Knot All That Glitters, Part 2 (FatedVerse #5)

Chapter 17

I’m Not Bitter

Despite their foot dragging with my father, the Calloway pack moves swiftly in taking down Brian Coogan. It didn’t take much. A few leaked emails to the press, a few contracts and banking documents that make it clear Brian was taking bribes from lobbyists and companies with an agenda and three days after they agreed to go after him, Brian Coogan, my fiancé, is taken away in handcuffs.

I watch the news gleefully, raptly as he emerges from his house, head bowed, hands in front of him, two big burly cops on either side guiding him down the stairs and into the back of the cop car while the reporter talks about the crimes they’re aware of so far but that they’re sure the investigation will continue.

There’s speculation over how much my father was aware of his actions. But that he hasn’t released a statement yet.

I honestly don’t know if he remembers how to do that for himself. Brian’s handled all of that for him for years. In fact, I’m fairly certain my father doesn’t trust the other members of his staff, so he’s kept them as far from him as he possibly can. Makes sense. The more people who know about your shady dealings, the more likely you are to be caught.

Later that afternoon, I’m not at all surprised to see that “Senator Frederick Bell has distanced himself from Brian Coogan, stating that he had no knowledge of his aide’s activities. The senator has condemned his former aide and is helping in any way he can with the investigation, giving the police full access to his office and his documents.” Of course he wouldn’t say he’s sure that there’s been some kind of mistake, that Brian would never do that. My father doesn’t have a loyal bone in his body. He would never support someone he knows is guilty, so long as he might get in trouble as well.

I am surprised he’s being so ‘helpful’ though. He probably cleaned up every bit of evidence that he was aware of Brian’s activities. There’s a reason it took almost a full day for his statement to come out, and it’s not because he was looking for the right words after what he’s now deemed a betrayal of his trust.

A week later, and the Calloway pack, while still always present in the house, has made no move toward taking down my father. I haven’t left the house or its grounds in almost a month and it’s feeling a little claustrophobic.

Or a lot claustrophobic.

“Can we go for a hike today?” I ask, looking up from my bowl of oatmeal. I’d been disappointed when Tic told me this was what was for breakfast, but then he covered it in pecans and dried cherries, butter and brown sugar and I found I didn’t mind oatmeal so much.

“A hike?” Creed asks from where he’s hunched over his own breakfast.

I nod. “Yeah, you know? The great outdoors, fresh air in our lungs, surrounded by trees, muscles screaming from the incline.”

All four of them blink in surprise at me. “Its December, mouse.”

I shrug. “So? People do outdoor things in winter all the time.”

“People, yes, but generally not omegas,” Tic adds his own two cents in and it makes my jaw clench. Even if he’s not wrong. Omegas hate being cold and we have a tendency to freeze our asses off even in the middle of summer, hence all the blankets and sweaters and fluffy socks we wear everywhere. Just about the only time we aren’t cold is during a heat, when we burn with a fever that only alpha cock can quench.

“I’m willing to risk it,” I drawl. “I love hiking, even in winter.”

“You do, button?” Jude doesn’t sound convinced. Really, he shouldn’t believe me, because I don’t know if I love hiking in winter. I’ve never been. The few times I have been able to hit the open trail has been during the summer and the early autumn, usually around my birthday.

Although my father supported me running marathons, he didn’t want people to get the impression I was a granola eating hippy. Wouldn’t have looked good for him.

So no, I don’t know that I love hiking in winter, but I do love hiking. I want to do more of it now that I don’t have my father’s commands holding me back.

Might as well start now.

Hale’s brow furrows. “I don’t think it’s safe out there, mouse. Most trails will be buried in snow.”

“Snowshoes.”

“What?”

“We can get snowshoes!” Oh yeah, I like that idea. “Or maybe cross-country skis! We could go skiing! I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to try.”

I bounce on the stool a little at the idea, getting swept away with the image of the five of us all bundled up in heavy winter coats, trekking through the snow, snuggling up in a lodge with a roaring fire and hot cocoa. Even my omega likes the idea, though I suspect it’s the lodge and the snuggling and the cocoa she likes, and not necessarily the trekking through the woods part.

“God, you’re fucking adorable,” Jude says, shaking his head with a grin on his face.

“Adorable yes,” Hale says, but by his tone, I can tell what else he’s going to say. “But hiking in January, no. I’m sorry, mouse. It’s just not safe and we don’t have the right equipment ready.”

My shoulders slump. I guess I’ve gotten so used to them catering to my every whim since they saved me from my father—again—that I assumed they’d say yes to this.

“Next year, baby girl. We’ll rent a cabin for an entire month.”

My mouth screws up as my nose wrinkles. In theory, that would be nice, but I won’t be here next year. As soon as my father is taken care of, I’m going to leave the Calloway pack behind. We’ve discussed this. If they think I’ll change my mind about it, they are dead wrong. It’s purely self-preservation at this point.

Even if, lately, especially with seeing Brian being dragged away in cuffs, my innermost parts have softened toward them. I swear every day it gets a little harder to hold on to my anger, my resentment. To remember why I have to keep my distance.

The ache in my chest as I laid in the rain in the grass. The painful heat they helped bring on. The betrayal of their actions. All of that and so much more.

It doesn’t matter that by the time I found out what they were doing, they’d decided not to use me that way. It doesn’t matter that they have a superb reason for it. My father is a monster and what he did to Janie and this pack deserves retribution.

The fact of the matter is, they still intended to hurt me that way, approached me knowing that I would be ruined by the time they were done with me. They came up with this plan when I was a child. They waited and plotted and watched until I was old enough that they deemed it not creepy for them to approach me. Years. They thought about my ruination for fucking years, and I can’t let that go.

It’s possible they still haven’t let it go. That if their other schemes don’t go according to plan, they might revert to their original one. Jude says he deleted the videos, the pictures, but can I really trust that?

Yes , my omega tells me over and over. Yes, they are pack. They will protect us. They will keep us safe from harm and bond us and mate us and breed us and give us lots and lots of babies.

It’s at this point in her constant pushing that I have to tell her to shut up. Even as that all too familiar want aches in my chest.

My omega tells me they’ll give me everything I’ve ever wanted.

They tell me the same.

But everything else, all of their actions, their deceit, and my lifetime of experiences, has taught me that alphas are power hungry, control freaks. Once something doesn’t go their way, it won’t take much for them to go back on their word.

One moment is all it would take for them to bark me into submission, for them to turn me into a tool yet again.

So I cannot, under any circumstances, let any portion of my icy resolve to leave them melt.

“Haven?”

I swallow and blink back to the present, finding that sometime while I was ruminating, Jude and Tic disappeared, and I’m now alone with Hale and Creed. My empty bowl is gone, and both alphas are looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry, I drifted off there. What did you say?”

Hale shifts closer, a soft smile on his face, tinged with regret and caution. “I said why don’t you go cuddle up in the media room? We have some things to take care of today.”

I tense at the mention of the media room. It’s stupid, just a room in the house, but I haven’t set foot in the basement since that day in November where I realized what they were doing. I’m worried that if I see the scene of the crime, I might… I don’t know revert to that helpless, hopeless, heartbroken omega that broke on their back lawn.

Again. Ridiculous. I know this, but it doesn’t stop the worry from being there. The anxiety. The panic.

I can’t afford to fall apart like that again.

Though if I do, I have the feeling the Calloway pack will be there to help hold me together.

But for how long? An insidious little voice questions.

“I can just hang on the couch up here, right?” I hate that my voice is small and timid.

Hale keeps his expression neutral, but he slowly shakes his head. “Unfortunately, we have some people coming to the house today. It would be better if you stayed out of sight.”

I frown. “Then I’ll just hang out in my room.” The two alphas exchange a look over my head.

“I’ll hang out with you,” Creed offers. “If you don’t want to be alone.”

“That’s not really the issue,” I mutter, hopping up from the stool. “I’ll go to Ren’s if I need to make myself scarce.”

“Little mouse,” Hale growls. “ No . Just go hang out in the basement.”

I glare at him. Why the hell is he pushing this? “I. Don’t. Want. To.” I bite off each word, making sure he knows I’m displeased. “It might surprise you to know this, but I’m not particularly eager to visit the site where all of my dreams of a safe and secure pack, of being with you for the rest of my life, went up in smoke, Hale.”

The two of them stare at me in shock, like this hadn’t occurred to them. Why would it have? To them, it’s a room in their house. To me, it’s a war zone.

“I don’t want to go down there,” I say quietly. “It’s where I realized you were using me. It hurt .”

“Oh, baby girl,” Creed mutters, taking a step toward me. “I’m sorry, we didn’t think.”

“Yeah, that seems to be a theme with you. You don’t think through your actions.” I shake my head, frustrated with everything. “But whatever. I’m over it. I’ll go… I’ll go down to the basement, if that’s what you need.”

I wait for them to tell me I don’t have to, that I can go to Ren’s or stay in my bedroom. Hale blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, mouse. If there was another way…”

I wave him off, not wanting to waste time arguing with him. “There is another way. You’re just too stubborn to let me do it. But whatever you need, alpha. Right? That’s what a good omega always says.”

I’m not bitter. You’re bitter.

I spin on my heel, intending to march down to the basement right this fucking second and prove to them I’m stronger than what they did to me, but Hale catches my wrist gently, tugging me back around to face them. His thumb rubs a circle over my pulse point.

“You know,” Hale says roughly, looking repentant as hell. I can’t stand it, so I drop my gaze. “Creed never wanted to be a part of that game, of keeping score. The rest of us added all of the points for him.” I stare blindly at the stretch of his t-shirt over his chest, thinking back to how resistant Creed was to touching me. How I took it to mean he didn’t want me, but really it was that he wanted me enough to give up a decade long revenge plan. “As soon as he met you, he knew.”

I lift my head to stare at the prime alpha hard, ignoring the feel of a set of gray eyes burning into the side of my head. “What did he know?”

Hale gives me a soft smile, his thumb strokes the curve of my bottom lip. “That you’re ours. That we were gonna fuck it up if we went forward with our plan. I didn’t listen.” He leans forward and the breath stutters in my chest as he presses a barely there kiss to my cheek. “He fought us every step of the way, mouse. Every. Fucking. Step. If you never forgive the rest of us… it’ll kill us, but we’ll understand. But Creed? He deserves your forgiveness. He deserves to have you.”

I frown when he pulls back. “What about the rest of you?”

He gives me that soft smile again. “We’re going to keep working to earn your forgiveness. For the rest of our lives, omega. So I hope you’re ready for that.”

I should remind him I’m leaving, that I won’t be here forever. But the words get stuck. A part of me is still hoping that they’ll do it, that they’ll make it up to me and I’ll be able to forgive them without feeling like a doormat or a pushover.

I swallow and instead go with the truth. Which is far, far scarier. “I really hope you manage it, Hale. I don’t like being mad at you. I don’t like feeling like I should hate you.” He stares at me with wide, surprised blue eyes, like he never expected me to say that. Next to us, I can feel Creed doing the same. “Please, make it up to me.”

The prime of the Calloway pack nods, determination burning in his eyes. “We will, omega. I promise.”

We make our way into the basement, Creed laden with far too many snacks and drinks. Me carrying nothing more than the blanket I’ve been using on the couch in the living room and have claimed it as mine.

I pause at the bottom of the stairs as Creed moves to set his burden on the low coffee table in front of the giant sofa. The sofa where I was sitting when I stupidly opened Jude’s laptop and not mine, where I found the spreadsheet full of every sexual act we’d done together, with points assigned to each one.

The sofa where my heart well and truly broke, and I considered giving up entirely.

They did that to me.

This pack that now claims they’ll do anything to make it up to me. They broke me in a way that my father wasn’t even able to break me with all his commands and casual cruelty.

My chest squeezes and tears fill my eyes, but I blink to keep them from falling. I cried my tears. I’m working through the hurt. I don’t need to cry about this again.

But I can’t look away from the couch.

A broad chest slips in front of my vision, rough palms clutch my cheeks, a forehead presses to mine. The low rumble of a purr filters to my ears and Creed murmurs, “breath for me, baby girl. You’re okay.”

I hadn’t even realized I stopped breathing. Now that he’s mentioned it, my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen. I suck in a breath and his fingertips stroke down my cheek. “Good girl. Give me another one, hmm?”

I breathe in again and he continues to talk me through my mini panic attack. Murmuring praise about how good I’m doing when I’m just breathing.

It’s ridiculous, but every stroke of his fingers and every murmured word, the rumble of his purr and his petrichor scent all work together to not only calm me but turn me on. His nostrils flare and I know he scents my slick, my arousal. He groans softly but doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t try to do anything about it, doesn’t kiss me or touch any part of my body other than my face with his hands and his forehead to mine.

Damn, if that doesn’t turn me on more. He’s respecting my boundaries, my feelings. I know without a doubt that Creed will not touch me unless I ask for it. Hadn’t he kept himself from touching me while that game was in effect? Well, he had until I pressed the issue in the alley, went to my knees for him and took him into my mouth. He felt so good-

No, Haven! No. Bad. Don’t think about Creed fucking your throat.

I step away from him, making a weird noise that I think is meant to cover up a whine, but doesn’t really accomplish it. Creed watches as I hurry over to the couch, clutching my blanket to my chest like a shield, and then plop down.

He comes over much more leisurely, sitting close but not too close. I can feel the heat from his body all along my side, but we aren’t touching. It’s a tease to my senses. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him adjust himself, and that’s when I realize he’s fully hard.

From me. From scenting my arousal.

Fuck, that really doesn’t help. Not the slightest bit.

Creed sits silently, eyes on the side of my face as I determinedly keep my gaze away from him, focusing my attention entirely on picking something to watch. But part of the problem is I… well, I’ve been holed up in their house for so long with nothing to do but veg out that I feel like I’ve already watched everything I want to.

On top of that, my stupid brain can’t actually focus on the options. It keeps drifting to the alpha sitting next to me and his erection that I want to lick, his knot I want to sink down on. His mouth I want to kiss.

Stay strong, Haven.

Don’t give in.

Giving in would be bad.

But would it?

Would it be bad? I’m pretty sure it would be pretty damn good, actually. Really fucking good. Like blow my mind good.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I can’t stop myself from wanting them. Physically. I’ve spent more time than I care to admit fucking myself with my fingers in my shower to the memory of them. Sometimes when I can’t sleep because I’m alone and I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with one of them, I silently make myself come instead.

It’s never good enough. Never the same.

“Baby girl,” Creed growls, making me shiver, and goose pimples pop up all over my skin. “Whatever you’re thinking about, I need you to stop. I only have so much self-control.”

I look at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. “What?”

“You smell like a needy, horny omega, Haven, and right now my alpha is demanding that I mount you and fuck you and give you what you need. So unless you want that to happen, you need to start thinking about baseball or grandparents fucking or-”

He cuts off when I whine. I’m sure my pupils have drawn wide and my thighs are pressing together rhythmically to ease the ache between them. But I can’t help it. Creed saying ‘fucking’ like that, talking about how he wants to mount me? It’s too fucking much.

“ Creed .” I don’t even recognize my voice when I say his name, pant it.

His gaze sharpens for a moment, those dark gray eyes of his scanning me lazily from head to toe, even under the blanket I have draped over me. “You want it, omega?” He asks, not reaching to touch me. “You want me to make you come?”

I hesitate, unable to make myself say the words. I do want it. He’ll be able to make me come better than I ever could myself, but I’m still a fucked up tangle of emotion that I can’t seem to find my way out of, can’t comb into neat little strands.

“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” Creed murmurs softly, reaching out to run a knuckle down my cheek. “You’re needing, wanting, and I can help. That’s all I want, baby girl, to help you feel better, to make you feel good. Let me replace your bad memory with something good, please.” As he pleads with me, his hand slides down over my chest to slip under the hem of my sweater, resting on the skin of my stomach just above the waistband of my leggings.

It’s a mistake. I know it’s a mistake, but it’s been weeks of living with them, of being surrounded by their scents, of making myself come near silently on my fingers, of unsatisfying orgasms. And I can’t seem to shut down the idea.

I need this. Maybe if I let him make me come, I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Really, truly sleep. Maybe I’ll finally be able to shake this sense of wanting . Creed’s staring down at me, his big palm burning into the skin of my stomach, hot and heavy and rough. It feels so good. Too good.

I give a jerky nod. “Okay.”

Victory flares in his eyes and he bends, his mouth heading toward mine like he thinks he’ll get to kiss me. I want him to— God, do I want to taste him—but kissing is… too intimate, too emotional, so I turn my head at the last second. His lips touch my cheek and he lingers there, his body tense for a moment before he makes a displeased noise. It doesn’t stop him from kissing over my jaw, down my neck. He laves my collarbone and the tops of my breasts as he groans, like my skin is the best thing he’s ever tasted. Like he can’t get enough.

That big hand of his slides down my stomach into the waistband of my leggings. He grunts when he feels how wet I am, though it shouldn’t be a surprise. My wanting them was never the issue. I’m always ready for them, always willing. My body loves what he can do to me, for me. My heart is an entirely different matter.

“So slick, omega,” he murmurs against my jaw. “So wet for me.”

I pant out a breath and impatiently shuck off my leggings. I can’t let this drag on, can’t let him savor it. If I do, there’s a greater chance of him making me feel something more than just pleasure. I need him to make me come fast and then I can move on and hopefully pretend like this never happened.

Like I wasn’t this weak.

“Baby girl,” Creed mutters, his finger slowly, slowly circling my clit with barely any pressure at all. A tease. “Stay with me. Stay in this moment.” It’s too damn intimate, just like kissing. If he tries to make this more than what it is, I won’t survive it.

“Shut up,” I hiss at him, shifting to lie flat on my back. “No talking.” Hurt flashes in his eyes and I have to grit my teeth against apologizing, telling him I didn’t mean it. He can say all the sweet and intimate things he wants to me. But I need boundaries. It’s already a mistake to let him touch me. Fuck me. “You said it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

My voice comes out small, so small, because I don’t really want to hurt him, but I can’t do this with him right now either. His lips firm as he nods, pressing harder against my clit. “You’re right. I’ll just focus on making you come as many times as I can, shall I?”

Before I can respond, he drops onto his belly between my legs and licks. My toes curl, my head presses into the soft cushion, and I moan. There isn’t any helping it. It’s been so long since anything has felt this good.

Since Jude in his bedroom before it all turned to shit.

“Fuck,” I gasp out and Creed groans into me, his tongue doing things that my already pleasure soaked brain can’t comprehend. Swirl, thrust, swirl, thrust, swipe, swirl, thrust. The rhythm has my hips pressing up, trying to get closer to him, to offer him more of myself. My legs fall open wider and one of my hands fist in his hair, holding him against me as he feasts on me like a man starved.

Maybe he is. Maybe he’s missed this as much as I have. Maybe he’s missed me more with the hungry noises he’s making as he slurps up every drop of my slick. Or he tries to at least, but I’m producing so much it’s soaking into the couch under me, marking it with the scent of my arousal.

Maybe that should embarrass me, that their couch will forever carry a whiff of my pineapple and chili scent, but I really can’t bring myself to be.

It feels right.

Like every surface in their house should smell like me, like them, like the five of us together.

That is a dangerous train of thought.

I push it aside and focus on the sensations of my body, on what it needs. “Please,” I pant out. “Please, Creed, more.”

He hums against me before lifting his head and piercing me with those sharp eyes of his. “You need more, baby girl? You need something inside you that you can clench down on?”

I whimper and nod. “Yes.”

He hums again, looking down at my spread lips. “You’re so pretty, omega. Such a pretty fucking pussy, dripping slick, all pink and swollen and needing. You want my fingers inside you? Or my cock?”

I want his cock, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Not sure I could handle if he climbed up my body and thrust into me, our faces close together. He’d probably try to kiss me and I’d probably let him, because my lust soaked brain has no self-preservation.

“Fingers,” I pant out, and there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, mingled with hurt. But it’s gone in an instant as he bows his head over me, almost reverently. “Whatever you need, baby girl.”

I moan as he slides one thick finger inside me, eyes focused on the motion, on the way my body gives under the intrusion of his. “So tight,” he croons. “So hot. So wet. So fucking perfect.” He rests the side of his head against my thigh as he slowly, so fucking slowly, finger fucks me. Soaking up the feel of me around him, the sight, the scent, my noises.

I know that’s what he’s doing, because he tells me. A constant string of praise of how much he loves seeing me like this, loves bringing me this pleasure. How much he can’t get enough of me.

I come just like that, with only a single finger inside me and his deep voice washing over me, his cheek pressed to my thigh, his eyes focused on me.

It’s slow and tortuous, and I love it. My body loves it. Just as I’m cresting falling over, Creed bends and sucks my clit into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. One orgasm rolls into another, more intense one that has me crying out his name to the ceiling.

I feel him smile against me, even as he continues to eat me, this time hard, more aggressive. A second finger joins the first, stretching me deliciously, making my eyes roll with the full feeling.

But my omega yells it isn’t enough. I need the fullness of a cock and a knot. Need his hips slamming into me, need that spill of cum deep inside me.

I open my mouth to tell him, to beg him for it, to beg my alpha to give me what I need. He will. I know he will, without a doubt, and he’d probably even do a good job of pretending like it meant nothing, just like he said we could.

But in my heart of hearts, I know I won’t be able to do that. If I take him inside me, let him knot me, let him fill me with his hot seed, some part of me will view it as forgiveness. And I am far from being ready to forgive them.

How can I when I haven’t had space to properly work through everything?

So I snap my mouth closed and my hand back into his short hair, and grind my hips up, letting him give this to me. It’s all I can allow at the moment.

“That’s right, omega,” he murmurs, mouth muffled by my flesh. “Fuck my face, cover your alpha in your slick.”

I moan at his words, liking him calling himself my alpha just a little too much, and come again.

After that, I lose track of how many times Creed makes me come. But I’m a sobbing, sweaty mess by the time I push his head away from my oversensitive clit and mewl that it’s too much.

I said that before the last time he made me come too, and he’d just grunted, “you can take it, omega. You can. Give me one more. One fucking more. Gonna make you feel so fucking good. I promise.”

But this time he listens, pulls back and sits back on his heels, letting me see the hard ridge of his erection and the unmistakable wet spot soaking his gray sweatpants. That’s more than just pre-cum. Creed came in his pants from just going down on me. Maybe more than once, based on the size of the puddle.

I can’t look away from that damp fabric. My mouth waters with the urge to pull out his cock and lick it, clean him up as best as I can and swallow him down.

The alpha kneeling over me follows my line of sight and arches a brow at me. “Are you surprised?”

I swallow thickly and pull my eyes away from his tented sweatpants. “Maybe a little.”

“You really shouldn’t be, baby girl. That’s what you do to me. Tasting you, fucking you with my fingers and my tongue, gets me so fucking hard, so turned on.”

“But that’s not…” I trail off, cheeks flushed. “You came from just going down on me?”

The grin he gives me is wolfish. “Fuck yeah. I could probably come from less than that where you’re involved, Haven. Just having your husky voice whisper dirty things in my ear would probably be enough.”

He watches me as those words sink in, his grin going from wolfish to cautious. “Does that bother you? Knowing how much you turn me on?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s… the physical stuff has never been the problem, Creed. It’s always been easy between us. That’s why…” I don’t finish the thought. But he has to know where I’m going with it. That’s why it felt like such a betrayal when I found out what they were doing. I trusted them with my body, with what was for all intents and purposes my sexual awakening, and it was all a game to them.

Creed brows draw together. “This isn’t just physical, Haven.” He reaches down and squeezes his cock through the wet fabric. “I have never come in my pants like that. Never. Not even when I was a fucking teenager and touching girls for the first time. It’s because of you, Haven. Because of how I feel about you.”

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

I’m not ready to hear it. Not ready to have that conversation. Certainly not while I’m only in a sweater, covered in cooling sweat and drying slick. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to have that conversation.

So I don’t look at him as I say, “Don’t make this into something it isn’t, Creed. It doesn’t mean anything. Just a release.”

I stare so hard and so long at the TV that my vision gets blurry. But I don’t dare look at him to see the hurt in his expression. I know myself well enough to know, if I look at him, I’ll cave. Tell him I didn’t mean it. That my heart still aches to be his, to be theirs.

That I’ll be happy coming in second to a ghost for the rest of my life, so long as it means I get to keep them.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I repeat. But I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, him or myself.