7. Brylee
7
brYLEE
If nervous puking was a class, I’d get a solid A. I think I’ve thrown up at least five times tonight.
After this evening’s class on pleasing alphas riled me up, I’ve been abuzz with utterly terrified nervous energy for hours because I’ve been counting down to D-Day. Caran’s been calling it A-Day in our texts, but to me, storming the beaches of Normandy is what it feels like.
I’m literally putting myself in enemy territory.
A solid cement room with a single long fluorescent tube light bashes into my conscious thoughts.
My stomach gurgles.
I battle to knock that room away by snatching up my phone and tossing on a song, turning the music up high.
Blaring sound rips away my ability to think as I load up a toothbrush with some striped toothpaste and tap my foot, trying to focus on how much I hate this stupid remake.
Annoyance is easier to deal with than my trepidation over the past or the future.
One petulant thought brings about another—recalling today’s instruction at Darling has me flaring my nostrils and rolling my eyes. We had to practice greeting our alphas at the door by kneeling and sitting back on our heels in order to look even more adorable—more fucking subservient, they mean. Why can’t I just go up and greet my alphas with a kiss? Or—revelation—let them come greet me? Or…just never have any at all?
I swear though, I feel like the only person in this entire academy who doesn’t get butterflies of delight at the thought of repeating our “time-honored traditions.” And the fact that I’m alone in my skepticism makes me feel more than a little bit broken.
Once upon a time, I believed all the lies too.
But those days are long gone.
As I brush my teeth for the sixth time today and foamy mint fills my mouth, I turn my head to stare at my backpack, which is propped up against the foot of my bed. The green pack looms there, filled to the brim with all the promises I’ve made.
Even if I’m a faulty omega, I can try to be the perfect alpha for Ted.
A terrified shiver travels up my spine as reality hits me like a two by four. Tonight’s the night. I’m going to have to sneak off campus because I need to go check into Teddie’s dorm. Then—my stomach twists anxiously again—I want to sneak back to sleep here, because there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep surrounded by alphas.
I mean, what if my scent suppressor wears off in the middle of the night? What if my roommate is into stupid guy pranks and discovers I’m wearing a bodysuit? Or what if—nope, don’t even want to think anything worse into existence.
The worst-case scenarios have been running on endless replay through my mind for the past hour. Hence my stomach issues. I’ll have to calm down if I’m going to make it through the night.
Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and realize how pale I am. I look like I could audition for the part of Casper the Terrified-Out-of-His-Mind Ghost.
Hopefully, they think Teddie’s just on the mend from an injury. I do have that ankle brace, so maybe I can play that up. Perhaps that will get people to leave me alone.
I just have to do it. Just have to rip off the Band-Aid.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I take one final, calming breath. Then I swipe a towel over my lips and stride out of the bathroom.
I’ve got my backpack on, cape covering me, one leg is over the sill, and I’m wriggling, struggling to fit out the window?—
A knock at my door makes every muscle in my body snap into a clinched hold. That causes me to nearly pitch forward face first into the wooden window frame, and I have to thrust my arms out to brace myself. As my lungs race to catch up on the four breaths they missed in their panic, I curse whoever came to visit at the exact wrong moment.
Have I not been rude enough today? I tried giving everyone the cold shoulder and clutching my stomach a bit so they’ll think I’m PMS-y and back off. I even let Harper know I didn’t feel well gently, because she’s been so nice.
Motherfucker!
I debate whether or not to answer.
Finally, with a scrunch of my nose, I decide that it’s probably better to tell people to leave me alone than to chance them trying to get a teacher to unlock the door and check on me. Grabbing onto the sides of the windows, I lean back into the room and call out, “I’m sick. I don’t want to talk.”
“Can I get you anything?” Harper’s voice calls through the door. Why she’s there and didn’t just meet me in the bathroom, I couldn’t say. Maybe because she didn’t want to walk in on the puke fest. Maybe she’s a sympathetic puker and would have started up herself.
Whatever the case, I’m grateful she’s just at the door. It is kind of nice of her to check in on me.
But that reminds me… I huff and slip inside, crossing the room to double-check that I’ve locked the door that leads from our joint bathroom into my dorm.
It’s bolted. Good.
I call out to Harper, “Thanks for checking. Really sweet, but I think I just want to be left alone to sleep.”
“Okay. Hope you feel better.” Her tone is kind and genuine, and I sigh as I stride back to the window and wrestle my way out again with my giant backpack, sans cloak this time because it’s just too much hassle. It would be awfully nice if I could truly trust her.
But experience has taught me that trust is typically a foolish gamble.
And so, I slide out into the night and pull my window shut, alone in my subterfuge.
* * *
Gretal’s Diner is a loud, boisterous place that always smells like french fries. It’s exactly the type of place I’d normally avoid because it’s always packed with extroverts who seem to think shouting is an acceptable volume level for conversation.
But it does have one major thing going for it—the bathrooms are tucked down a narrow hallway with an exit door right behind them into the alley. In other words, it’s the perfect location for me to slip into a bathroom stall, pull off my gender swap like Superman, and then slip out the back, no one else the wiser.
That’s exactly what I do. And I just pretend that my suit-donning skills are as slick as Mr. Flying Muscles and that I don’t bang my head against the stall door along the way.
After I check my wig in the mirror, I stride out, peering around when I open the alley door to ensure the coast is clear. Shutting it slowly so that it closes without a sound, I then turn toward the moonlit dumpster.
I used to think moonlight made everything look better, but it turns out the magic does not apply to graffitied bins that smell like ass.
A stringy-haired feral cat hisses at me as I go by, and I try to hold my breath, to not inhale the putrid smell wafting over me. I suppose that Gretal’s has a second upside; after walking past this bin, I’m pretty certain any lingering omega sweetness on my person has withered away.
Starting down the road, I go over greetings, my thoughts racing ahead of me. Teddie typically does a head nod and smile, so I figure I’ll try to start with that and talk as little as possible.
“Hey!”
A voice startles me from my thoughts, and I glance up to see a girl about my age, maybe a year older, standing on the sidewalk and staring at me. She’s clearly dressed for a date in a short, flaring red dress and heels, but her hands are on her hips in scolding fashion.
“This is the omega side of the sidewalk!” she hisses angrily.
My hand flies up to my mouth. Fuck! I didn’t even notice. But my horror slowly transmutes into a cocky grin because clearly, she thinks I’m an alpha.
Score.
Too bad Teddie’s not here to see this.
I debate texting the sanctimonious shit, who’s told me to back out twice today, but Caran won’t appreciate me riling him up. Especially since today’s a treatment day and Ted supposedly just got another dose. He’s going to be exhausted.
I’ll go over tomorrow when he’s got more energy and give him a play-by-play of my victories then.
Muttering an apology to this random girl who doesn’t realize she made my night, I shift my backpack against my spine and then check for cars before darting across the street to the alpha side. I have to mentally whip myself in order to remember to strut in a manly way and not to skip in my excitement.
Manly thoughts, Brylee. Burps. Beer. Balls.
My stupid list of alpha-like things is interrupted when I’m hit with a barrage of scents that are nearly as potent as that dumpster I just left behind, though not quite so unpleasant. Sharp sage, saffron, pine, and smoky undertones all compete for my nose’s attention as I walk toward Eros via the alpha sidewalk.
The dark castle rises in front of me, a black monstrosity backlit by a creepy, nearly full moon. It has all the intimidating features that would make it the perfect set for a horror movie. Hopefully, it won’t actually be anything like that.
My stomach tenses when I see a short line of guys standing at the gate, and the reality of what I’m about to do washes over me. Though I’ve been through it in my head a thousand times, there’s something about finally being on the tip of committing a crime that makes it feel infinitely more real.
Joining the back of the line, I can’t stop my hand as it reaches up to feel my wig, just to quadruple check that it’s still in place. It’s hot, itchy, and annoying, and I’m certain there’s a bobby pin in the back that’s trying to stab through my skull, but it’s the best I could do. Caran mentioned chopping off my hair to make myself look more like my twin, but that’s just one thing I refuse to do.
“Shit. Look, it’s the prince,” someone calls out in front of me, making my hand fall.
Guys don’t mess with their hair.
Showtime.
While Brylee would blush and look down like every docile omega should, Teddie would make eye contact with these alphas. I try that, pairing it with a wide smile, feeling awkward as fuck. As I attempt to look casual and unaffected and to remember not to shift my weight over to one goddamned hip, my heart flutters like a hummingbird.
I tricked a girl. But can I trick alphas?
“What happened?” The guy in front of me, a gangly guy with glasses and a mole near his right eye, gestures down at my foot.
Immediately, I realize I ran across the street earlier while wearing an ankle brace. Dammit!
My head almost swivels to look and see if that omega is still there. If she noticed. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m undercover now.
Two seconds in, and I already messed up big time. Teddie would have a field day if he knew.
But this other alpha is waiting for an answer, and I can’t ignore him, so I give a shrug as I lower my voice an octave and say, “Rec soccer. Pulled it.”
If only that was the real reason why pain constantly flares up in my ankle.
“Bummer,” the mole man replies.
The guy behind me, however, chimes in, “Wish I’d just pulled something. I heard the first week, the professors run you ’til you puke.”
“Pretty convenient timing, huh?” Mole Man responds with a laugh, glancing at me as if I’m clever.
I just shrug because that seems safer than talking.
Luckily, the line slides up, and he’s called forward to the table because there are a few administrators sitting behind it, organizing people alphabetically, and his letter’s up.
I focus on breathing. On the knot I’m swallowing over in my throat. I’ve gotten through the basics, but I’m going to have to say my name soon. Theodore. Theodore. Theodore. Catching myself mouthing it, I stop, because I’m going to make my brother look like an idiot.
“Yo. Ted! Didn’t realize your time was up, man. Good to see you!” One of the guys behind the table checking people in, a burly guy with a head full of dark curls, gives me the dude nod.
Fuck. Is that some acquaintance I don’t know?
Cue writhing snake pit in my stomach and bile inching back up my throat.
Fighting hard against my rising panic, I lift my chin in return and check the last name placard in front of Teddie’s friend. He’s got A-H, so not my name. Thank goodness.
The guy behind me slides up to the opening at the table and says, “Hey. Sam Buckley. Got my packet?”
My attention begins to fade from their conversation and wait for my own opening when the curly-headed guy calls out, “No way! You got the prince for a roomie!”
My head whips back to study Sam immediately, and I find him doing the same. Right. I saw his picture. In my nervous state, I completely blanked.
With a smile that looks too wide for his face and ears that tip out just a little bit like an elf, Sam’s memorable—in a nerdy, cute way. But right now, his appearance isn’t the most striking thing about him. As we make eye contact and soak one another in, I can tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that this guy is not an alpha.
What the hell is he doing here?
He clears his throat and smooths his hand down his jeans before extending it. “Sam.” He states the obvious because he literally just said that.
Reaching forward, I clasp his palm and squeeze. His facial expression grows pained, and I realize that I’ve overcompensated, so I loosen my grip. “Sorry. Teddie.”
The guy behind the table is one of those who feels the need to butt into every conversation. He can’t be left out. With a wide, tour-guide-like, completely unnecessary gesture, he adds, “He’s our first ever beta at Eros.”
My head does a slow swivel over to him as Sam’s face turns neon red. The snarky part of me wants to cut the guy down with a “oh, I thought that was you,” but those kinds of quips generally only work out in movies.
Besides, my job isn’t to draw attention to myself, positive or negative. So I simply nod, hoping he’ll move on.
The burly guy decides to do me a favor and leans over, snatching my packet from the person beside him, ignoring their outraged huff. “Here, Your Highness.” He holds out a large envelope to me.
“Thanks,” I respond dryly, trying to rattle around why the hell Eros would let in a beta, what that means for the war we’re embroiled in, what expectations a beta roommate might have versus an alpha, and also simultaneously digging through my packet for a map.
In other words, my brain is an absolute shitshow.
My befuddled state must be blatantly obvious because Sam shuffles forward a step. With a scuff of his sneaker, he offers, “Um…if you want, I did some recon earlier, so I know where our room is.”
“Great.” I keep my answer to one word but give him a grin to accompany it.
He heads off through the gates and past a hedge. I force my eyes to remain glued to his back and not to drift sideways to the wall behind the hedge, or the castle behind the wall—Darling.
Even so, sounds drift across from the other side—soft giggles that sound so fake they might have been recorded.
“Damn. You smell them?” an alpha behind me says as he stomps in with another companion, the pair of them as loud as a herd of bison.
“Can’t wait ’til we get to go over there.”
“Same.”
Fearing the worst, and deciding I couldn’t keep from grimacing if I hear the conversation take a lewd turn, I hurry forward, my shoulder bumping against Sam’s and jostling my bodysuit so that it scrapes against my nipples. “Shit. Sorry!” I apologize, clearing my throat after because my voice got just the tiniest bit pitchy over the nipple pain.
“No problem,” Sam responds hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure he believes me.
“So…your family force you to come like mine did or…?” I trail off.
“Pretty much.” He huffs out a laugh that doesn’t sound very amused and points left, around an old-school catapult set right in the middle of the lawn. “They donated an arm, a leg, and an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus, from what I’ve been told.”
“Mummy’s curse upon you and all that if you mess up?”
“Yup.”
“Mine too.” I pause, but I can’t help myself. The joke is right there. Waiting on a platter. “Bet my mummy’s scarier than yours.”
He snorts as we snake around a bend in the path and our dorm building comes into view. Over the solemn, solid-looking double doors, a snarling gargoyle seems to leap out of the stone. Beneath it is a banner that says: Mars Dormitory.
Super homey.
We mount the steps, and as we do, a spider the size of a Suburban drops down on a web right in front of my face. A scream builds up inside my throat, and I slam my lips together, swallowing it down, though the second I do, it feels like the terrified pressure billows inside my chest. I’m about to explode.
Of all the fears in the world, spiders are in my top three.
I. Hate. Them.
God. I want to dash right back down the stairs. I want to screech to high fucking heaven and jump and launch a shoe at this nasty thing before collapsing in a sobbing mess.
But I can’t. I can’t do any of that.
What would an alpha do? I ask myself in a frenetic panic.
The spider gives a horrifying little wriggle, and its nasty legs start to move as it climbs back up the string it descended on, and I can’t think of a single answer.
“Teddie?” Sam’s head pops up in the doorway because he clearly noticed I wasn’t following. “You good?”
“Yup. Yeah. I’m good,” I lie, reaching up and gripping the straps of my backpack, squeezing hard to relieve some tension as I follow my roommate through the door.
I could fucking kick myself. First night in and I was nearly “unmanned” by a spider.
I’m going to have to try a lot harder if I’m going to pull this twin switch off. Sucking in a deep breath to bolster myself, I try to regain some calm. But what happens when I step into the foyer makes all my gathered confidence scatter to the wind.