Chapter 12 #3
It makes no sense. I look at Amy, who flinches at my gaze. Realization dawns on me. Of course it doesn’t make sense. It’s a half cobbled together story from someone who saw an opportunity and took it.
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” she mutters, voice trembling. “I didn’t want to say anything, I thought we could be friends. I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen when it’s this painful.”
It’s my turn to scoff. “I thought we could’ve been friends too.” We stare at each other, neither omega willing to concede.
The warning growl that comes from Ian makes Amy jump so much she stops sobbing. “You’re both grown women and you’re wasting my time with this playground nonsense. I don’t care if it was on purpose or not. You bruised Amy’s wrists, Ariana. You may not have meant to, but you’re bigger than her.”
“Sorry, I’ll let her step in glass next time.
” Unable to resist, my sarcastic response comes out as sweetly as I can muster, feeling my cheeks ache with the forced smile I put on.
Bigger by a couple of inches, maybe. She’s what, five foot one to my five six?
He’s making it sound like I’m the Hulk in comparison to her.
Ian’s unamused by my attitude. “You’ll go without dinner tonight, Ariana. Do you need a doctor, Amy?”
“Oh, no!” She jolts being addressed. “It’s not that bad. I just couldn’t bottle it in anymore.”
“I thought you said it hurt to put any weight on it,” I comment dryly.
“Don’t make it two nights without dinner.” Ian’s voice takes on an impatient edge. “Liam, Cole, help Amy finish cooking. Ariana, stay.”
“Of course,” Liam helps Amy stand wobbly, a far cry from the woman walking around fine during the day. She leans onto him like she might collapse without his support.
Cole hesitates, looking between the two of us. Even before Amy lets out the small cry of pain that makes him rush to her side, I know he won’t be staying with or defending me. There’s only so many times I can get my hopes up.
I move to the side to give them space to pass through the doorway. Liam refuses to look at me and Cole won’t meet my eyes, but the same can’t be said for the omega sandwiched between them.
She looks nothing like the woman earnestly defending me in the kitchen earlier. Amy’s far more satisfied now. She runs her teary eyes over my figure, lingering on the ring on my hand.
It seems I’m the only one who notices or cares about her smug air as their threesome leaves. Once they’re gone, I turn to Ian.
“I didn’t do it,” I state flatly, still refusing to give in. I’ve been passive all these years, no matter what they’ve said or done. Why would I suddenly decide to become violent with a girl almost ten years younger than me?
Ian sighs, lifting a bottle of liquor from the desk. Three glasses sit half emptied on the wooden surface. Their celebration must have been interrupted by Amy’s injuries. Or maybe they invited her in and then the tears began. It doesn’t matter who sought who out, really.
“I believe you.” I blink in surprise, but it explains his refusal to bark. I just don’t understand the logic why. “It sounds like it was a misunderstanding.” Ian’s voice is almost as flat as mine in his exasperation.
“A misunderstanding or a lie?” He doesn’t answer my question, but I don’t stop. “So I’m losing dinner over a bit of confusion?” I didn’t have lunch and my breakfasts are always feeble. “What’s Amy’s punishment?” It takes two for a misunderstanding, doesn’t it?
My pack lead’s pale eyes study my face. “Aren’t her bruises punishment enough for you?”
They were an accident. I grabbed her out of reflex when I saw the cups falling towards her. I didn’t realize how strong my grip was. I don’t even like hurting bugs, much less another person. Surely after nine years, they know me well enough to comprehend that.
“I’m too old for this.” Ian mutters quietly, talking to himself. “You’re dismissed, sweetheart.” He doesn’t look up from the glass of liquor he pours himself, but the commanding tone makes it clear he’s speaking to me.
The walls of his office feel constricting, but the hallway is worse. It stretches endlessly, yet simultaneously isn’t long enough to escape the noise coming from the rest of the apartment. There’s laughter sounding from down toward the living room, taunting me on the walk to my bedroom.
I don’t turn the light on behind me as I enter. For a moment, I stand unmoving in the empty room, staring at nothing. Then I snap, ripping the diamond ring off my hand.
The weight of it disappears, but I almost expect the band to have seared branding around my finger. Just like how I’d woken up with the mark on my neck years ago, framed as a form of honor by everyone around me.
A gift for a job well done, according to my pack. Well done for playing my part. Well done for contributing like they wanted.
But not well done enough for them to believe me, apparently. The ring’s cool in my hands, a smooth circle except for where the crystals sit atop it. With as much strength as I can muster, I hurl it into the dark of the room.
It hits a wall with an unsatisfying ping and disappears into the shadows. If I’m lucky, I won’t see it again. The thought flashes into my mind that if I was truly lucky, I could pawn it off, take the money, and leave.
It’s a grim thought that fills me with guilt. This is where I’m supposed to be, an omega dutifully with her pack. Still, there’s a small part of me that wishes Ian’s dismissals extended to further than my bedroom. There’s another part of me that hates myself for even considering it.
Perhaps they were right at the start, on that Sunday that feels like a lifetime ago.
With time, maybe I could’ve gotten used to Amy being here.
We could have learned to coexist peacefully, if it weren’t for our supposed misunderstanding.
Today sealed the deal that we can’t without one sacrificing.
And it’s clear I’m the one expected to do so.
Haven’t I already given up enough? She’s ruined the last two good days I’ve had. Those good days weren’t even because of my pack, she already gets all their affection. The Coates gave them to me. And she found a way to stomp on my brief happiness regardless.
Faintly, I can hear the pack members having dinner. No one comes to check on me or bring me a plate. When the door opens without a knock, I slip past Ian and Cole.
“Where are you going?” Cole asks, surprised.
“Dishes,” I answer simply.
I don’t wait for a response. A sliver of light shines from the opposite end of the hallway, slipping out under Amy’s closed door. Everyone retreated to the omega’s bedrooms after dinner, presumably tired with full stomachs. Everyone except me.
The kitchen’s a bigger mess than it’s ever been. Unsoaked pots and pans are piled up in the sink, still crusted with whatever Amy cooked. Not a single spot of counter space sits empty, covered with dirty mixing bowls or specks of flour.
It’s less of an apartment and more of a war zone. An impressive feat for someone who can allegedly barely walk.
The worst is the smell, not of the burned cheese sticking to the first pot I grab or from the sink at all. It’s the scent of sickeningly sugary toffee coated over every surface, sweet enough to make my stomach ache.
Her message is loud and clear. I remember feeling like a dog claiming my territory before. Now I wonder if we’re both dogs. If we are, I must be the old show dog watching her owners fawn over the new puppy.