Page 27 of Knot All is Forgiven

"A slice of cake won't keep you from presenting as an Omega, Jordan."

I'm not sure if she ever believed I would or if she was humoring me.

When all of those doctors told me that losing weight may help me come into my designation, I listened to them. My curvy, plump physique eventually gave way to something sick and skeletal, and then I was told that I wouldn't present as an Omega because I was too sick.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I guess.

Now that I've been in recovery for years, I can see just how toxic all of that was and how warped it made my view of my body and food. Food became an enemy that kept me from what I wanted most.

But when someone comments on my food choices like Lanie just did, it makes me uncomfortable. I've never been explicit about my past or how I view food, but there's no way she hasn't picked up on my quirks during mealtime.

Unfortunately, comments like that pack a more significant punch than intended.

"Yeah, it does," I say, my face heating. "I was just planning on having a couple of bites and then taking the rest home for Vick."

So that's what I do.

I eat about half as much as I wanted and then ask for a box.

"Aren't you hungrier than that?" Lanie asks as she finishes her plate. "You ate so little."

"Oh, I'm fine. Totally full. I wasn't that hungry."

I was.

I am still hungry.

But I don't know if I could handle the judgment in Lanie's gaze like she had when they placed the plate in front of me.

My third bellini goes down easy.

"Alright, I better get going," I say, heaving myself to my feet after we discuss my schedule for tomorrow. "I'll see you in the morning." My best friend hugs me and walks away.

The takeout container of the rest of my french toast hangs heavy in my hands.

Three brunch cocktails on a nearly empty stomach make my head feel light as I walk back to the condo. I'm so in my head, spiraling about that interaction, that I don't notice Henrik leaning against my kitchen island.

He looks as attractive as ever, with his long, white blonde hair and bright blue eyes. We met at work, where he was modelingfor a cologne ad that we were in charge of designing. He's a Beta, with the slimmer shoulders and hips that Alphas don't usually have, giving him a lean, androgynous look.

"Jordan, love," he says in his soft Swedish accent. He was raised in the States, but his parent's accents were so thick that he picked up a slight lilt.

That's what he says, at least. But I don't think that's true. I think he hams it up a bit.

"What are you doing here?" I say stiffly. "And how did you get in?"

He holds up his keychain, obnoxiously jingling it. "I still have my key."

"Give it here and get out."

Henrik isn't a terrible guy in the sense that he didn't smack me around or sleep around or anything. But he expected a lot of control over my life. He wanted to know where I was, with who, when I'd be back, what I was doing, what I was wearing. It started so quiet that I barely noticed it until one day, I had to ask myself what the fuck was I doing staying with him.

I respect myself too much to be around someone who treats me like that.

"Oh, come now, you've had your little tantrum. This has gone on long enough." Henrik is one of those guys that has never been told no. When you're the only child of an exceedingly wealthy couple, and you look like you were sculpted out of marble, a lot of doors open for you. He's never known a hard day of work in his life.

"I'm not having a tantrum. I told you, I'm done. Give me my key, and get out." I set the takeout container on the counter, and the delightful buzz I had going on is all but extinguished now. "Seriously, I don't want you here."

Dae comes meandering into the kitchen at that moment, his massive, hulking orange body swaying with every step. He yowlsin loud bursts as he stands in front of his empty food bowl. "I fed you this morning!" I hiss at him.

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