But I don’t push him on it, so when he turns to leave my room, I let him go. I don’t stop him. I do, however, watch him as he leaves, and once he’s gone and I’m alone, I swallow hard. It’s like that breath that caught in my throat can finally exhale, and I let out the largest sigh any pair of lungs could heave.
What the heck was that about? Why do I feel so ill at ease? His concern should flatter me, but I know there’s more to it—and it’s that unspokenmorethat fills me with trepidation and something else.
That pain I felt when Rourke left my table at the Omega Garden? I feel something similar now that I’m alone. Deep inside of me, my heart actually hurts.
It’s not so much of a pain as it is more of an uncomfortable tightness threatening to burst the bodily organ. Even deeper inside, I know the only way to fix said uncomfortableness would be to run after him and do things I definitely shouldn’t want to do with an alpha who’s a stranger to me.
Rourke is a stranger, just like Asher and Mason, and yet at the same time, the wordstrangerdoesn’t fit any of them.
I let out a groan as I fall backwards, bouncing on the bed somewhat. I stare at the ceiling and breathe hard as I wonder why I have to be like this, why things can’t just be normal for me.
Oh, wait. I know. It’s because my life sucks and nothing can ever be normal or fine.
Rourke mentioned that I don’t feel safe living with my aunt. I never thought about it like that before. I’ve always acted out and hated being in the same room as her, but I thought… I don’t know, I guess I thought that was normal. All the cruel things she’s said to me over the years, all of the snide, cold comments that no guardian should ever say to their ward…
Maybe Rourke was right. Maybe, even though I was unaware, I didn’t feel safe there. All these years my aunt should’ve helped me feel at home in my own skin, but instead she always reminded me that I was broken and incomplete. She and my uncle took me to countless doctors to try to fix the whole issue of losing my sense of smell, but not once did she ever push to take me to a therapist so that I could work through my trauma.
Did she constantly tear me down to try to control me? Did my aunt never take me to a therapist because she thought I’d be easier to manipulate if I was broken?
Whatever. I don’t want to think about my aunt right now, and I definitely don’t want to think about the past.
That means, as the night wears on, my mind only has a few other choices to settle on. I shower, get ready for bed, and tuck myself in, and as the night deepens, I let my mind think about the alphas in this house.
Asher and his willingness to help me in spite of our past; Mason and his not-so-quiet standoffishness that doesn’t hit the mark for me; and, of course, Rourke and the way those bright blue eyes seem to stare straight into my soul. The inexplicabletrust I feel toward each of them. I can’t explain any of it, and I’m not sure I want to.
I’m a Dryers. The last one. If there’s one person out there who’s great at staying in denial, it’s me.
That denial, however, becomes very hard to keep up once sleep finally takes me and I’m thrust into a dream unlike any other dream I’ve ever had, and Rourke, Asher, and Mason all have starring roles.
I’m sitting at a table in the center of the ballroom at the Omega Garden. I wear a dark blue dress that matches the highlights in my black hair. My hair is wavy, some of its lengths pinned to the back of my head, while other tendrils cascade downward past my shoulders. A beautiful diamond necklace clings to my neck, and matching earrings hang on either side of my face.
I’m an omega ready to meet her matches, her mates, even though I know I’m not.
At least, I don’t think I am.
The thing is, I’m alone. There’s no one else in the ballroom. The large, grandiose space is utterly empty, and the air is too cold. The dress I wear is sleeveless, and I shiver and fold my arms to try to get warmer, but nothing seems to help.
I glance around, looking for someone. For Delilah. For anyone that could tell me just what the heck is going on here. I don’t even remember how I got here, or why I’m alone. It’s an uncanny, bizarre feeling, one that settles deep within my bones.
I have a thought then, and it’s the first time that thought really hits me like a physical force, practically knocking me out of the chair I’m sitting in:I don’t want to be alone.
A sentiment most omegas probably have at multiple points in their early lives, one that’s normal, I’m sure. But for me, it hits differently. For me, it’s a reckoning that shakes me to my coreand makes me realize that, just maybe, everything I thought was wrong.
I’mwrong.
I thought for so long this was what I wanted, but I was wrong, and now I worry it’s too late. Too late to turn the clocks back. Too late to do anything that would make a difference. Loneliness can be a cruel, vicious thing; you’d think after so long I would’ve known that by now.
Something strange happens then, something foreign to me. My vision grows blurry as excess water gathers in my eyes. The next time I blink, a tear escapes and falls down my face, trailing down the smoothness of my cheek until it reaches my jaw. Down to my chin that tear falls, and then it continues its journey as it drops to my chest, just above the fabric of the dress.
I’m crying. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I think I cried at the hospital when I woke up the first time after the accident, but I don’t remember that time all too well, if I’m honest. It’s all a blur in my head. Maybe that time in my life was simply easy for my mind to block.
I don’t cry. I don’t let my emotions get the better of me. I don’t give in to the hopelessness or the despair that constantly seeks to take me. I’m better than that. I’m stronger.
But at the same time, I’m not. I’m just me. Just a girl trying her best, and her best is never quite good enough.
Something warm touches my shoulder, and I look at my shoulder to see what it is: a strong hand. A strong, firm hand whose fingers curl around my bony shoulder like they were always meant to be there. Slowly, my eyes lift, and through my watery eyes, I gaze up at the alpha standing beside me, radiating a calm warmth.
Pitch black hair with eyes a piercing blue, the alpha is an über. He wears all black, his clothes snug on his body. His height and musculature should unsettle me, but it doesn’t. Nothingabout him makes me feel uncomfortable, and when he speaks, it’s as if my body was primed and ready, waiting for him to appear.
