I can’t imagine what she went through, how hard everything must have been. The pain in her voice is still so raw, so real, that I know she’s speaking from the heart.
“I guess I didn’t make things easy. I didn’t really try. When you lose everything, when your whole life changes… it’s not something you can ever prepare for, especially when you’re a kid. No one understood what I was going through. I felt so old, so broken. I didn’t want to talk to my old friends… including Asher. Everyone ignored me, but honestly, I think if they would’ve acted like nothing changed, it would’ve been worse. I changed. The little girl I used to be was gone.”
Jess shakes her head once. “I still don’t know who I am anymore, and I catch myself thinking: why couldn’t I have gone with them? Dying has to be better than this.” She chuckles, although it’s a sad sound that rings hollow. “Sorry. That was probably too much. Everything’s just a little overwhelming right now, and I feel… lost.”
My throat is dry. I genuinely don’t know what to say to her, but I force myself to say something. Anything is better than silence, right? “Have you told Asher any of this?”
“No. I don’t want him to feel guilty or anything.”
“I think it’s too late for that.”
“We were kids. I can’t really be mad at him for what happened. Besides, he’s helping me out now, so how mad can I really be?”
I had no idea she was wrestling with such things deep inside, and with her heartfelt admission, that empty feeling inside of mewas replaced by something else, something I’m not used to, and it startles me when I realize what that feeling is.
Concern. Worry. Empathy. Take your pick.
And then, beyond those, a desire to make her feel better rises inside of me, something that catches me totally off-guard and unaware.
I run a hand along the side of my face as I think about what to say, how I could possibly make her feel better. I’m not good at this sort of thing. I’m not. Alphas are supposed to know what to say to make omegas feel better; it’s in our DNA or whatever bullshit they feed us from the moment we present. Us alphas are omegas’ perfect foils, we’re meant to complement each other perfectly.
But this is new to me, as is the urge to say something to make her feel better.
What I should say is something along the lines of:I’m glad you’re not dead, but would a simple statement like that really make her feel better? Who am I to her? No one. Any words of affirmation from me would probably just slide right off her.
Instead of saying that, I decide to answer her earlier question: “I came up here to be alone because I… I don’t know what to do with my life.” Hmm. Wait, no, that’s not quite it. There’s more to it than that. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t know what to do. It’s more… I don’t want to do anything.”
Jess watches me, and though I don’t meet her eyes, using my peripherals, I know there’s not an ounce of judgement in her gaze. She simply sits there and listens, just as I did when she said all she needed to.
“Alphas are supposed to have direction. We’re supposed to innately know what to do and go after it with everything we have—whether it’s a pack, a mate, or a career. I’ve never been like that, never felt that drive. I’ve always felt a little… empty. I guessI’m just a shitty alpha. Sometimes I even think no one would really care if I—” I close my eyes. “—was gone.”
And bywas gone, I definitely mean if I was dead, but for some reason I can’t say that particular word out loud.
Right when I start to think I said too much, got too deep, shared too much information of a personal nature, something soft touches my bicep. I open my eyes and look to find Jess had scooted closer to me, that she placed her hand on my arm.
The weirdest thing is, it doesn’t feel wrong. No, it feels as though her hand should’ve always been there. I’m oddly relaxed beneath her soft touch.
“I don’t think you’re a bad alpha,” she whispers as her hand squeezes my arm. She can’t really squeeze much since her hands are so damn small, but the thought is there, and I don’t pull away from her. I physically can’t.
I want to tell her she doesn’t know me, that there’s no way in hell she can say that and actually mean it, but again, some invisible cat has my tongue and I can’t say a word. All I can do is stare into her dark eyes and feel a sense of peace I haven’t felt in, well, ever.
“Maybe you just haven’t found where you’re supposed to be yet,” she says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
It’s the first time anyone’s ever said something like that to me. I am who I am and, even if I come up short, that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with feeling lost or empty sometimes. There’s nothing wrong with not knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m alive, so there’s hope for me yet.
Just like there’s hope for her.
“I know a few people who are glad you’re still alive,” I tell her, wishing it didn’t sound so cheesy.
She chuckles softly and slides her hand off my arm, turning away from me as she mutters, “Oh, yeah? Who would they be? Don’t think I’ve met them before.”
“My brother, for starters. And that Rourke guy.” She tosses me a skeptical glance when I mention the other alpha in this house, which prompts me to say, “He seems way too interested in you.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “And… me.”
With a shake of her head, she whispers, “You don’t have to say that.”
“I do. I mean it.”
A small smile tugs at her lips, and although she doesn’t turn that smile toward me, I still feel some kind of way about it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a smile quite like that before. For a girl who could verbally throw down with the best, she definitely had the shy, coy smile perfected.
