Page 18 of Broken Omega

Nope. Impossible. Not going to happen.You can’t undo obsession.

It can only snowball until it reaches an inevitable conclusion.

That’s what makes the doubt creep in. I don’t want to quit trying, but it’s starting to feel like an exercise in futility. I won’t be the same person if I keep going down this path. The frustration of trying and failing is changing me, and I don’t know how to stop it.

It already feels like I’ve gone too far.

I didn’t become friends with the academy’s main receptionist with the intention of using her for information, but that’s where I’m at now. Lana took dozens of calls from me when I started trying to get answers on why I kept being rejected, and she eventually took pity on my pleas.

She’s been a good friend to me.

I shouldn’t be repaying her kindness by jeopardizing her job.

This is so fucked. I should call her and tell her not to come.

I check the time and realize it’s too late to call off lunch. She’ll already be on her way into town.

Too late for regrets now anyway. She has the file. She already stole from her employer to help me out. Anything that happens to her because of that is on my shoulders.

Cressidan City isn’t my favorite place, truth be told, but there’s nowhere closer to the academy that we can meet. I usually come into the city to meet the clients I work for so it’s no real hardship to make the drive over from Crystal Lake.

I get to Lana’s favorite café early, and I order an espresso while I wait.

Sitting down makes me twitchy, so the coffee’s probably a bad idea.

I drink it anyway.

I order lunch when I’m done, knowing Lana won’t be much longer. She’ll appreciate the time it saves, and I might feel a bit less guilty about dragging her out here if I’m not going to make her late when she has to get back to her reception desk.

She shows up right after lunch does, her eyebrows raised as she approaches the table.

“I hope that’s all for you,” she tells me.

“Chicken salad on rye isn’t your usual?” I ask, sure that it is.

She has her long brown hair up today and she’s wearing a white sweater and black pants with flats, which is a fairly typical look for her. It’s kind of casual while still being tidy and professional enough for her role at the academy.

She sits down, putting her huge black purse on the seat next to her.

“It does look good, but I have a dumb family thing this weekend … Long story. I was thinking about ordering soup.” Her gaze moves over the sandwich, and I can see her willpower fading fast.

“The soup today is French onion,” I inform her, knowing that’ll make the sandwich seem more attractive, even if she is on some kind of crazy, unnecessary diet.

She shivers. “Oh. Ew. No thank you. I’ll stick with my usual.”

I eat when she does, avoiding the urge to blurt out everything I’ve been thinking about.

She chews slower than normal, apparently savoring every bite.

This is definitely a woman on a diet.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as she sets the sandwich down and reaches for her latte. “So good.”

I smile. “Well, it is your favorite.”

She shakes her head. “Actually, the mighty meaty sandwich you have is my favorite, but it has more calories than a six-pack of donuts so it’s not a regular treat.”

“It is pretty tasty,” I admit, though I had no idea about the calorific content.

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