Page 10 of Broken Omega

Letting out a relieved sigh, I get back to my feet and glance around the rest of the room. It’s so weird. I don’t see the bottle anywhere.

Did I leave the room?I check the bathroom, but it’s not there, either.

When I walk back into the bedroom, my gaze catches on the sheets. The pristine, cream sheets. I move over and straighten them up. I can’t see the stains from the wine or the new lipstick I dropped.

I take a closer look, turning them over, but the stains aren’t there.

“That’s not possible,” I murmur, wondering what exactly happened last night.

Did I imagine spilling the wine?I unzip the bag and see there’s still a dried-up stain on my PJs. Maybe they soaked the spill up? Or maybe I spilled on myself instead of the bed?

I guess it’s possible. I’m not all the way convinced, but it doesn’t matter.

So, I had another blackout. Who cares? It’s not the first and it certainly won’t be the last.

All I’m doing by standing around is delaying the inevitable.

I need to say good-bye to my father so I can get the hell out of here.

BROOKE

Ican hear talking as I creep down the stairs. When he’s angry, my father doesn’t hide it very well. His voice rises, and in this house, it carries. I don’t catch the full conversation, just a few words, but it’s enough to make me wonder what I did when I blacked out last night.

I riled him up at dinner, and he was already in a shitty mood. That was bad enough.

I suppose things can’t really get any worse for me, so I might as well face his wrath.

Heading toward his study, I make sure I walk loudly so he can hear me coming.

The door creaks open before I get to it, fist raised to knock, smile frozen in place.

He gives me a frown and holds a finger up. The one-minute signal.

I roll my eyes as he closes the door on me.

“Deal with it,” he snaps, which doesn’t tell me much, other than he’s just hung up the phone.

It’s one of his favorite end-call catchphrases.

The door opens again a few seconds later, and I move back to let him step out into the hall.

“I’m heading back to the academy,” I tell him.

He frowns at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Shit. I really did something last night.“Remember what?”

“Sasha found you sitting on the dining room table last night, drinking wine you took from the cellar.”

Ah, the cellar wine.His personal collection of rare vintages.

It all tastes like getting drunk to a teenager.

How was I supposed to know those bottles weren’t for general consumption?

I knew better after Dad grounded me for the month the first time I stole a couple bottles. It didn’t stop me from doing it again whenever he pissed me off, and it looks like it didn’t stop blacked out me from repeating those embittered teenage actions last night, either.

Looks like I really did regress when I got here.

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