“Thank you!” Mirabelle says, setting the pasta down and walking the doctor to the door.
The pain medication hits quick, and by the time Mirabelle’s done feeding me the rest of the pasta, I’m already nodding off.
“Do you want to sleep here or in the bed?” Mirabelle asks softly, squeezing my hand.
“I’m good here,” I mumble. “You should get some rest, too, Sugar.”
“Okay! Goodnight, Rowan. Sweet dreams.”
“Night.”
CHAPTER 20
Mirabelle
I’m glad Rowan is able to get some rest. He needs it.
As the silence of the trailer fills with his slow breathing, I’m overcome with a wave of exhaustion myself.
Makes sense, considering the only sleep I got last night was on hard concrete floors. And even then, that sleep was interrupted by Jett dragging me around the farm.
But I have to watch Rowan.
I have a job. Rowan has sacrificed so much to try to take care of me. The least I can do is take care of him now.
I’m supposed to check up on him every few hours, which means I have a few hours to nap.
I glance at the door to Rowan’s bedroom, my skin prickling with an urge I don’t understand. If this were the facility, I’d tamp these feelings down and lock them away, deep in the recesses of my mind.
But this isn’t the facility. This is Rowan’s trailer.
And Rowan has said that this is my space too.
I hurry into the bedroom, almost as if I think I’m doing something wrong as I gather up the blanket from Rowan’s bed. I snag the pillows, too. As I carry the mound of fabric, I nearly get stuckin the doorway before I’m able to squeeze through and dump the pile on the floor beside Rowan.
My skin is still itchy.
This hasn’t satisfied the cravings.
Nest. Nest. Nest.
My breath stutters in my chest. I think my inner omega wants me to build a nest?
Back at the facility, one of the most common rules broken by the girls was succumbing to our baser omega instincts. We were raised to think they were wrong, disgusting, unnatural. That we were weak-minded and selfish for giving in.
It’s why weslept on cots with a single scratchy blanket and a thin pillow that seemed to deflate the longer your head was on it, leaving you with just two layers of fabric underneath your head by the time you woke up.
But this isn’t the facility.
If Rowan has an issue with this, I’ll put everything back. I’ll hand-wash everythingif he wants me to.
But I need to do this. Maybe it’s from the stress of everything, but my inner omega is screaming at me. She needs this sort of comfort.
Maybe there really is something wrong with me, if I’m referring to a part of myself in third person.
My body moves on autopilot as I pull off the sheets from Rowan’s bed.
Not enough.
