Page 92 of Sweetheart: Part One

Experienced Sweetheart?

I almost laughed when I read that, but I was well aware that to get me into this role, the pack on the other end of this dark bond must have bribed some high up people.

I suppose I was, at least, an omega, though I still felt severely underqualified for all of this.

Love still wasn’t speaking to me. He left the room if I entered unless I was with Drake. I hadn’t seen Ebony in days. Then there were the harrowing moments I spent alone and locked in the bathroom, following what might be the worst of Alastor’s commands. The little black book he’d given me was filling page after page.

Then, there was Rook, who—unlike Ebony—definitely wasn’t ignoring me.

And Rook was a fucking prick.

I could only use the excuse of giving Drake and Love two out of four nights. He was aware Ebony didn’t want me, so had demanded I come to his room for all the unclaimed ones. I hated that Rook got that time instead of Drake, who was still my only light in the dark. Waking up in Drake’s arms was enough, so briefly, to make me forget the nightmare I was trapped in.

Rook, on the other hand, was coming up with more and more infuriating things to ask me to do in the evenings. It was getting ridiculous. Massages, more cleaning, and last time he’d asked me to sort his bookshelves by the Dewey Decimal system. Tonight, he’d handed me a bag and told me to fix what was inside. Within were the fragments of the Radiant Aura award I’d flung from the balcony, along with glue, tape and an all too smug smirk.

Then, at the end of the night when he was ready to turn in, he would force me to sleep at the foot of his bed.

DRAKE

Vex spent time with me whenever she could.

I got her only one out of four nights, but the day was most often ours. She said her professional Sweetheart opinion on what I needed was simple: adventures.

So during the day we bundled into my minivan with me dressed up in what she called my ‘super hero disguise’ (a cap and sunglasses), and we’d find a new place to go.

Typically, I avoided going out when we were living at home, but I wasn’t afraid of exploring New Oxford with her.

My phone, which had never seen much use as a camera, was suddenly becoming filled with photos. She took dozens, telling me I had to do better at keeping memories. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that I never had before, because before, they hadn’t been worth keeping.

But now, even when she was on nights with the others, I’d scroll through the photos or videos, making plans for the next day I had with her.

There were too many for me to pick favourites: Vex and me in front of the starfish tank in the New Oxford aquarium. Vex singing—with the most beautiful voice—to P!nk, as we cycled through our favourite childhood music videos in the theatre after some beers. A picture I’d snuck of her adorably frustrated pout as she’d melted down over which toppings to choose the day we’d hunted BetaButter's Waffle truck.

There were endless photos of food, of street signs she thought were funny, of wonky trees, or cute dogs. There was one she’d recorded of herself chanting every word to Honey! You’re pure Treasure, by Heart, as I drove us to the local fish and chip shop that I’d promised had food literally to die for.

I stopped on another photo that I’d taken. We’d gone to an old drive-in theatre. She was in the passenger seat of my minivan, popcorn clutched in her arms, hair bundled in a messy bun as she sported a pair of old-school green and red 3D glasses. Her oversized zip-up hoodie hung around her shoulders as she sat hunched, combat boot propped on the dash, a tense frown on her face at the nineties horror movie that was running.

Fuck, she was perfect—right down the the faint trace of cherry blossom that followed her around. I was an alpha—built to react to omega scents—but I was attracted to every puzzle piece that made Vex who she was.

She was smiling in most of the photos, with canines flashing, her scrunched nose always tipped with a hint of blush, and her eyes black winged crescent moons. She smiled when she was with me, always.

Even when she wasn’t happy, she smiled.

Sometimes, she had nightmares. Sometimes, I would walk into her room, and the blush on her nose was a little too pink, or her eyes just a bit red. Then she’d see me, and she’d perk up, that hollow lightlessness vanishing in an instant.

I never asked.

I didn’t know if it was the right call, but when it was me, I never wanted anyone asking.

I think I loved her. I understood that it might be insane—that she was with me via contract, and I’d known her for less than a month.

And it didn’t change a damn thing.

Despite the fact I woke up cuddling her, she never pushed me for anything, not even a kiss.

Would she want more, eventually?

Would she be upset if I didn’t ask for more?

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