Page 2 of Thorns That Bloom
“I’m sorry, Mr. Snyder. It— N-not to mention your decision to keep the child that resulted from the situation, they will…” He pauses and looks down like he’s psyching himself up tosay it out loud. “They will counter that if it was rape, you would have never kept the baby. They are going to argue that you are only trying to use this to get monetary compensation from the rich alphas involved. I can recall several past cases that the defense will—”
A piercing squeak echoes through the room as I spring up, pushing the cheap metal chair away from the table with such force that it nearly topples.
“We’re done, I think,” I mumble, barely looking at him, and head toward the door.
“M-Mister Snyder, wait…” I hear him behind me, but he doesn’t chase. “I’m still going to attempt referring your case, like I said!” he shouts after me hesitantly. I’m already dashing through the hallway, his words growing muffled in my ears. “I will give you a call if anything changes! Please, don’t hesitate to—”
A bang of the stairwell door silences his faint voice completely.
Holding my hand over my mouth, I lean against the wall with my back. The stifled sobs try to push their way out, but there are no tears. It’s been a while since I lost the ability to cry. The panic and the pain…they’re still there. Rushing through my chest, paralyzing my entire body. I cling to the wall, knees shaking.
This isn’t good for the baby.
Closing my eyes, I fight to get a grip on my shallow inhales and exhales. I squat down next to the stairs, holding onto the railing.
I thought I could do it. I thought I could listen to exactly what I expected to hear. Hell, I even thought that I was readyfor that naive sliver of hope of them maybe finding a way to proceed with the case to be crushed, but I wasn’t.
I wasn’t ready at all.
Still, it all burns and fills me with rage. With that maddening fury born of the helplessness I’ve experienced over and over again, magnified tenfold every single time since it happened and I’ve had to talk about it, hear about it, think about it, or relive it.
As soon as I manage to get myself somewhat under control—when it no longer feels like I’m being run over by a steamroller—the realization sets in.Maybe it’s time.Maybe everyone who’s told me I should drop the case before it ruins my life any further was right. My well-meaning parents. My supervisors. My so-called friends.
It may be time to let go, to take the loss, accept the damn settlement, and…resume living my life. Or what’s left of it.
I stare at the floor. Now that the anger has faded, the familiar numbness settles over me. The air in the stairwell cools my face, but I hardlyfeelit. Feel anything.
Thisismy life,I remind myself. No matter what I do, I can’t change that. I’m certainly not the first omega, or the first person, to go through something like this. Nor will I be the last. What is so special about me that I thought anyone would care or that the privileged bastards who raped me would get punished or even take responsibility?
Nothing. That’s right. Nothing’s special about me.
I drop my head between my shoulders and exhale deeply, trying to recall the therapist’s advice. Slowly, I sit myself down on the bottom step of the stairs, focusing on the panic gradually humming away, leaving through my fingertips. As Ido, I glance at my stomach. It’s almost starting to look like I’m actually pregnant, not just bloated.
This. This is the reason to keep going now. I can’t forget that.
I keep my breathing slow and try to focus inward. Forward. My friends' shocked faces—well, people Iconsideredfriends—flit through my mind, and I push them aside. No matter what happened to me or what they think, the life growing inside me is a blessing.
Even if this child was born out of the most disgusting, violent act,Iget to choose what that means to me. Not anybody else.
I smile faintly, thinking about how differently I would have viewed this topic before. A few months back, I probably would’ve felt the same apprehension. But somehow, without knowing how or why, from the first moment when they told me at the checkup after I reported all those strange, uncomfortable symptoms…I knew this was my lifeline—my way of pushing through this shit and continuing to live—even if I didn’t realize it right away.
It might be selfishness. A primal sense of survival. Or some hormone-driven parental instinct baked into my brain that’s tricking me into this. Either way, it’s irrelevant.
Something goodneedsto come out of it. It couldn’t have been only misery.
“It’s just the two of us,” I whisper, caressing my stomach. “Nothing else matters.”
I hide in the stairwell for a little while before I muster the strength to get up. No matter how low I feel, I can’t lose sight of what’s important. If there is no chance of the case going anyfurther, I might have to accept the offer that was made in the beginning. I have to return to work, too. Even though they can't easily fire me now that I’m pregnant, these damn corporations always find a way.
Not to mention I’ve almost burned through all my savings. I can’t keep going like this. It isn’t just me anymore. I keep forgetting that.
I need to do better.
No more surviving from paycheck to paycheck or living on fast food. My shitty little studio won’t do, either. I’m about to be a parent. I need to sort out my life.
I’ve held off on accepting the settlement for as long as I could, but if I have no better choice, it’s the best I can do for both of us. My pride be damned.
A small sum of money that will get me a decent place and the transfer to the sister branch of the company in the city three hours away—that was the tempting, easy way out they gave me. The new position has a higher salary, too. They knew exactly what to dangle in front of my face for me not to go public or keep on fighting.
