Page 38 of Thorns That Bloom
“I…” I don’t know what I expected from this. How I expected to tell him. I guess I had hoped to wait a while before unloading this insanity onto him. To see if we can get closer organically. It looks like I have no choice now. “What…what did people tell you?”
Sam shakes his head like it doesn’t matter. “That you’ve been talking about fated mates and babies, and it’s pretty clear to everybody that it has something to do with me. I just…need you to tell me if there’s truth to it? And why you would think something like that.” There’s the slightest quiver to his deep voice, and the tips of his shoes aim away from me, almost like he’s ready to run at a moment’s notice.
Tensing my jaw, I lean back and rub the back of my neck.
Shit. Shit, shit.
How do I say this without sounding totally creepy and weird? Hell, he probably already thinks I am. But he came to talk to me at least. That must mean something, right? He’s giving me the benefit of the doubt rather than avoiding me. Maybe…I’ve still got a chance. Maybe this isthechance.
“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” I mutter, exhaling through my nose. Sam says nothing. He gives me a serious expression that conveys he wants me to get it out and not beat around the bush, so I do. “Trust me, this…isn’t something I’d usually consider, either,” I say, wondering why I can’t keep my damn voice firm. “I’m not some weirdo who goes after omegas trying to convince them of some kind of magical love story. I’m a normal guy who was doing normal things, and then I bumped into you in the cafeteria, and I felt…I felt something I’ve never experienced before. Like you…like my-my heart was beating out of rhythm my entire life, without me even realizing it, and the moment we came together, everything fell into place.”
Full of fear, I glance at Sam to see his reaction. His eyes dart across my face, lips pressed into a thin line as he takes slow, controlled breaths through his nose. He’s playing with his hands on his thighs, picking at the skin around his nails.
I can’t read his stony expression. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and that drives me insane. Aside from the slight discomfort in his knitted brows, which is pretty understandable given what I just unloaded on him.
“I-I don’t want anything from you,” I continue before he has a chance to even go there in his mind. My entire body tightens with fear—a gripping fear that he’ll see me as someone dangerous. Someone imposing or threatening. “I’m not naive, just…hopeful, m-maybe? Maybe I feel like this is something that’s meant to be. Whatever that means. It’s a sensation I can’t shake off. But I would never push it on you. I would never do anything bad. I swear.”
Isn’t that what bad people say before doing bad things? The more I talk, the more I want to slap myself to stop.
Sam releases a deep exhale, shaking his head lightly while he looks around our dark, still surroundings. “This is sweet, really, but that can’t be us. I don’t…want anyone.Can’thave anyone,” he says, nearly a whisper, and pushes his chin down.
“I wasn’t going to push you or pursue you if you didn’t—”
“But others can tell that you want to,” he interrupts, gaze firmly planted on me. Sam lowers his brows, not in an angry way, more frustrated. “And that means they have expectations. Thatyouhave expectations. Even if you believe this thing—which I don’t, because we don’t know each other—it’s not something that can happen. I’m notfated matesmaterial,alright?” With every word, his voice grows weaker, until he has to look away. “I’m broken. And you shouldn’t waste your time with this nonsense, Theo.”
My name on his lips is all it takes for me to want to melt into a pool of warm goo capable of surviving off the singular scrap of connection that one word created.
What rattles me more than that is him saying something like that about himself. Sam might be right—we know nothing about each other—but even if he were a damn serial killer, I know I’d want him the same and feel the same way about him. Whatever he struggles with, I can’t stand hearing the hurt in his voice. I can’t stand him thinking he’s not worthy of good things because of what someone else did to him.
“Please, don’t say you’re broken,” I whisper, inching my hand on the bench toward him, but I manage to stop myself before doing something that might be too far. “You’re just a little bruised right now. That doesn’t mean—”
What I just said hits me the moment Sam’s eyes lock with mine, but it hits too late. I’ve already fucked up. I’ve said too much.
Oh, I’ve messed upbad.
“How…” I watch him go through a dozen emotions in a second. His shoulders tense, and his body tilts away from me while he parts his lips. “How did you— You know?” He’s breathless when he asks, and so am I.
Or rather, there’s a storm of pure panic happening inside of me, and I’m drowning in it.
Betrayal and anger lash out of his eyes as Sam narrows his brows. “Do you know what happened at my last workplace?” he demands, voice ice-cold and cracking.
All I can do is stare at him, wanting to shake my head, deny it. But I can’t lie, not to Sam, and now that I’ve let the truth slip, I've only wounded him further.
I twitch when he speaks again. “How? For how long?” he asks, raising his voice. Shock turns into anger behind his glazed-over eyes.“Tell me.”
When I open my mouth again, gulping for air like a washed-out fish, he stands up sharply. “A-after the restroom! I just… I don’t know any details or anything,” I blurt, following him up, but when Sam makes a hurried step away, I realize I need to back off, no matter how much I want to touch him and make it better.
Ican’tmake it better. That reality dawns on me with all its weight.
“I heard some whispers about an incident, and I just…put two and two together. I didn’t mean to…” My words leave me.
Fuck. What do I even say?
I wasn’t supposed to know that about him—I see thatexactsentiment in his face as he looks me up and down one last time before turning on his heel and storming out.
Now alone in the lifeless, bitter silence of the garden, I let out a trembling huff and collapse back on the bench, not caring when the beer spills as the glass tips over. My eyes burn. With my hands over my mouth, I stare in front of me, feeling like absolute and utter shit.
I hurt him. Right now, Sam's probably catching a cab home, thinking about how every time he's talked to me in the last few weeks, I knew what happened to him. He must feel so exposed, so vulnerable…
