her voice was a little rough, and she cleared her throat before she spoke again. "I...I did a little bit of research and I should have another week or so before the effects of the suppressants wear off all the away and my pheromones start to...you know. Do their thing." She flushed a little, quailing internally at the embarrassment of needing to have this conversation with herfather.
He nodded, his expression not changing even a little. "And then? It's only two or three weeks until your next heat, right?"
Camelia nodded. Her heat cycles had never been perfectly regular, but she had learned that she could reasonably predict them every five to eight weeks. Sometimes more often than that, if she was stressed.
She had the feeling that she was going to be having them more often for a while. At least until she sorted out this entire mess of a situation.
"Do you have a plan for how you're going to fend off the Alphas at your school?" Carson said the words gently, but Camelia still flinched at the reminder of what had happened at her old University. Her father's expression was sympathetic, and he reached out to gently pat Camelia on the knee. "I'm sure thatyou could move to online only classes, especially for your major-specific courses..."
Camelia interrupted him. "I don't want to do that, Dad."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Well, if you need me to, I can pull some strings so that you can withdraw altogether. I mean, you don't need a degree to be a diplomat, if that's still your current career course, and I could get you into an internship fairly quickly with one of my associates. They all adore you, you know. Harold was just talking the other day about what a bright young woman you are and how..."
Camelia interrupted him again, a hint of panic twisting her stomach. "I don't want to do that either, Dad. I want to finish college, and I want to do it the way that I planned. I like my classes and I like my friends and I don't want to have to change everything just because some senators have decided that I don't get to make decisions about what to do with my own damn body."
She was nearly shouting by the end of her statement that had become a little more ranty than she wanted, but her father's expression hadn't changed from the calm support that he had worn during the entire conversation. "Okay," he said gently. "I get it."
"You don't, but thank you," Camelia said bitterly. She winced after a moment, running her hand through her hair as she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just...scared. I don't know what to do, Daddy."
Her voice choked a little, and Carson shook his head as he stood up and joined her on the couch, wrapping his arm comfortingly around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll figure it out," he said gently.
For a moment, the two of them sat there in silence, Camelia trying to reign in her emotions that felt just a little too raw, a little too out of control. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes,and one slipped down her cheek before she managed to take a shaky breath and force them away. She wiped her hand across her cheek, and her father pulled away, a contemplative glint in his eye.
"What you need is protection," he declared. "I could hire a bodyguard, but I have the feeling that you don't want to do that," he finished, a hint of amusement crossing his face at the way that Camelia had immediately opened her mouth to refuse.
She snapped her mouth shut and gave a tight nod, her protest already acknowledged.
He regarded her for another moment, then he sighed, as if what he was about to say was difficult. "What about those boys? The two that...helped you, this last time?"
His voice was tight, and Camelia could tell this was uncomfortable for him to broach. She withdrew a little, shrugging his arm off her shoulder as she opened her mouth, and then shut it again with a click.
It was, on the surface, the obvious solution. Camelia didn't want to leave school, she didn't want a for-hire bodyguard following her around everywhere that she went. That was the opposite of subtle, and would do little to keep Camelia from drawing attention to herself.
But the idea of spending so much more time with Evan and James, when she was having such complicated feelings about both of them...
