Page 32 of Knot All is Crystal
Logically, I should grow my hair longer to cover it, but I can’t stand it when my hair goes past my shoulders. I don’t want Kieran to unintentionally have control over my hairstyle, too.
“Ooh, I have one you can borrow. A shark alien guy buys a sweet man from Earth who’s enslaved and takes care of him. I think you’ll love it.” She crosses the tiny house to her bedroom and returns with the book. “It’s a beautiful love story.”
I try to smile, but I’m worried it comes across as a grimace.
Reading a love story is always hard because I know it isn’t in the cards for me.
No one is going to come and buy me out of the debt that isn’t even my debt. No, I am trapped at Kieran’s side for eternity.
Well, that’s dramatic.
I suppose the next seventy years of my life aren’t eternity.
It doesn’t change the fact that a happily ever after isn’t in the cards for me.
But I take the book and promise my sister I’ll read it before kissing Hannah on the forehead and heading home.
I’m only three blocks from the two of them, which is so convenient. It’s one of the reasons I love living here. When I get home and let myself into my haven, I immediately feel the tension leave my shoulders.
Being out on the street, in the open, makes me feel like there are eyes on me. Here, in my home, I can truly feel safe.
I toe off my sneakers and strip out of my pants, crawling into my nest. It’s a pathetic little thing, built in a glorified walk-in closet, but I love it all the same. Once settled in the plush, black surface, I pull my favorite pillow, patterned with sequin cherries, to my chest and curl into myself.
I can cry here, in my nest, where I allow myself to embrace my Omega side.
I can mourn the Alpha I lost.
I can miss his face and smell, while praying that I never see him again.
ELEVEN
It’sa slow night at Prism. Our crowd is mostly happy hour people who crow about “hump day” and then go back to their bland lives.
Crystal does not need to be here, in an empty VIP room with the smell of stale cigars soaking into her hair, but Kieran insists she keep a regular schedule even though fizz usage on a Wednesday is nearly non-existent.
I find it hard to complain about it, though. And I will certainly not try to convince Kieran to let her take the day off.
It’s the one day a week I get to talk to her without the pressure of performing.
She sits casually with her legs slung over the arm of a red leather armchair, eyes glazed and far off. Her outfit today is more reserved than Kieran picks out for her.
Because I get to pick on Wednesdays since the VIP lounge is closed, and Kieran doesn’t care what she wears.
Technically, she could pick what she wears, but I can’t help but leave her something every week.
Black sneakers and purple socks hang off the chair, and cut-off denim shorts cling to her thighs, showing off the incredible tattoo she has running down her leg. The blank spot in the middle is strange, but the collection of snakes and flowers that circle it is so well done that it doesn’t matter.
It looks purposeful.
She’s wearing a plain white, ribbed tank top that clings to her small chest, looking every bit like the girl next door if it weren’t for her fantasy-colored hair.
I wanted her to be comfortable. I like seeing her like this.
It’s how I imagine she’d dress in her off time if her life weren’t what it is now.
“What are you staring at, Puck?” The words could be full of venom, like they usually are, but they’re not. She sounds tired.
I wish I could show her that I’m not her enemy. I am trying to look out for her the best I can. I just can’t be loud about it.
