Catalina: This whole thing must be overwhelming…
Me: yeah.
I put my phone on do not disturb, placing it screen down onto the floor next to me. The only thing I wanted to do right now was watch Tessa sleep.
34
TESSA
I floatedin the hazy space between half-asleep and half-awake for as long as humanly possible. Eventually though, my bladder got the best of me. I didn’t open my eyes immediately, waiting to hear the usual hustle and bustle of early city commuters. It was oddly quiet this morning. Not a car honk. Not a scream of annoyance. Not a rustling of cardboard and paper from nearby sleepers also forced to face a new day.
My lashes parted, eyes adjusting to the dimness. No morning light slipping through jagged cracks in the box where I’d cut a makeshift window and door. And the air smelled clean—no urine, vomit, or even exhaust fumes.
I blinked into the shadows around me, only finding a flicker of blue flames. Those were coming from a sleek fireplace, casting an ethereal glow across my surroundings. My heart thudded slowly, my brain not accepting how peaceful it all felt. Disorientation was a blunt assault. I inhaled deeply, trying to settle my nerves. I wasn’t on the streets. I wasn’t homeless anymore… not exactly. This wasn’t home. I couldn’t feel at home so quickly. Every part of me wanted to reject the comfort and safety, not trusting its realness or staying power.
Curled on my side, my gaze roved over my new environment. I knew Iwas in Oblivion Haze’s mansion, specifically in the living room on the sectional. I didn’t really remember how I’d gotten here, but it was easy enough to put the puzzle together, what with the fireplace and the plush cushions beneath me. I lifted a hand, rubbing my eyes gently, and then I looked again. I registered the shapes around me and listened to the soft, even breathing of the band.
My band?
My pack?
My… Alpha mates?
Even thinking the possibilities caused a rising tide of mixed feelings. Disbelief warred with certainty. Anxiety danced with hopefulness. This was freaking Oblivion Haze. And… Ryder. Ryder, who I’d blamed, unjustly, for what happened to my family. Did I want to be their Omega? Did it matter what I wanted? Setting everything shady that The Institute did aside, the fact still was that I’d held the pen that had inked my name on the contract I didn’t bother reading. I had agreed to this, because I’d been at the end of my rope. I had no one else to blame.
And wasn’t this better than being on the streets? Wasn’t this better than searching dumpsters? Better than nesting in a box?
The plushness of the sectional beneath me felt foreign, as did how every inch of my body wasn’t aching from sleeping on the hard ground. I wanted to stay there without moving, but I could only ignore my basic needs for so long. Pushing myself to a sitting position, the barely lit surrounding world wobbled for a moment. I stilled, holding a hand against my forehead until the tilt-a-whirl stopped. A startled when something soft and velvety pressed against my bare leg. Dropping my hand, I shifted slightly and peered down. It was only Josie. She stood behind me, eyes squinting and mouth slightly lolled open. I’d obviously woken her. She gave herself a little shake, crooked tip of her long tail flicking, and then she walked forward, lowered her head, and gave my calf a gentle nip.
“Ouch,” I whispered, touching her back and giving it a little squeeze. “I didn’t mean to wake you, silly cat.”
She sniffed at me, then leaped over my legs and landed soundlessly on the floor before waltzing away.
I swung my own legs off the cushions, quickly realizing that my feet were bare when they brushed against the thick, plush area rug. I wondered what happened to the sandals, but I’d be glad to never see them again. They’d pinched like hell. Standing up, the silky dress slipping down into place, I wiggled my toes and reveled in how good the carpeting felt. It was literally one of the softest things I’d ever stood on, barring my mother’s mink coat she’d often left on the floor of her room. I’d dance on that when I was little, then fall atop it and pull it around me like a cocoon before rolling back and forth. Mom would laugh and call me her baby burrito.
Clenching my fists, I dug my nails into my palm to push back the memory with pain. Feeling heavy with sudden sadness, I dropped my head to stare at the floor, making it very clear to my brain that the reality right now was an area rug in a famous band’s mansion. Not a fur coat. Not my parent’s bedroom. Even in the darkness, I could see my skin clearly. It was strange, looking down and not seeing all the old scars and fresh cuts on my feet.
My body was once again soft, smooth, untouched by the relentless pain of living through hell. How? How was that even possible? It was like part of my hard-won identity had been erased. Those months, those twenty fucking months, had irrevocably changed me. The surface proof was gone, but not the internal tattoos which inked across every vital system. Cut me open, bleed me dry, and I was sure you’d find a sketchbook on my bones. It was fucking absurd to have gone so quickly from living in destitution to living in blatant luxury. I couldn’t enjoy this. It would be wrong. It would be the same as choosing a damn concert over my family. I wasn’t that stupid girl anymore who didn’t know what was important.
I felt dampness well in my hands. My nails had cut through, drawing blood. Forcing myself to unclench my hands, I swiped my palms down the dress. The crimson stains would never come out of the pale silk, but who cared.
“Get a grip,” I muttered softly. I needed to leave the living room. No one else needed to wake up and see me losing my shit again. I needed to use the bathroom; that couldn’t wait any longer.
Slipping quietly between the sectional and coffee table, I was grateful for the bare feet and soft carpet. As I transitioned to hard floor, I slid my feet slowly rather than properly walking. At the kitchen’s arched threshold, I paused, realizing I’d not seen a bathroom that way. Turning slowly, I surveyed the room again. My eyes had properly adjusted, so now the lumpy shapes made more sense.
Ryder was slumped on the floor near the fireplace, his long legs crisscrossed and his arms resting limp against his thighs. The cobalt glow of the manufactured flames made his glossy dark hair look nearly indigo. That’s how it had looked backstage all those many months ago. It had been a fever dream, that kiss awakening parts of me that had always been dormant. That euphoria was so short-lived, so quickly followed by abject misery.
The little voice inside of me began murmuring.They’re all asleep. No one’s watching you. It would be so very easy, to pick up Josie and walk away.
I might have listened, if I didn’t need to pee so freaking bad.
I shuffled slowly back through the living room. Fancy houses always had a guest bathroom that was easily accessible to the entrance. I mean, my own home had one growing up. Mom always directed strangers and acquaintances to that one so they wouldn’t venture through our private areas.
Dixon and Tray were collapsed on the furthest end of the sectional from where I’d slept. Their shoulders were pressed together, heads nearly titled close enough to touch. It was endearing, the way they were propping each other up. In his sleep, Tray was still boyish and cute. His dimples were shallow, chestnut-brown skin contrasting against Dixon’s lightly tanned body. I swear he was even slightly smiling as he slept. I chewed on my lower lip as I focused more fully on Dixon. His feral energy simmered even now. At first glance, he’d looked totally at ease sagged against his band mate; a closer look revealed flexed muscles and a deep worry line cutting down his forehead to travel between his brows.
Moving once more, creeping as quietly as possible towards the single step that led to the mansion’s foyer, I found Mac’s long, lean body was contorted against a curved bench with high sides that peaked before curling into a fiddlehead fern shape. The jacket he’d been wearing yesterday was rolled up under his head. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fall asleep in such a twisted, uncomfortable position. I was so much smaller, sleeping in strange-shaped, tight spaces had become something of a specialty. But Mac was well over six feet. That was a lot of length to scrunch so compactly. His golden hair was somehow still perfectly combed. I couldn’t help myself when I leaned closer to study his face. His eyebrows were expertly manicured, and three freckles dotted his left cheek. Mac inhaled deeply, his body shifting a little as if it were possible to get ‘more comfortable’ on such an inhospitable piece of furniture. I scooted back silently, straightening and then turning around to search for what I was beginning to desperately need.
There was a sleek, modern table with a mirror mounted above it. Past that were two doors. The first was a coat closet, but next to that was a well-appointed, half-bathroom. I bolted inside, but before I could close the door gently, Josie darted through the gap.
