Page 91 of In Control

Are you alright?

I send him back a string of expletives and he hops off his seat and heads straight out of the office. Yep, seems I’m that scary. However, ten minutes later he returns with three chocolate bars and a packet of sweets from the vending machine and dumps them beside me on the desk silently.

“Thank you,” I say, and god is my period coming because I have to hold back the tears. Especially when Gabe messages me with a list of ideas of how we can spend our Saturday together.

I’m not sure what to tell him. This has all become too complicated. It’s clear Esra is never coming round. His wounds run too deep and he will never believe I’m not out to tear his pack apart.

And in the end, pack comes first. I know that. This was never going to last. And I can’t take the drama any more. I have enough of my own.

So instead of calling him like I should, I rip open the Wispa bar and munch my way through it. By the time I’m finished, I pack up my bag and walk out with Scott. He natters on about his latest experimental results and for once I’m happy for the distraction.

“I’m off to play D and D at Dom’s tonight. Sure you don’t want to come, Soph?”

He’s been trying to persuade me ever since we struck up this unlikely friendship.

I shake my head. “Another time.”

“You say that every time.”

“And yet you keep asking.”

He chuckles and waves as he heads in the opposite direction. I scuff my trainer along the pavement and consider what I will do with my evening. I could go and see Rosie, but I’ve already turned up unannounced once recently. If I do it again, I’ll have the entire pack interrogating me and arguing over the best ways to dispose of dead bodies.

I’m not sure I can stand the noise. A night on the sofa with Newton would be better. A chance to gather my thoughts and nurse this bruised heart.

It hasn’t felt this bruised for a long time. Was I developing feelings for these men? I rub at my ribcage. Maybe it’s indigestion. I wouldn’t be surprised. The way Esra scowled at me was enough to give anyone a bellyache.

I decide to call Rosie instead. She answers after seven rings and her voice is all flustered. I wonder what the hell I just interrupted.

“Soph, what’s up?”

“Men crap.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause down her line, then some scuffle noises and whispering. “Hang on,” she tells me and I hear her feet hurry down a hallway and a door shut.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No, we just finished– were just finishing up – just–”

“Rosie, I know exactly what you were doing.”

She sighs. “Sorry Soph.”

I laugh. “Why are you sorry? You deserve to be this happy, Rosie.”

“Yes, but I want you to be this happy too. But I’m guessing that isn’t sounding likely.”

We’ve been texting back and forth, me keeping her updated about my encounters with the pack. My friend has been super excited – the number of emojis in each of her texts off the scale. She seems to think I can follow in her footsteps and end up happily-ever-after with a pack of my own.

But my story’s different. I’m a beta, not an omega. And this pack already has an omega anyway.

I scuff the toe of my shoe again, and force myself to start walking.

“It’s over, Rosie.”

“Oh no, really? What happened?”

“Professor Arsehole happened.”

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