Page 62 of Knot Your Basic B*tch

Maybe it was just because I’d worked so hard for so many months… neglecting self care in pursuit of a dream that was now looking more like a dead end.

Maybe it was because I wanted my scent matches… but how could I go back to them now, after I’d fucked everything up?

…barely a week ago, I left them because I needed to go and find myself. How was I supposed to come running back now… when it turns out the self I was trying to find, ended up being shitty.

After I hurt them… the men that I loved… and for what?

All I know is this—everything unleashed in a flood.

My eyes went from moisture prickling at the corner to trickles pouring down that I couldn’t stop. My nose was doing that thing where it was starting to feel drippy. I was in a desperate need of tissues before gross snot entered into the equation.

All I wanted was to feel like a hot mess—not look like one too.

But now it was too late, and I couldn’t stop the tears. They seemed to be pouring down.

I tried to get my words out and explain everything to Papa Diesel, but I might have been hyperventilating a little.

“It-t’s just… all that studying, and all those tests. It was so much… and for what? I don’t know why I did that, and I’m fucking everything up. And now they’re going to hate me, and I don’t know what to do.” Once I got the words out, I rubbed my forehead, as if that would help me hold in all of the emotions that were threatening to drown me.

Why did I do all that?

Why hadn’t I just talked to them about working? Instead of pushing them away…

How did I manage to fuck up my entire life, within a week of graduating from the Institute?

Had I really turned my back on the men I loved… in order to work for a minimum wage job?

By now, I was practically sobbing. It was bad. Like I was using the top of my shirt as a make-shift tissue. I’d probably have to throw the whole thing out by the time I got my emotions under control.

Papa Diesel was holding up his hands, like dealing withhis emotional omega daughter was somehow worse than a terrorist extremist negotiation.

“It’s okay, Peanut.” He was backing away, even as he attempted to reassure me. “How about I go get your Mother?

Soft hands started rubbing my back. Hands that I knew.

“Hey Chloe-cutie,” Mother crooned in her soft voice.

I wanted to hug her and bury my face in her warmth and let all of this mess disappear—except that she was like a thousand months pregnant and I didn’t want to like, give her affection that was too aggressive and trigger early labor or something.

I sniffed loudly and rubbed some of the tears out of my eyes to get a good look at her instead. Mother sat by my side and Daddy-Gee was next to her, providing support. Perhaps more than just emotional support. It looked like he was holding her arm so that she wouldn’t go toppling over. I guess balancing gets trickier when one knows that they have feet, but can’t see them. Or maybe Mother had one of the dads by her side in case her fetus decided it wanted to pop out early.

“What’s going on, my Chloe-cutie-pie?” Mother looked tired. She was always tired this late into pregnancy. But her concern was still warm and comforting.

If anyone could help me sort out this mess that I’d gotten myself into, it was Mother. No matter how exhausted she was from growing yet another sibling, Mother would give me good advice.

I’d worked my ass off for the entire Institute program, and finished my online Associates degree a year early. Why the fuck did I feel such a burning need to do all that?

I don’t know who I was trying to prove myself to—itdidn’t seem like anyone cared how academically accomplished I was. All I’d managed to do was to stress myself out.

I’d thought that working at my dream job would make it all worth it. I had even filled one notebook with detailed plans for what I was going to do with the money… Maybe in a couple of years I’d even be able to afford to go on a vacation to some vacant island in the middle of nowhere.

But obviously, all of those plans had gone to shit. All that remained of all that effort were the stains left behind on the bottom of the toilet bowl after my dreams had been flushed away.

“Why did no one ever tell me that a secretary job would be so awful?” I crossed my arms around my chest, my gaze fixed on the unfinished bowl of ice cream on my desk that was slowly melting into a sad puddle.

Daddy-Gee looked like he was struggling not to laugh, hiding his laugh behind a coughing fit.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Mother cooed, elbowing Daddy-Gee sharply in the side. He yelped and got himself together. “Were you expecting the job to be a bit more exciting?”