That should be it. I should be able to think again.
But my instincts rankle; they know this scent is wrong. Too old, too stale. They know my omega isn’t here.
Rage pulses in my chest, searching for an outlet: a rival alpha to challenge, to fight, to fuck into submission.
But the person in my way is Mylo himself, and my instincts won’t let me hurt him, won’t let me hate him.
Like a caged beast thrashing, I tear at the bed, nails sharpening to claws and shredding through duvet and foam mattress alike.
By the time I can stop myself, breath heavy, the bed is totally destroyed.
The pain of defeat lances through my chest, brutal and suffocating.
As far as my instincts are concerned, if Mylo isn’t here, that means another alpha won him.
I stumble to the kitchenette and dig under the counter, knocking cleaning supplies in all directions. There must be trash bags here somewhere…
I only find them when I turn and realize I already threw the box across the floor. Anything that smells of Mylo and isn’t attached to the trailer goes into a bag: his shorts, the shredded foam, the sheets, my yoga pants.
I open all the windows and find a bottle of fabric freshener, drenching the couch at the front of the trailer until the cloying lavender makes me gag. Then it’s into the trailer’s mini shower where I duck under the water and scrub and scrub and scrub,trying to wash away not just his scent, but the memory of his touch, the softness of his skin, the sweetness of his sounds, the thrill of watching him fall apart in my hands.
It’s going to be fine. I’ll figure it out.
An idea sparkles in my mind, shiny and tempting: I could quit.
I could quit and leave and stop ruining everything.
But it’s a fleeting, silly thought.
Of course I can’t leave. I’m the star. Without me, there’s no movie. Everyone’s counting on me.
The pressure is suffocating, and the walls of the tiny shower close in. My chest goes tight; my breath quickens.
I crash out of the shower in a spray of water, grabbing my robe from the hook and barely getting it around myself as I shove out of the trailer door, striding over the gravel on bare feet. I make it halfway across the lot before the pain finally registers, and I limp to a stop.
My brain catches up with my body. I think I was going to run to the ocean.
Luckily, the trailers are empty and silent. I’m the only one here, and the lights are all dark except for my trailer.
I tip my head up to the sky and its brilliant spray of stars.
My soaking hair drips water down my back.
I stand there until I can breathe again, then turn back to evaluate the trailer. Using the door as leverage, I reach up and around to grab a bracket on the edge of the roof, pulling myself to the top.
I’m sure there are paparazzi who would kill for a shot of my bare ass as my robe flutters out of the way.
Just to spite them, I let my robe fall open as I lay back on the roof of the trailer.
Tits and cunt open to the stars, because I can.
The walls around me fade away, and with the fresh air blowing across from the forest, I finally relax.
Still, one question lingers:
What thefuckam I going to do tomorrow?
CHAPTER
