Page 23 of Begrudgingly Yours
“You’reacquaintedwith it,” she restates and I should have known she’d pick up on that part of my spiel.
“Yeah,” I relent, finally taking a seat on the couch next to her. “My dad was an alcoholic. Still is, technically. I know what all levels of drunkenness looks like. Belligerent, psychotic, happy, sad, remorseful. I could play those roles in my sleep. Do I want to though? That’s another question.”
Rory listens intently, but there’s a slight grimace on her face that matches her slightly soured scent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
I wave her off. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Still, I was being weird,” she says deprecatingly. “I feel so uncomfortable about how last night turned out. I’m not adrinker either. Socially, yes, but not to the point of getting drunk. I feel ashamed that I let it get so bad.”
“We’re young. You shouldn’t regret having a little bit of fun,” I reason.
“Yeah, I get that. But my best friend…” She hesitates, looking for the right words before continuing. “She had some substance abuse issues last year and it was really hard for everyone involved. I try not to make a habit of drinking alcohol when I’m feeling like I was last night. I don’t know why I let it get so out of control.”
I cool my expression, but I’m freaking out internally. She’s opening up to me, and for some reason it splits something wide open inside of my chest. “I think being aware of that already sets you apart from people who abuse alcohol.”
She nods and takes a seat beside me. The silence continues so I ask, “What were you feeling? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Rory hesitates, like her body is rejecting the notion of telling me. But then she nods before rotating her shoulders in what I think is supposed to look like a casual shrug but looks more like she’s internally freaking out.
“My dad. He passed away when I was a teenager, and the anniversary of it hits me hard every year.” She clears her throat. “It was yesterday.”
The realization is instant. She fell into grief, let herself drink too much. It’s understandable. If I didn’t want to be everything my dad isn’t, I would have likely used it to cope a long time ago, too.
“It doesn’t get any easier,” I say. “I’m really sorry, Rory. The day is over though. You survived it.”
She gives a self-deprecating scoff but also smiles. “Barely. I puked in a bush.”
I hold in the snort that wants to escape, but she sees theamusement on my face anyway. “Well. It’s a college rite-of-passage, isn’t it?”
“I’ve had several rites-of-passage then,” she jokes. “It would be easier if it was just the grief, but it’s also my mom. She’s a horrible person, and she likes to spend this time every year harassing me about my inheritance. She called me three times this morning already.”
I feel a growl try to come up but I push it back down. “An inheritance from your dad?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “She didn’t know he had anything to give me. It really grinds her gears that my dad was able to pull one over on her, even in death.” She gives a sad smile, likely remembering her dad. “My dad always let her win, and I always thought it was because it was easier to take it rather than fight it. But after a while—especially after he was gone—I realized that hewasfighting, just in his own way. He was fighting forme.Protectingme.”
“He sounds like a wonderful person.” My hand flexes as I fight to cover hers, give her any amount of comfort, but I’m not sure if she will accept it.
“He was.” She pulls her script out of the bookbag on the floor. “And he loved Romeo and Juliet.”
A sincere smile finds its way to my lips. “Good tastes in classics. Did you get your acting from him?”
She gives a laugh. “He loved movies and plays. Actual acting, being behind the scenes between takes, that’s all me. I like the filmography of it, too.”
“But he helped light the spark,” I assume.
“Yeah,” she replies with a genuine smile. “Definitely. I’ve never really thought of it like that before.”
I pull out my own script with its notes in the margin and lines all over. It’s a messy representation of how I’m feeling, but I know that the notes help organize my character.
Rory fiddles her fingers a little. “You said your dad was… you know. Do you still speak to him?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s not in my life anymore. By the time I was applying to college I was tired of it. Then I presented as an alpha and my scent came in.” I give a rough swallow. “And I smelled just like him. It made me sick, so I started taking blockers.”
Rory blanches at that. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. I went on them immediately. It was rough enough to have that scent in my space, but to have it following me around everywhere I went… it was the best choice for me at the time.”
Rory’s empathetic gaze hits me right in the chest. “I thought not ending up a beta like my dad was the worst thing, but I can’t imagine how it would have felt to present as an alpha like my mom or to smell like her. I’m so sorry.”
