Page 4 of Patiently Yours
I open my grinder to check what’s in it when Derek inhales obnoxiously and goes to cover his nose.
“Please don’t tell me you do that stuff,” he says, staring at me with this grimace that I don’t really appreciate. It’s hurtful, and I’m not sure how to respond.
Derek and I haven’t been together long. We met a few weeks after returning from summer break and instantly hit it off. After that, we would randomly run into each other on campus. I quite enjoyed how he liked to walk me to class and carry my stuff for me.
I thought we had spoken about my appreciation for weed before, but it must have slipped my mind. That happens sometimes.
“I do. I enjoy it.” I try to be confident, but it comes out flat.
“I don’t think you should do it anymore,” he says bluntly.
“Why not?”
“I mean, babe, come on,” he starts, like it’s obvious. “You’re already airheaded enough, don’t you think?”
I rear back like I’ve been slapped.
“What—” I start before he interrupts.
“Don’t act so surprised. You can be a little scatter-brained. That’s not a bad thing, but weed will make it worse.”
I stare at him blankly, not knowing what to say or even what I’m feeling. My body feels like it’s building a barrier to hide behind.
“Let’s just… put this away,” he says, taking my grinder and stash. But instead of putting them on my other end table, he dumps them in the trash can beside my bed.
I stare blankly at the action, all of my feelings swirling inside of me. My body hasn’t decided which one will take control. It’s like I’m watching the situation from outside my body, and my utter disbelief at the situation is unable to escape its confinement within my chest.
I phase in and out, realizing that he has moved on and is now talking about the game and their win. I only hear every couple of words though, my mind checked out and ready to go to bed.
Then he’s picking up my book, the one I was reading earlier today. I watch him lift it in slow motion before turning to the bookmarked page and reading its contents.
When he’s finished, he looks over at me with a silent fury on his face. I can’t muster up the energy to even feel panic at his expression.
“Is this one of those slutty romances you like to read?” he asks rhetorically. I just stare at him, wondering when tonight turned into such a shit show; wondering when our relationship had turned into this.
“It’s a historical romance,” I try to defend, ignoring his judgement.
“It’s cheating, is what it is,” he says, and my brows shoot upwards. I told him of my passion for romance books. He was honest about not understanding the hype, but he was accepting.Wasn’t he?
“It’s fictional,” is all I say.
He points at the page. “There’s at least three men in this scene.”
“It’s not abnormal for people to be in packs,” I state. It’s common sense. I’m getting really confused now.
“And that’s what you want, a pack?” he questions, closing my book and throwing it across the room.
“Hey!” I yell at him, finally feeling some energy muster from deep inside me. I get up from my spot on the bed to retrieve my discarded book from the floor, but he grabs my wrist before I can and pulls me back down.
“Answer me,” he barks. I’ve never had an alpha bark used on me. I’ve read about it erotically in books, but this isnotsexy.
“Yes, I do,” I say, complying to his demand. “I ultimately want a pack. I’ve told you this before… I thought you knew.”
I try to break his hold on my wrist but his grip tightens. A whimper climbs up my throat but I push it down. “Derek. You’re hurting me.”
He ignores me and continues to hold me hostage. “I thought you’d grow out of that thought. Not all omegas need packs,” he snarls. “So, I’m not enough for you? Do you need more than one alpha to satisfy you?”
I continue to pull, trying to break free from his hold. It’s like he doesn’t even notice I’m struggling.
