Page 24 of Orc's Pretend Mate

Silent, I slip past him and rush up the stairs.

15

PHOEBE

Isit on the edge of the bed staring at the stone of the floor. Impulsively I slip my shoes off then rub my feet on it. It’s cold but also surprisingly smooth. I can’t even feel any seams. How do they do that?

Below, Vapas moves around the house but there isn’t a lot of space to explore. I hear the cabinets open, the clink of a mug, then a soft pop. In my head I see what he’s doing. Getting a mug, the bottle of burning alcohol, and pouring himself a drink. One of the chairs in the kitchen scrapes on the floor and then there is silence.

What am I doing?

My guts feel as if they’re being twisted and tugged in different directions. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness creeps in, layering through my thoughts and making me want to cry.

Why did I come here? Idiot. Volunteering for a mission. What was I thinking?

I crawl under the covers and curl into a ball. It feels as if I’m two different people with absolutely incompatible goals.

One half remembering and wanting his lips, his body pressing to mine, the way he groaned... the way I did too…

Then the other half that is still trapped. Scared. Uncertain what is happening or why it hurts. My stomach rebels, spasming and then clenching tight, forcing bile up into my throat. Cold sweat drenches my body. Tightening my fists on the blanket with a death grip, I breathe my way through the nausea.

This is stupid. Crazy. There is nothing wrong with what I did or what he did. I’m being a bitch. A weak-willed…

Cow.

And there it is. Anger comes like a tidal wave crashing over the doubts and fears. It doesn’t wash them away, it blasts them to pieces. I sit upright, narrowing my eyes. This is not okay.

I’m running away. From everything. I like Vapas. Is that not okay? How can that not be all right?

He is not Todd. I am not the naïve, stupid girl I was then. Vapas didn’t do anything I didn’t encourage. Well, he did, but he was acting. And I was too. Until I wasn’t. When it got all too real, all too fast.

Which is what happened then too. I was going along, being agreeable like I always was. All my life it had seemed easier to go with the flow. Never be the center of attention, but go with what everyone else was doing. Do what was asked of me.

And look where that got me. Used. Broken. Hurting.

I need to talk to him. Set this straight. The only way to fix anything is to face it. That’s what my mom would say. I grab my shoes and pull them back on. Silly, but going downstairsbarefoot seems somehow wrong. As if my bare feet might be an invitation.

He’s better than that.

And he is. I know it. I need to be honest with him. Put more faith and trust into him. He’s done nothing wrong, I’m the one being an asshole, not him. The clutches of the shadows of my past hold to the present with a death grip. Somehow I have to break free.

Pulling the last lace of my shoe tight I rise off the bed and quickly tug the blankets back into place. My mom had a hard line that the bed must always be made and it’s something I do now without really thinking about it, except this time. I think about it now because it feels as if I’m using it as an excuse to not confront Vapas. To not be honest with him.

And maybe I am, but nothing is going to stop me. I’m doing this. Squaring my shoulders, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it. Once my heart slows, I exhale, letting the air rush out. I open my eyes, mentally brace myself and go to the steps.

I trail my fingers along the cold stone of the wall as I take one step at a time. Forcing myself to keep moving forward no matter the trepidation that is making my heart patter and my breath quicken.

Reaching the bottom, I don’t see him. He must be in the kitchen which is partly hidden behind the stairs. I walk around the wall and furniture, stopping when I see him. He’s at the table, as I suspected from the noises before, but he’s hunched over his drink, staring into the mug. He doesn’t react. I’m not sure if he doesn’t see me or is ignoring me.

I wait, wishing that the cold wings fluttering in my stomach would stop. Counting my heartbeats I expect him to look atme or react somehow, but twenty beats later and he still hasn’t moved a muscle. I clear my throat. Nothing.

“Vapas,” I say, taking a step forward.

He jerks hard enough that the chair scrapes. His forearm hits the mug, splashing liquid across the table as he grunts. He looks at the mess and then at me shaking his head. He grumbles something under his breath as he stands and gets a towel to clean the mess.

He’s so fastidious. I like that. Keeps a nice house. Takes care of his things.

I bite my lip, unsure if I should say something or not. What am I thinking? I came here to speak. I need to explain. Tell him that I’ve been a jerk, no, I’ve been a bitch and he at least deserves to know that I know it.

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