6. Bella Rose
Chapter 6
Bella Rose
T he hospital staff member wheels me out the automatic doors and into the harsh afternoon light. My father holds out his hand to help me, but this is already embarrassing enough. Stubbornly, I dodge him, pushing myself up and ducking into the open backseat of my Prime’s SUV.
My usually put-together mother looks back at me with a tear-streaked face. Her messy dark hair is held in a clip, and her face is free of makeup. Whereas she seems to be feeling everything, her scent sour with grief, I’m numb.
It’s been four days since my birthday and two days since I learned I’m not an omega, but I can’t wrap my head around it. Everything I thought I knew about the world and my place in it is in question, and I’m frozen, trying to brace myself for impact.
My dad squeezes next to me and pats the back of the driver’s seat, signaling my Prime to drive. The drive home is silent except for my mother’s occasional sobs.
I don’t wait for whatever pep talk my dads will surely give, and I can’t stomach seeing any more of my mother’s disappointment. When my father parks, I duck out of the SUV and race upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.
One look at my nest and my throat gets tight. Am I even allowed to have a nest anymore? I don’t need one. I’m not an omega. I never was.
I bite my lip, trying not to cry, but it’s no use. I slide down my closed door, tucking my head into my knees so I don’t have to see my nest. The tears fall, heavy racking sobs that steal my breath.
Everything hurts, and I’m filled with so much despair I don’t know how I’m still breathing.
* * *
Annoyed, I punch the next button in the series, my foot tapping the carpet. It takes the new phone my mother left for me another fifteen minutes before it finishes doing its magic.
I wipe the snot on my sleeve and find the app store to download and restore my accounts. I’m not big on socials, not since starting high school. I don’t have any friends, not really, and stalking people’s posts usually makes me feel like shit. But I don’t know if I can walk back into school without knowing what I’m up against.
When I finally get it sorted, I’m flooded with notifications. My stomach drops, but I have to look. Clicking the most recent opens a picture. It’s dark and kind of blurry, but I can still tell it’s Nash carrying me on the lawn at the party. I’m only wearing his shirt, and I look absolutely trashed.
The picture isn’t good. I don’t recognize myself or know what happened, but the flashing text that reads: “Post-Nash Haze,” followed by an eggplant emoji, is the thing that really hits hard. The comments are worse. So much worse. Reading them makes bile rise in my throat. One after another, there are different versions, all basically calling me a slut.
I race to my bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. The acid burns, and my nose stings. I sob and puke until I collapse on my bathroom floor. What they’re saying isn’t true. I don’t know everything that happened that night, but I know that. The truth doesn’t matter though.
My father calls me for dinner, but I ignore it. My eyes sting, and my heart breaks. What am I supposed to do now? How can I get back up after this and face it all tomorrow?
* * *
“Dad, can you give me a ride to school? I missed the bus,” I ask nervously, stepping into the kitchen. I missed the bus on purpose because there was no way I was prepared for twenty-five minutes of questions about the party with no way to escape.
My mother turns from the stove where she’s making breakfast, looking nothing like the wrecked version from yesterday. Her face falls. “Don’t you need to get dressed? When you feel your worst, it’s always better to look your best.”
We’ve been fighting over this for the last two years. I look down at my leggings and Converse, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt around my wrists before hugging my middle. What’s the point anymore? “No. I’m good.”
She purses her lips, no doubt about to say something, when my Prime jumps up from the table to intervene. “Let’s go, kiddo. If I’m dropping you off, we need to get moving.” He takes a final sip of his coffee and pulls on his jacket.
My dad sets down his tablet and gears up for the pep talk I skirted yesterday. “You got this. I know it’s been a rough few days, but everything will return to normal. You’ll see.”
“Right, Dad.” I huff, heading to the SUV and barely reining in the urge to stomp like a child.
My Prime follows me, stuffing his briefcase in the back and stopping to look at me before turning on the car. “How about a treat before school? One of those frozen coffees?”
“No, thanks.” I shake my head, leaning against the window and staring out, wishing I was going anywhere but back to school. I know it’s best to just get it over with. The more I delay it, the more anxious I’m gonna get.
The drive through the downtown district of Knotty Pines is too short; we're there before I’m ready.
I move to open the door, but my father’s hand on my shoulder stops me. “Betas live normal lives, Bella. They have careers and marriages. Sometimes packs. I know you’re disappointed, but you’re healthy after quite a scare. What happened was awful, and I’m sorry this was how you found out. I could throttle your cousin...” He blows out a breath, and we sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. “You have your whole life ahead of you, kiddo. No matter your designation, we love you.” There is so much pity in his voice it makes me want to scream.
“Tell that to Mom,” I say spitefully, glaring at him over my shoulder.
He sighs and sits back, rubbing his hand across his face. “Your mom is gonna need time to adjust to all this.”
What he means is she needs time to adjust to me.
“Right.” I slam the door on my way out, hurrying since I’m already late. That was the plan, but I don’t actually want to end up in detention.
I sneak into class as the tardy bell rings, using the chaos to hide in the back. Mr. Farris is a former-military tight-ass, and I’ve never been more grateful for him bellowing orders for everyone to get situated before he begins his nonstop history lecture. It doesn’t stop people from whispering or occasionally staring in my direction though. And twice, an alpha near the front rumbles a deep, “B-U-S-T-E-D,” which causes a wave of snickers to roll through the room and Mr. Farris to yell.
When the bell rings, I haul ass, ducking into the bathroom to hide until the hallways clear.