Episode 31 The Spell is Broken
I can’t fucking breathe. I'm in some kind of fugue state, a self-protection fog that’s keeping me from breaking down completely when that’s all I want to do. But it's a blessing really, because I’m pretty sure my omega would be wailing and ripping me apart right now to get back to them.
The pack that just rejected me on international television.
The one that said they wouldn’t do that.
They promised, but now I see what they’re promises are worth. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
My vision is spotty. No, not spotty. The only thing I can see is their faces as they refused to meet my eyes, not one of them would do it.
Court was staring at the toes of his stupid shiny shoes.
Thayer had his head tipped back staring at the ceiling.
Grieves was staring past me, over my shoulder at the camera I knew was stationed behind me.
Piers… He was staring at Forsythe. And the prince?
Well he was focused on where our hands were linked together.
And not one of them denied him or offered me comfort.
Everything Marshall and Lulu showed me was true. Everything was fake. Just putting on a good show, like Lulu told me was going to happen from the very beginning. Keep one of the Americans on nearly until the end. This was all just a game to them. Appearances.
Even Piers.
I choke down a sob, but it blooms into a whine and then suddenly Lulu is in front of me.
Her face a combination of pity and anger.
I have no clue what she has to be mad at.
But then she hisses, “I told you this was going to happen. But you’d seemed so sure, I’d started to think maybe we got it wrong.
Fans are going to be furious at them. The backlash is going to be fierce.
” Ah, yes, the fans. That’s the real travesty here, not that I’ve just had my heart ripped out on national television.
“Can I go home?” I ask, cutting off Lulu’s rant, aware of the camera hovering over her shoulder, focused on me.
She frowns and curls her hand around my upper arm. “No, sorry, hon. We’re going to send you to a hotel. You’ll have to stay there until the finale. Then you can go home.”
I’m vaguely aware that maybe I should have some kind of reaction to that. “Okay, whatever. Can I go now?”
Her frown deepens. “We were hoping to get a confessional…” Behind me there’s a feminine squeal. Isadora. She babbles something I can’t make out, but her meeting with the pack is going decidedly better than mine.
Of course it is.
The girl who beat the shit out of me in the Capture the flag challenge gets to stay, gets to advance to the scent ceremony, to the courting stage where things are flipped and the pack plans dates and gives gifts. The part that every omega wants.
My eyes sting. “I can’t-Lulu, I can’t stay here. Not right now, please.”
Her lips tighten. “We told you this would happen. And you’re under contract. If you want to get paid, you’ll do the confessional.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them the money doesn’t fucking matter, but unfortunately for me it does.
I haven’t worked in a month. I have bills.
Half of Ginny’s school fees. Rent. But the thought of sitting in front of a camera and cracking my heart open for the world to see?
Of letting this fucking show profit off of my heartache?
Yeah, I don’t think I can do that.
I’ll figure out my finances when I get back. If I have to I’ll ask Haven and her pack for a loan. They’re rich enough that it won’t even be a drop in the bucket.
I lick my lips and look into the camera. “You want a confessional? This sucks. I’m hurt.” I look back at Lulu. “That’s as good as you're gonna get out of me right now. If it's not enough for the contract then… I guess I’m not getting paid.”
Behind me, Isadora is still gushing. There’s the low murmur of male voices blurred in with hers, all sounding so fucking happy. So pleased with the outcome. As if they didn’t just rip my heart out for the entertainment of the masses.
But what else did I expect?
I was warned from the very beginning that this could only end one way for me.
I was the fool who didn’t listen.
This is as much my fault as theirs.
And isn’t that a kick in the ovaries.
Lulu let me go, lips pursed and eyes squinting in a way that lets me know she’s very disappointed in me. I don’t care though. Marshall escorts me back to my cabana where he watches as I pack, throwing my clothes haphazardly in my bags. Zipping them up ten minutes later.
I want to be gone.
“Can I have my phone back?” I ask, as he walks me to the tiny dock, and the waiting boat.
All I want to do is call my mom, talk to Ginny, and cry to Haven.
I want to feel connected to someone who I know loves me.
I’m a little worried if I don’t have it soon, I might remain disconnected from everyone for the rest of my life. Broken beyond repair.
“Nope.”
“When?” The question comes out tight, hoarse.
He sighs, apparently over my wallowing. “When the show is over and the finale has been aired. You know this, Florence.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, because I have signed an airtight NDA just like you have, but the queen wants this wrapped up fast. Production is scrambling, because it was supposed to be a twenty episode season and now it's going to be something like twelve. You just don’t say no to royalty, you know?
Anyway because of the new tight deadline, we should have you on a plane in a few days. A week at most.”
A week?
A week trapped in a hotel room with nothing to do, without being able to speak to my family? Why? What’s the point? Everyone will know I was rejected in a few days’ time when this episode airs.
This additional time feels like a punishment.
Why do the rejected omegas have to go through this? Especially so late in the series when genuine feelings could be involved?
“I won’t say anything, Marshall. I signed the NDA too. I just want to talk to my family. Please.”
The pained expression on his face tells me what his answer is going to be before he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I grit my teeth, battling the sting in my nose and behind my eyes. I will not cry here. Not in front of the cameras that I know are stationed around the dock, capturing the omega’s departure from the island.
“Fine,” I finally grit out.
He hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t want to just get the confessional over with? If you do it now, you can just chill at the hotel for the remainder of your stay.”
God no. Please. I won’t be able to hold on to my raging emotions if I do that.
My grip is already tenuous enough. If they make me talk about it, I will one hundred percent lose it all together and it will be just one more thing for the world to point at as say ‘see? She wasn’t good enough for the Ashbournes.
She’s too volatile. A feral piece of omega trash. ’
“No,” I say shaking my head. “Not today.”
“But maybe later?”
“Sure,” I lie. I won’t give any more of myself to this process. To these people who only care about making money, about ratings, about fan approval.
Satisfied, Marshall helps me climb on the boat, holding me steady as it rocks. Then he joins me, settling on the opposite side from me, to ensure he’s not in the shot as the cameras record my expression as I’m booted from RoyaLove Getaway.
The hotel is not fancy. Not like the resort where the show is filmed. In fact it's one of those airport hotels, within spitting distance of the hub of national travel, as though the production team wants to dangle the thought of going home in front of us.
Marshall sees me to my room, and hands me one of two slim plastic key cards, and then he leaves me. I don’t bother to change out of the pink dress I’m wearing, just slump onto the bed and curl into a ball around the heart breaking in my chest.
I try to talk myself out of it, out of this horrible sense that I’ve lost something vital to me.
That not only have I lost my ability to dance professionally, but now I’ve lost my pack.
I knew going into this show how it would end, knew they would never pick me.
Everyone went out of their way to drive that point home, even the pack.
I’m the idiot who read between the lines of what they were saying, who let the pack's actions speak rather than their words. I'm the one who thought love would win out over duty. Who believed in fairytale endings.
It’s my fault I’m hurting now.
Still knowing that and convincing myself to get over it are two entirely different things.
It only gets worse over the week, as my omega wakes up from her suppressed state.
The days are spent curled in the center of the bed, a half formed nest of blankets and pillows around me. I feel ill, like I’m coming down with the flu. Body aches, lack of appetite, fever.
Marshall and Lulu come and try to get me to do a final confessional that they can attach to the end of the episode where I’m cut from the potential mates for my pack. I refuse, beyond caring when Lulu warns me again I won’t get paid if I don’t comply.
Time blends. I barely notice.
A week isn’t so long after all.
Not when you spend most of your time sleeping, escaping into sweet dreams where I am loved, where I am wanted. Only to wake and have reality slap me in the face all over again.
Marshall returns. His voice is worried, his beta scent spiked with the emotion. “We’re sending you home tomorrow, Florence,” he says softly. My heart clenches in my chest, the unspoken words like a dagger.
They chose their omega.
He slides something onto the bed, close to where my hand is curled. “I’m not supposed to give this to you until then, but… I’m worried about you.” There’s a long pause where I can feel him lingering, watching me, waiting for my reaction. “Florence?”
A long drawn out sigh when I don’t respond. The withdrawal of his scent and his footsteps and then the closing of the door.
I peek open one eye when I’m sure he’s gone and find my cell phone next to my hand. With a whine I would be embarrassed for anyone else to hear, I grab it and slide it closer, my fingers fumbling with the screen, lighting up the background image of me, Ginny, Haven, and my mom all mushed together.
Tears fill my eyes before I hit the call button.
“Ren?” Haven’s worried wonderful voice breaks the dam. I release a sob, so loud it tears from my chest and hurts. Fuck it hurts.
“Shh, babe. It's okay. It's okay,” she murmurs to me. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Ren. I promise. Just tell me what you need and we’ll make it happen. Okay? I’ve got four alphas standing around looking helpless. Tell me what you need them to do.”
I swallow thickly, force the words out through a tear ravaged throat. “I want to come home. Now. But they aren’t letting me fly out until tomorrow.”
“Okay, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Sweetheart?” Tic’s voice comes through the phone, making my throat tight with the worry in it.
“Yeah.”
“Jude’s getting you a flight right now, okay? The earliest we can get. We need you to get up and pull yourself together long enough to get back to us and then you can break. Okay?”
“We’ll hold you together, Ren,” Creed adds, deep voice incredibly gentle.
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” I admit, even though it kills me to do it.
In the background I can hear Haven muttering about how she’s going to cut some alpha dicks from their bodies, and it's enough to drag a laugh from me.
“Get up,” Tic orders gently, like there is no doubt in his mind that I’m wallowing in a bed. “Take a shower. Get your shit packed. By the time you're done we’ll have it figured out.”
“We’ll get you home, Ren,” Jude says, determined.
I let out a choked wheeze, tears falling in earnest, soaking into the pillow. But I nod and let out a choked, “okay,” before pulling myself together enough to do as they ordered.
I spend the flight vomiting.
Or at least, most of it.
Until my seat mate, an alpha dressed in a three piece suit with a disapproving glare, requests that I be moved to one of the single seats in first class. Likely worried I might vomit on him.
As soon as I’m moved, I feel better.
No longer within touching distance of anyone, my body seems to relax with the whole ejecting everything from my body thing it had going on, and I settle into a fitful sleep, shivering with fever and wracked with body aches.
A soft hand on my shoulder shakes me awake, and I realize we’ve landed. The flight attendant asks if I need a wheelchair to help me deplane. I struggle to my feet in answer and push my way past her.
People move by me in a blur.
Hold yourself together, Ren. Just like Tic said. Just a little longer and you’ll be able to break down in the loving embrace of your family, people who care about you.
I stumble forward, one foot in front of the other. Other travelers and airport employees cast me wary looks. I think someone takes my picture while saying my name, but I don’t look at them, just keep moving. Pushing on.
And then…
There they are. My mom. Ginny. Haven. The entire Calloway pack. My family.
I want to run to them, want to let them wrap me up and hold me and care for me, but my body aches have only gotten worse. There’s a sprinkle of sweat on my skin, and my head is woozy, so the best I can do is stumble toward them.
My mother’s eyes widen in worry when she sees me. Ginny’s lips part on my name, but no sound comes out. Haven starts toward me, her belly jutting, her stride more of a waddle. Tic is right on her heels, which is why, when a wave of dizziness hits so bad that my knees fold, he’s the one to catch me.
There’s a cry from somewhere, I think maybe Ginny. I want to tell her I’m okay, but I’m honestly not sure. I’ve never felt this poorly before. Never felt like my body is turning on itself, tearing itself apart.
“Ren?” Tic says, peering down at me. Haven is right next to him, hand shaking as she brushes hair back from my face, before Hale gently pulls her back and away.
Ignoring her protests with a quiet, “I know you’re worried, mouse.
I am too. But we don’t know what’s wrong with her.
And you know she’d never forgive herself if you got sick and something happened to the baby. ”
I nod. That’s true. I hate that idea.
“We need to get her to a hospital,” My mother says, her tone a combination of concern and strength.
“I’m fine,” I try to say, but my mouth doesn’t seem to want to work very well, so it comes out slurred. “Just air sickness.” That’s not any better.
“Hospital,” Tic agrees, sounding grim as hell. And then we’re moving. My eyes flutter closed. Exhaustion presses in. My body feels three times heavier than normal. My head and muscles ache.
“Sleep, Ren,” Tic murmurs. “We’ve got you. You’re okay.”
My lids flutter closed and I give in to his command, knowing that I can trust him, that I am safe in the arms of my family.