Page 42 of Knot What She Seems
Teddie doesn’t respond, but his lack of response speaks louder than any words. Without saying anything aloud this time, all his old arguments rise to the surface in my head, his voice echoing between my ears with phantom phrases.
“Don’t let your past define your future.”
“One bad group of alphas doesn’t mean they’re all bad, Bry.”
“One day, some guys will sweep you off your feet and prove you wrong. They’ll love you the way you deserve.”
Stupid fucking big brother lectures. All encouragement and hope. Sayings that I wish desperately could be true but that I know are fool’s gold. Of course, I doubt Teddie would be so “pro-alpha” if he knew the truth about what my exes did to me. Mom and Dad chose to keep my kidnapping hush-hush, and the trial was closed to the public. Very few people, even within the military, knew about it. I went along with it. Not because I don’t believe Teddie would support me, but…
Well…
Is it wrong to say that I’m embarrassed? Humiliated? Ashamed that I allowed it to happen to me in the first place? All of the above?
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling and imagine how nice it would be to scream right now. To just peel my lips apart and let out a banshee-level screech that blasts a hole right through the ceiling. But that would make someone come running to check on me, which is the last thing I want.
A knock sounds at the bathroom door, and I sigh before wearily calling out, “Yes, Harper?”
The door cracks open, and one of her perfectly made-up eyes peers at me through the gap. “Um. Sorry to bug you. I just wanted to know if you want to walk together to Culinary Arts.”
I give a loud groan. “Only if you promise to help me burn it down.”
Her laugh is surprised and genuine, and the door opens a little bit farther, her pin-straight brown hair falling down over her shoulder. “No guarantees. But I promise to hate it just as much as you do.”
Huffing out a breath, I sit up. “I suppose that will have to do.” I glance down at the red gown I’m still wearing and groan. “Do you want this dress? It’s kind of ruined for me now.”
Her eyes widen in shock as I get up from the bed and head toward my closet. “Um…sure. You don’t want to keep it?”
“I don’t ever want to see it again.” I call from the closet, where I start yanking at the zipper. “You can come in.”
Tentatively, my roommate steps into my room, and I bite down on a grin as I notice her trying not to sweep her eyes over every last detail—not that I’ve decorated much. I brought a few photos and put up a poster for my favorite band, but that was the extent of my effort. Lots of omegas have had their rooms painted and have frilly covers and pillows and plants covering every spare bit of space in their rooms. Pre-nesting, they call it.
I don’t bother pre-nesting because I’m never going to nest, and it’s a slippery slope from what I’ve heard. Omega instincts run strong.
Tossing the red dress out of my closet toward Harper, I yell “Catch!” a little too late, and she spins around and fumbles, dropping the red monstrosity I never want to lay eyes on again.
“Sorry!” I give a quick apologetic shrug before I slide on my uniform skirt and blouse over my underthings. Darling allows slight variations to our tops, so today, my shirt has a very librarian ruffle, which fits my current mood, which is “No talking!” about what happened—ever. Also, no talking to that alpha team ever again.
The second bit will be a little harder given my mother’s interference, but I’ll find a way.
Darling is now my tiny bit of respite from the ass kicking I’m receiving at Eros, and I will not allow this new group of alphas to ruin that.
Changing out my heels for lower and more practical wedges, I turn to Harper only to find her sniffing delicately at the red dress, her nose slightly crinkled.
“Not a scent match?” I tease her, because she clearly caught a whiff of alpha.
She shakes her head firmly. “Not even close.”
“Not mine either. I’ll reimburse you for dry-cleaning,” I say as I gather up my bag for Culinary Arts. Inside is my apron, embroidered with the Darling Academy logo, a rolling pin, and an entire assortment of kitchen knives. “Grab your assassin kit and let’s go down and torture some…what are we making today?”
“Bread,” Harper answers with a laugh.
“Well, scoot your boot so we can go torture some bread.”
* * *
The scentof burnt toast wafts over to me, and I cringe in sympathy as I watch another omega pull her loaf of raisin bread from a wall oven set in a row of at least twenty. The woman is almost in tears at her mishap as Mrs. Lotty rushes over.
Our motherly, flowery-dress-wearing professor bends over the pan and inspects it as she clicks her tongue. “Oh dear, dear, dear. You’ll have to stay late and try again, Ms. Clara. But don’t worry, we’ll work together to get it right. I don’t want you to go to the next open social event empty-handed.” Her hand sympathetically rubs Clara’s shoulder as the red-haired omega nods contritely.
