Page 61 of Thorns That Bloom
I’m getting all choked up with emotion, overwhelmed. It’s too much. This time in my life should be purely about survival. About surviving and making a life for me and my child. Getting myself out of the hole. Letting someone else in isn’t going to help. I can’t be feeling anything for anyone, because that will only lead to me getting hurt, and I’m hurt already.
I can’t be a good enough parent if I keep feeling weak and pathetic and confused like this.
“Why is it that you believe you can’t want him?”
I choke out a laugh, and even I can hear that it sounds suspiciously like a sob. Where do I even begin? I feel frozen, stuck.
“If you’re not sure, you could try to list reasons or ways Theo has had a negative effect on your life,” Dr. Stewart suggests, her voice kind.
Negative?He’s had nothing but a positive effect since he walked into it. He’s only ever tried to help. He’s only ever been irrationally understanding and kind.
But that in itself is an insane thought. I don’t even know him. I don’t know this man, and yet I’m drawn toward him so easily, like a stupid insect getting stuck in honey. Isn’t that fucked up? Isn’t it dangerous, how effortlessly this man, who might very well be the same sort of monster as those who hurt me, found his way into my heart? Simply by claiming he believes we’re fated mates? By being nice to me and showing interest in my child and having a charming fucking smile?
‘What’s wrong with me?’ I think, even as some part of me is screaming inprotest.
I put my head in my hands and stare blankly at the floor through my fingers as my chest tightens with unease.
This never would’ve been mebefore.
Thatmust be it.
The old Sam would’ve laughed Theo off. I thought this entire nightmare had made me even more cynical than I already was, but it isn’t true. It’s made me soft. Weak. That’s the only logical explanation for this madness.
“I don’t even know him,” I whisper. “I have to keep myself and my child safe. Wouldn’t you agree?”
When I look at her, Dr. Stewart gives me that…skeptical eyebrow raise. Like she knows I’m lying to myself, lying to her. She would never accuse me, she would never throw it in my face, because that’s not what a professional does, but I know damn well what she’s thinking. ‘Deep down, you’re just scared because he’s an alpha,’ probably.
And I don’t even know if she’s right. I don’t even know myself anymore.
“I would agree, yes,” she finally says after what feels like an eternity of rattling silence. “I always tell you that your primary focus should be yourself. And this is clearly causing you much distress and inner conflict.” I almost expect her to add, ‘which is why you’ve kept this from me,’ but she doesn’t. “With the birth of your little one approaching, perhaps we should set some focused goals to keep your attention on that. Goals that will motivate and ground you. This will satisfy your most important priorities and needs, which are, as we’ve established, your child and yourself.”
The tightness in my chest eases, but it doesn’t go away. It stays there, lingering, together with the swirling thoughts.Coming back to them feels like trying to walk through a tornado, so I face away from them instead.
I nod.Distraction. I need a distraction.
Still, I’m sure that even as I leave this office bound and determined to focus on myself and my daughter, I won’t be able to escape the memory of those blue eyes welling up with tears, looking at the picture of her sucking her thumb. I won’t be able to stop trying to understand why something about him calls to me, like finally finding my way home.
?
Unfortunately, the true distraction proves to be exceptionally more difficult to simply dismiss. Two days after the emotionally exhausting session with Dr. Stewart, I wake up far ahead of my alarm, only this time, it’s not because of the baby or my seemingly shrinking bladder.
That’s what I thought it was at first, anyway.
As I groan and stretch, I feel slight wetness around my crotch. I sit up abruptly and turn on the lamp next to my bed. When I pull the blanket aside and reach down—because I can no longer see over my growing stomach—my entire body stiffens. The moisture my fingers are met with is a sticky residue of the dream that still echoes in my mind; my half-hard cock a striking evidence of it.
Partially in shock and partially because I’m still on the edge of sleep, I sink back into my pillows and roll onto my side. As I press my thighs together, the friction sends a wave of residual pleasure through me.
The dream I just had is quickly fading from my mind. Only hazy images and sensations remain, and the scent of Theo’s coconut-laced pheromones rules them. Kisses. Sweet, delicious, hungry kisses. Touches. All over. His hands caressing me, his tongue tasting my skin. Me moaning underneath his muscular frame.
I swallow hard, unsure how to feel about it. Perhaps terrified because of how good Idofeel.
This is the first one. The first dream to do with anything sexual I’ve had since that day that has felt pleasant. How it should. How it used to.
I need to change.
Even though I’d rather go back to sleep and maybe even forget about this, I slowly sit up. The baby kicks me in the rib as I’m about to stand, and I nearly piss myself.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter tiredly and struggle to take my ruined, cold sleeping shorts off. I look at them in my hand with a disturbed grimace—how did I manage to come this much?—and put on new ones. I’m not sure about my chances of falling asleep again, so I go to the toilet, get some more water, and try to get comfortable on my side with the help of one of my pregnancy pillows that are supposed to help me sleep better.
