Chapter 20 Mirabelle
Mirabelle
I’m glad Rowan is able to get some rest. He needs it.
As the silence of the trailer fills with his slow breathing, I’m overcome with a wave of exhaustion myself.
Makes sense, considering the only sleep I got last night was on hard concrete floors. And even then, that sleep was interrupted by Jett dragging me around the farm.
But I have to watch Rowan.
I have a job. Rowan has sacrificed so much to try to take care of me. The least I can do is take care of him now.
I’m supposed to check up on him every few hours, which means I have a few hours to nap.
I glance at the door to Rowan’s bedroom, my skin prickling with an urge I don’t understand. If this were the facility, I’d tamp these feelings down and lock them away, deep in the recesses of my mind.
But this isn’t the facility. This is Rowan’s trailer.
And Rowan has said that this is my space too.
I hurry into the bedroom, almost as if I think I’m doing something wrong as I gather up the blanket from Rowan’s bed. I snag the pillows, too. As I carry the mound of fabric, I nearly get stuck in the doorway before I’m able to squeeze through and dump the pile on the floor beside Rowan.
My skin is still itchy.
This hasn’t satisfied the cravings.
Nest. Nest. Nest.
My breath stutters in my chest. I think my inner omega wants me to build a nest?
Back at the facility, one of the most common rules broken by the girls was succumbing to our baser omega instincts. We were raised to think they were wrong, disgusting, unnatural. That we were weak-minded and selfish for giving in.
It’s why we slept on cots with a single scratchy blanket and a thin pillow that seemed to deflate the longer your head was on it, leaving you with just two layers of fabric underneath your head by the time you woke up.
But this isn’t the facility.
If Rowan has an issue with this, I’ll put everything back. I’ll hand-wash everything if he wants me to.
But I need to do this. Maybe it’s from the stress of everything, but my inner omega is screaming at me. She needs this sort of comfort.
Maybe there really is something wrong with me, if I’m referring to a part of myself in third person.
My body moves on autopilot as I pull off the sheets from Rowan’s bed.
Not enough.
I peek into his closet and find a hoodie shoved in a cubby. It smells like him.
Perfect.
I take my treasures and return to the living room, staring at the pile of fabric in front of me.
I have no clue what I’m doing. I wish I did. I’m sure my attempt at a nest is going to absolutely suck.
I take a steadying breath as I grip the sheet in my hands.
Who’s going to judge me? Rowan, I guess, but he hasn’t judged me before, so I hope he doesn’t start to now.
I take the sheet and hook it over the back of the couch, pulling it until it’s hooked around the dining chair, creating a low canopy over the couch and a small portion of the floor beside it.
Rowan doesn’t stir as I move about, crawling under the cover into the enclosed space that automatically feels better. It’s like jumping underwater and having all the sound just fade away.
I busy myself with curling the blanket around me so I still have some under me as a sort of cushion. It’s not nearly as comfortable as Rowan’s bed, but considering I could sleep on the cold, concrete floor of the barn, I think I’ll be able to sleep just fine.
When I finally find a position that satisfies the instinctual part of my brain, I let out a sigh of relief.
Rowan’s slow and steady breaths, seeming to bounce off the walls of the fabric cave around us, soothe my nerves.
I think I did a pretty good job, considering this is the first time I’ve made a nest.
I’ll just let myself close my eyes for a little. I can totally wake up to check on Rowan later.
I’m pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep by an annoying buzzing. The sound presses against my brain, floating around my mind like a bug I can’t get rid of.
I jerk awake, my eyes flying open with a startled gasp.
Oh no! I was supposed to check up on Rowan! What time even is it?
I push myself up from the blanket I have curled around me in the makeshift nest to see Rowan stirring from the buzzing.
Well, at least he’s still alive. Thank goodness something didn’t happen when I was sleeping irresponsibly.
He digs into his pocket, pulling out his phone with his eyes still closed like he’s pawing about, trying to find his alarm clock.
With a groan, he peels open his eyes—well, technically his one good eye, the other one is still swollen shut. It’s an even angrier purple than yesterday. I guess things just take time to heal.
“Whoa, what’s this?” he says, his voice gravelly from sleep as he stares up at the low canopy made of his bedsheet hanging above us.
“Oh, I, uh, I made it,” I mumble, my hands coming to fist in the fabric of his blanket as I avert my gaze. “I was—I was going to take it down before you woke up, but I—I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“You slept on the floor?”
My head jerks with a nod.
“You didn’t have to do that, Sugar,” he says, propping himself up on his side with a slight wince so he can get a better look at me. “I would’ve preferred if you slept on the bed. You would’ve been more comfortable that way.”
“I slept really well, actually! Maybe too well,” I wince. “I was supposed to check up on you and make sure you were alright and—and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
My head hangs as I brace myself for some sort of punishment. I had one job. And I failed. To top that off, I’ve made a mess of his living room and bedroom.
“Hey, wipe that look off your face right now,” he says sternly.
My eyes widen as I glance up at him.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. You needed rest too, okay? And I’m fine.”
“You’re—you’re not mad?”
“Not at all.”
“Not even about... all this?” I ask, waving around at us and the little alcove I’ve built us.
His gaze darts between the draped fabric above us and the two pillows and blankets I have curled around me. He hesitates, as if he’s trying to pick his words carefully.
“No. Not at all, Sugar.” His hand reaches out and he gently brushes some of my messy bedhead away from my face. “You felt safe enough to not only build a nest in my trailer, but to make it around me. That’s... how in the world could I be mad at that?”
“You—you don’t think it’s gross? Or disgusting? Or weird?” I pepper him with questions because his answer feels too good to be true. Especially after the way anything related to giving into our omega instincts was viewed back at the facility.
“What? No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know a lot about omegas, but I’m pretty sure stuff like nest building is in the definition in the dictionary. I’m just surprised you were willing to do that here after—after everything you’ve been through.”
“Do you like it?” I ask, perking up. Now that I know he’s not upset, there’s a part of me that desperately craves his approval. “I know it’s not a lot, but it’s my first one, and it must be at least all right if we both slept in it.”
“It’s fantastic, Sugar. I just wish I had more stuff for you to use,” he says, his hazel eyes growing sad as his thick brows draw down. “This was your first nest?”
“Mhm! We weren’t allowed to give in to our nesting instincts back at the facility. Any of our omega instincts were… bad.”
His expression grows dark, and I instantly regret my words. The last thing I want to do is upset him, not when he’s being so nice.
Before he says what he obviously wants to say, his phone buzzes incessantly again.
“Fuck,” he mutters, glancing at the screen. He grows a little pale, wordlessly staring at the messages on his phone.
“What’s going on?” I ask, leaning my head next to his so I can see what’s going on.
Dad
Lunch at noon. Bring the omega.
I want to see how well you’ve been able to train her myself.
Something dark and insidious wraps itself around my ribcage, squeezing until I can’t breathe.
I push myself to my feet and tear the sheet off the back of the chair. My movements are jerky as I follow the instincts of my furious inner omega. I ball the sheet up in my hand as I toss it in a pile at Rowan’s feet, my chest heaving.
“What—what’s wrong, Sugar?”
“I don’t want them in my safe space,” I say, my voice closer to a growl than I ever thought possible.
Rowan’s family are the ones responsible for all the pain Rowan and the other fighters have had to endure. No part of them, not even their text messages, is allowed to be anywhere near my nest.
It’s strange, I’ve never felt like this before.
“Shit, I should’ve thought about that. I’m so sorry, Sugar,” Rowan says, pushing himself up so he’s sitting up with his feet on the floor.
He lets out a soft groan, one of his arms reaching to cradle his ribs where I know the worst of his bruises are.
“I should’ve known it was someone in my family.
No one else would bother me at the asscrack of dawn. ”
His words seem to soothe the jagged edges of my mind and my breathing calms.
“Here, let me get you your medicine,” I say, glancing at the clock on the microwave. He’s long overdue for another dose, so no wonder he’s in so much pain.
“Thanks, Sugar,” he says, but I can tell in the tone of his voice that his mind is elsewhere.
We sit in silence after he downs the medicine with a swig of water.
“Remember how I explained to Griffin that he’d have to put on a show if he wanted this whole plan to work?” Rowan says slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor.
I hug my knees to my chest as I offer him a nod.
“We’re gonna have to do that when we go to lunch with my dad. It—it may be hard.”
“No cages,” I whisper, a shiver running down my spine as I remember the cage I was forced into when I first met Rowan.
For whatever reason, the thought of that cramped space seems to make my skin crawl. The transport cages don’t bother me as much because they’re made for the fighters, who’re a lot bigger than I am.
“No cages,” Rowan says, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “But—but my dad and Jett have similar ideas and expectations. They want you to be an obedient pet. He’s probably going to want you to kneel at my feet. And if there’s food, he’s going to want me to feed you by hand. That sort of thing.”
“That’s okay,” I say, nodding slowly.
Rowan’s jaw ticks, but he lets out a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry, I wish there were a better way to handle this.”
“It’s fine,” I say, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “This is for the best. I’d much rather kneel at your feet than Jett’s.”
Do I like the idea of kneeling at his feet in front of his dad? Definitely not. But that’s more so because we have to do it in front of his dad.
For whatever reason, the idea of acting like a pet doesn’t feel wrong, but I think the emotions those thoughts bring are too confusing for me to think about right now.
“Okay then,” Rowan sighs. “Let’s see what I have for us to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”