Chapter 29
River
Idon’t know how long it’s been since I laid down. All I’ve been able to do is toss and turn, never being able to get comfortable or have my brain shut off. That fucking text has my body thrumming with anxiety and no way to relieve it.
My brain tells me the logical thing is to tell the guys, to tell Storm.
But then all the reasons why I shouldn’t override it.
There’s no doubt in my mind what they would do.
They definitely wouldn’t let me leave this house, nor would they let the pack from Heatwave anywhere near me.
My heat would be a bust, and I’d be forced to go through it on my own.
And that’s not an option I want right now.
Hell, they’d be worse than ever, watching me like hawks.
“I just need to get through my heat, then I can deal with this asshole.” I don’t know why I think saying it out loud will make it real to me, but it was worth a try.
I roll over on my side, beating my pillow with my hand, fluffing it up, before laying my head back down and sighing heavily. Closing my eyes, I press them tightly together and start counting, hoping that the mundane act would lull me to sleep.
It doesn’t.
Throwing back my covers, I let my legs swing over the edge of the bed as I sit up.
My toes dig into the plush rug by my bed, grounding me.
Seeing how I can’t sleep, I might as well get up.
I make my way out of my bedroom, stopping and grabbing my cozy blanket from the couch and wrapping it around my shoulders. Warm milk should help relax me.
I move through my tiny home with ease, not needing to turn on a light until I reach the kitchen, and then it’s only the one over the stove. I’ve memorized every inch of this home over the last two years, so I don’t need any light to guide my way.
Opening the refrigerator, I take out the milk, pour some into my favorite unicorn coffee mug and heat it up in the microwave. Hopefully this does the trick. If not, I guess I’ll be one tired girl tomorrow. Not that it matters.
While I wait for it to heat, I think about how easily I could alleviate some of the stress I’m feeling over the text with a simple slice of my skin.
I can already feel the familiar comfort of the blade piercing my skin, as a slow trickle of red seeps from around it.
But there’s not a razor present in the house for me to console my anxiety with.
But there are knives. I’ve never used one before.
There’s always a first time, though. I pull a knife from the block and let the end glide across my arm, with just enough pressure to feel the tease of the blade but not break the skin.
It would be so easy to just press a little bit more and slice.
To let the calm overtake me, grounding me in the present without any worry for what’s to come.
It's almost as if I have an angel on my shoulder telling me not to cut, while the devil sits on the other reminding me of the euphoric feeling it will give me.
While the desire to cut is overwhelming, I remember the way I feel after, when I fade back to reality and the shame takes over.
Falling back into old habits won’t help me.
It’s just a temporary patch. The problem, the mysterious sender of the messages, will still be there, lurking and waiting to torment me more.
“No. You’re stronger than this, River.” I slip the knife back into its slot and go to my desk and dig through the drawer finding an elastic hair tie, and place it on my wrist. I snap the band with my finger, grounding myself, forcing the urge to cut away.
A few minutes later, I hear the beep of the microwave. Getting my milk, I head to the living room. I can’t wait to talk to my therapist and tell her about how I handled this, leaving out the message of course. My very own little breakthrough.
I will not let cutting define me.
I plop down in the chair at my desk, debating over reaching out to see if Holden or Nash are awake.
Maybe Roman? Anything to have my mind on something else.
Opening my laptop, I power it on and wait for it to come to life.
I blow on the steaming liquid before I take a slow sip, not wanting to burn my tongue.
My nails clink on the mug, playing a melodic beat that I can’t help but hum to.
Opening up my school messaging program, I bite my lip.
My eyes drift down to the bottom of the screen.
It’s two am. Are they awake? Should I even message?
My fingers are gliding over the keyboard before I even have a chance to overthink my choice.
To Nash: Are you awake? I could really use one of your corny jokes right now.
But I don’t stop there.
To Holden: Are you awake?
Then as if I’m begging for someone to question me about who I am, I pull out my burner phone. I know the answer about whether Roman went to the club looking for another fight already. Both Nash and Holden told me.
Me: Did you use the information I sent you to out the lies to everyone? Or did you go to the club looking for another fight?
To my astonishment, he answers right away.
Roman: I’m planning to hold on to that little bit of information. I’m sure there will be a perfect time to share it, but right now isn’t it. Are you planning to vet all my opponents if I do?
I want to tell him that I’d do anything he wanted. But I don’t. I can’t even believe I’m thinking that.
Me: I can if you need me to. Wouldn’t want someone to beat you.
Roman: LOL. No one will ever beat me.
It’s as if I can hear his laughter. He laughed once here while he was working, and the sound was infectious.
Me: You’re pretty confident about that.
Roman: I’m honest.
I can’t help but smile. I tap the space bar, bringing my screen back to life to see if H0lden or Nash have responded, but they haven’t. My spirit drops a bit, but I know it’s late, and they’re probably sleeping.
I don’t reply. I don't know what else to say. What reason can I give him should he ask why I’m messaging him? So I sit there, slowly drinking my milk, letting its warmth soothe and relax me.
Eventually, I call it a night for the second time and head back to bed. Hopefully, sleep consumes me this time.
***
The morning light cuts through the slit in the curtains, cascading over my face. My eyes flutter open, and I have to squint because the brightness is so painful. There’s a pounding percussion of drums in my head, making me wince, my stomach churning so badly I fear I may hurl.
I roll over, pulling the blankets over my head as my hand aimlessly searches for my favorite stuffy. I can’t help but moan as cramps assault my stomach, feeling as if they’re trying to claw their way out of me like the alien did to Ripley in Alien.
“Fucking heat,” I grumble, wishing I had a heating pad right now. Or an alpha knot. Flashes of my first heat assault my vision, causing me to cringe as tears slide down my cheek, dripping onto my pillow.
I’m so scared. Can I do this? Trust a pack to help me through my heat.
A part of me wants to beg Torin and the guys to help me, but that’s the needy omega part of me.
The sad part is I know they would if I asked them, but I can’t.
Just the thought is gross. It would be like asking Storm. No thank you.
I give myself another fifteen minutes to have my pity party before getting out of bed.
It’s time to pack, and I’m hungry. I dig in my dresser find some leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, and head over to the main house, crossing my fingers that the guys have cooked.
Josh normally does on Saturday mornings and it’s typically French Toast. My favorite.
When I open the front door, the familiar scent of cinnamon and maple envelops me and I can’t help but moan. If it smells this delicious, I already know it’s going to taste amazing.
“There better be a plate for me,” I shout, making my way into the kitchen.
“It’s already made and waiting for you,” Josh replies, and I smile widely.
Just as I step into the kitchen, arms wrap around me, causing me to yelp, as I’m lifted off the floor and swung around in a circle.
“Put me down,” I manage to get out in between laughter.
Callux sets me down, spinning me so that I face him, hugs me tightly before placing a kiss on my forehead. When he pulls away, he has a concerned look on his face as his smile morphs into a frown.
“You’re hot,” his voice is rough and deep. “I think you and Torin need to go to the safehouse today, and the rest of us can meet the two of you per our original plan. We can call Heatwave so they can let the pack know it’s time.”
I pull out of his arms. “I’m fine. They don’t need to be called yet,” I snap at him, before heading over to the table and sitting down at the plate I know is for me.
“Yes they do!” he growls.
“No. They. Don’t!” I make sure to enunciate each word loud and clear to make sure there’s no mistake that he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.
“River,” Torin says softly, trying to calm me. “We really do need to let them know.”
I take a deep breath, then blow it out. I know it’s all the symptoms of nearing heat that has me lashing out at them. Well, mostly why I am. They are being a bit pigheaded.
“I have no problem going to the safehouse today. I can be ready in an hour. But the pack. I don’t want them there until the last minute.
You can call and tell them to be ready for the call, but that’s it.
Either we do that or I’ll lock myself in the apartment and ride it out alone with nothing but my fingers and a vibrator. ”
Callux starts making gagging noises, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Fine. We can do that,” Tav finally speaks up.
“Thank you,” I whisper, picking up my fork and knife, cutting off a piece of the French Toast covered in powdered sugar and eating it. Fuck that’s good.