Chapter 13 #2
“So that’s why I can’t touch anything more than my phone camera?” I scoff. “Seriously?”
“What in the world has gotten into your head recently?” Stuart scowls. “You pretend like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about, Andromeda.”
I do. My father was a film director. A successful one, too. Apparently, he was big on documentaries.
Maybe that’s where I got my fascination with cameras and videography from.
Not that I’ve had a lot of opportunity outside my own social media and the occasional vlog I edit to explore that interest. I asked for a camera for my 10th birthday and my mom threw such a big fit.
Big enough that she threw up in the toilet from how upset she was. I had to hold her hair back.
I never asked again.
“Was he really a demon?” My voice comes out far smaller than I think it should be, talking to Stuart when he’s in this mood. He may be a beta but the man has a ridiculously iron will. “Why is anything associated with the guy automatically evil? I barely even remember him.”
Stuart slams his fist down on the leather seat between us.
The impact reverberates through the seat, and I jolt from the impact. My heart immediately leaps into my throat as my breath seizes in my chest.
My fight or flight response kicks in, settling on flight. It takes the last little hold I have on the logical part of my brain to convince myself not to throw myself out of the moving car. A strangled half-laugh, half muffled-sob leaves my throat.
My mom has threatened to throw herself out of the car before. On multiple occasions, when the world is too overwhelming and she needs to escape.
I’ve never understood the impulse until now.
“Never say that around your mother.”
I’m not confident in my ability to speak without making a fool of myself, so I just offer the man a silent, jerky nod.
That seems to be enough to satisfy him. Probably because anything submissive fits into his worldview of what omegas should be.
Which is strange, considering the last thing I’d consider Gina to be is submissive, and he’s chased after her like a dog for years.
The rest of the ride to my apartment passes in a silence so thick and awkward it’s nearly suffocating.
I feel bad for the driver and grateful the de-scenter from the airbrushing is still working on me.
My perfume would probably be unbearable to be around right now, with the maelstrom of emotions swirling in my chest.
Left alone to my thoughts, I can’t help but think how ridiculous this is. I’m fifty percent of my father. My mom never fails to remind me of the features on my own face that remind her of him.
If she considers him to be evil, then does that make me 50% evil? Is that why I’ve never been good enough? Why she seems to hate a fundamental part of me I’ve never been able to fix?
“We’re here, Miss,” the driver calls, pulling into the roundabout in front of my apartment building.
“Thanks, Sir,” I say, flashing the driver a tight smile before slamming the door behind me.
My first breath of fresh air is ruined by Stuart rolling down the window.
“Remember what I said, Andromeda,” Stuart calls.
“Oh, I won’t forget.” I don’t bother offering the man a second glance.
The oasis that is my apartment feels tainted.
Not just from the events of today, as bad as they were, but from life in general.
Though the shitshow from today feels like it’s clinging to my skin like an oil spill.
I’m scared to touch anything when the door shuts behind me. I’m worried I’ll ruin it even more.
I throw my clothes into the washing machine instantly, bypassing my laundry hamper entirely.
I don’t want to touch them again until they’re clean.
The scrubbing and the scalding hot water of the shower leave my skin tingling and bright pink.
It’s the only thing that eases this feeling I can’t quite get rid of.
The feeling of judgement. Of eyes on my body. Of being dirty. Inadequate. Less than.
My pity party comes to a halt when I pick up my phone the moment I finish wrapping a towel in my damp hair. Text messages. I pray they’re not from Stuart or anyone else on my mom’s team.
They’re not.
Beck
Heya! Did you make it home safe?
It’s an innocent enough question, but it still makes my heart stutter in my chest. He’s... checking up on me?
Andi
Yeah
Beck
Are you as tired as I am?
It was definitely a long day, that’s for sure
I’m so tired I’m probably just gonna skip dinner and head to bed
Skip dinner? That’s no good
I can imagine the little crease between his perfect brows as he types it as clear as day. I’ve definitely done a lot of staring at his face, both in real life and on camera.
Andi
Well, the last thing I want to do is stand on my feet and cook myself something, so unless some private chef falls from the heavens, I think I’ll survive until tomorrow
The little text bubbles that indicate he’s typing pop up over and over again, taunting me with his response.
Shit, did I text him too casually? We are in a business arrangement. Should I be texting him more formally? Like an email in text form or something?
No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure if I did that, he’d say I’m acting weird.
Beck
What’s your address?
The question catches me off guard.
Andi
For tomorrow?
Beck
Well, I guess technically yes, but also no
That’s a cryptic response
Pro tip, though I’m not sure you’ll need it with the ladies, considering you probably only need to smile to get them flocking towards you, don’t be weird when you’re asking a girl for her address
So you think I’m hot?
With the layers of foundation scrubbed from my face, I know there’s a bright flush across my cheeks right now. Maybe even up to the tips of my ears.
Andi
I’d have to be blind not to notice
And I’d say after today, I could be blind and still notice, considering how touchy-feely we were at the shoot
Beck
Well, you can be touchy-feely with me anytime ;)
Still waiting on that address
Now it’s my turn to type and delete a response half a dozen times over. What in the world do I say to the Beckham Knight saying I can be touchy-feely with him anytime? With a winky face emoji?
Teenage girls around the country would strangle me and wear my skin for the opportunity of experiencing this.
I quickly determine that the best response I can come up with is no response and settle on just sending him my address.
It takes him a couple of minutes to respond to me. A couple of minutes that I spend pacing back and forth in my bathroom, tugging the bath towel tied around my body tighter every few seconds.
Beck
I hope you’re not lactose intolerant cause I ordered you a carbonara pasta from my favorite Italian place in Santa Monica, should be there in twenty minutes
What?
Beck sure is full of surprises.
Andi
You’re joking
He responds back with a screenshot from a food delivery app.
Beck
Nope, Joseph will be delivering your order to your door
Andi
You really didn’t have to
I couldn’t let my partner in crime starve, even if it was just for a night, could I?
Seriously though, was the carbonara a good choice? We never got to talk about that earlier, and if you want something else, I can always get that to you
If my mother were here she’d throw away the pasta the moment it hit the doorstep. Too many carbs. Too many unhealthy fats. Too many this, that, and whatever-the-fuck.
Andi
It’s fucking perfect
You’re my hero
Beck
Hell yeah, I am
Do you need anything else from this hero of yours? Eli is giving me nasty looks, we’re supposed to be doing a re-do of our movie night ritual, and we’ve got a no-phones rule
Go enjoy your movie
Thanks for checking on me
And for the pasta
Anytime
Actually, I do have one request
Anything, Starlight
Starlight?
Gotta practice our cute nicknames before the big date tomorrow, right?
Uh huh, yeah, sure
What was your request? Just tell me and I’ll make it happen
Were you serious about having the power to pull some strings?
I don’t want Stuart babysitting any of our future outings
Thought you’d never ask
Consider it done
The air in the bathroom has cooled considerably, but I can barely feel the chill past the flush I feel on my skin.
He did it. Without question.
He got me food, too. Without me even having to ask.
A girl could get used to this, even if it’s just a fake arrangement.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I shovel the best carbonara pasta I’ve ever tasted in my entire life down my throat before curling into bed and promptly passing out.