Page 63 of Thorns That Bloom
“Are you scared you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from doing something horrible if you didn’t use them?”
“What?” he blurts with an alarmed frown. “Of course not! How could you even think that, I—”
Ihaveto think that. It’s all I can think about.
Oh fuck, it’s all I can think about…
I drop my meal to the ground and scramble to my feet as quickly as my body will allow. All I can focus on is my pounding heart and the need to get out.Get away, run, protect yourself.
I rush as fast as I can through the hallway and don’t stop until my already-claustrophobic lungs scream for me to. Leaning against a wall behind me, I bend over, pressing my trembling hands into my knees.
This was one of those moments when I should’ve taken a deep breath and thought about it. Talked about it. Reasoned. Rationalized.
But I couldn’t.
My heart still pounds with gripping fear. It actuallyhurts. All I want is to be somewhere alone and safe, so I head back to the office. I close the door, turn off the light, and sink into the chair, staring at the blinding computer screen until my eyes burn.
As if the babe herself is judging me for losing my shit so easily, I feel my belly tighten uncomfortably for a few minutes. Rubbing my face, I breathe through the Braxton Hicks,knowing damn well it has nothing to do with that, but still feeling like it’s some kind of punishment. Or rather, a reminder.
A reminder that my body’s running practice drills for the birth, which is coming sooner than I’d like, and I’m still not the well-adjusted, composed person I wanted to be before my baby girl arrives.
“Fuck…” I whisper, holding my head up with my hands.
As the day goes on, and even long after I get home, the stress and panic I felt slowly shift to guilt. Theo’s horrified, hurt expression haunts me.
I blurted out the first nonsense my warped mind threw at me and didn’t even consider how much it could affect him. I basically accused him of being no different from the monsters who raped me, when he’s done nothing but dote on me.
In the evening, I finally win the fight against my ego and decide to send him an apologetic message. It’s Friday, and I don’t want him to feel bad the entire weekend.
Or maybeIdon’t want to feel bad…
There’s no answer.
Usually, Theo responds quickly, but no text comes before I go to bed, either, or when I lie there struggling to sleep, and not even when I open my eyes in the morning…
He doesn’t strike me as someone who would give me the silent treatment just to make me feel like shit.
Did I hurt him that much? Is he really upset? Is that it?
I sit at my small, cheap dining table, overlooking the morning city below. The view is something I love about this apartment. The three glass panels run along the wall facing thekitchen, making it a well-lit, lovely place, especially in the mornings. It’s pretty unfortunate, considering how bad at cooking I am. I don’t spend as much time.
Stirring my tea in the purple mug Mom gave me years ago, I absentmindedly turn away from the window and to the kitchen. Somehow, for some foolish reason, I imagine Theo cooking in here. His food is heavenly. He never misses.
My heart clenches painfully.
I unlock my phone for the umpteenth time today with a sigh and blankly stare at the unanswered message. “What should I do, hm?” I ask the baby, but for once, she does not answer. I wonder if she’s resting, sucking her thumb like she does in the ultrasound photo that’s now displayed on my fridge.
I only keep making things more difficult for myself.
What would Dr. Stewart say if I told her about this? Pursing my lips, I picture her in her chair with a notepad in hand. She would do her affirming nod with a soft hum and tentative brow twitch. Then she would ask me a question. Something like, ‘Why do you think you reacted the way you did?’
Of course, I knowwhyI did what I did. I’m painfully aware.
I suppose that’s exactly what I should explain to Theo. The thought of talking to someone else about what happened to me still makes me feel uneasy.
Especiallyan alpha.
But this is Theo. It’s different. He’d understand, I know he would. If not understand, then do his best to be empathetic, and he’d make me at ease, understood, heard…
