Page 5

FIVE

Playing: Mourning by Post Malone

I admire the brightly colored square sitting on my fingertip. There are orange waves intricately woven across the tiny paper, the pattern shimmering as it dances with the light of the fire. I put the tab on my tongue and let it sit.

I feel the sizzling warmth in front of me.

When I took a seat around this fireplace, I must’ve accidentally sat in someone’s rotation because every few minutes, a blunt is passed to me.

I accept it gratefully, giving the person a kind smile before doing the usual puff, puff, and pass.

I haven’t been doing psychedelics for very long, but I know weed always makes the transition much smoother.

I only have about thirty minutes to get home before the trip starts. I imagine my cozy sheets and comfort show playing while my favorite wax melts fill the room with a relaxing aura. I think about shutting out reality for a while. A long while.

The thought is heavenly.

Rory doesn’t agree with my new fondness for psychedelics. The weed was fine, but once I dipped my toe into LSD and Molly, she made it clear how she felt. I didn’t even tell her about the occasional Xanax and Adderall. She definitely wouldn’t approve of pills of all things.

She asked me to stop, and I vaguely agreed. I think she knows I didn’t quit, but we don’t talk about it. I couldn’t tell her the real reason I didn’t want to stop, mostly because I don’t completely understand it myself.

I can’t describe the calmness that it incites in me; it pauses the overwhelming emotion that life pours into my body. It’s the only peace I’ve had these last few months. I refuse to give it up.

I finally stand up and make my way out of the circle. I’m not exactly sure where I am right now. College row always has wonderful parties, and it’s easy to pop in and out when you’re not very popular.

My mind goes back to the last time that was brought to my attention. How Derek hissed it in my ear after one of his friends asked me a question.

I shake the memory out of my head. I don’t want to think about that.

I stumble over an uneven patch of dirt, scuffing my flats along the roots. A giggle escapes me as I right myself only to run right into a hard body. This time, there’s no righting myself. I fall straight to the ground.

“Oh shit.” I hear the mystery body mutter as he notices me. The hand holding his cigarette instinctually moves away so he doesn’t accidentally burn my skin. He throws it behind him before reaching down to help.

“I’m so sorry,” I say before he lifts me up with ease. I try to help him, but that only gives me more momentum as I practically jump in the air before landing on my feet. His hands stay on my arms to steady me and I get a nose-full of his scent, surprising tones of spiced rum and orange. Beta .

His smell is intoxicating. I sneak another whiff and have the sudden urge to ask him to wrap his arms all the way around me. My omega urges me to step closer, to ask for some much needed comfort.

I pause at that realization. Omegas and betas normally can’t smell each other unless they are pack or blood relatives.

Maybe weed messes with my hormones because I’ve never reacted to a beta this way before.

It causes heat to rise to my cheeks. I’m hoping it’s dark enough out here that he won’t notice.

He has tanned skin and dark close-cropped hair that sways flat on top. His silver earrings sparkle under the moonlight; I notice they’re little lightning bolts sitting in a tiny gauge.

“ You’re sorry? I should be sorry, what kind of man am I for not catching you before you fell?

” He gives a subdued smile. I can now hear a small accent in his voice.

I can’t decipher its origin but my omega finds it very attractive.

He winces at his corny greeting. “Sorry, that sounded better in my head.” He offers his hand to me. “I’m Ciro.”

Even the way he says his own name is attractive.

“Stacia,” I say in almost a whisper. Then I cough, trying to play off my nerves and speak a bit louder. “Stacia Kelmeckis.”

He gives me a broad smile. “I think I’ve seen you around the English building. I’m studying Communications.”

“Oh, cool!” I say, like a nerd. I clear my throat again, “I’m an English major, with a concentration in”—I hesitate, feeling embarrassed already—“Creative Writing.”

“That’s the best kind of writing!” he says immediately, causing me to let out a breath. I notice in this light that he has some tattoos above his ears. I wish I could see what they are.

“Oh shit,” I mutter out loud. I keep forgetting that I’m on a timeline to get home. I pull out my phone and ignore a text from Derek to look at the time. How much longer do I have?

Not long enough. And I can’t just walk away from this handsome beta without saying anything, especially when it’s going well. And when he has a scent that my omega keeps pushing me to get more sniffs of.

I guess honesty is the best course of action.

“I took acid,” I blurt out.

His eyes widen in surprise, but there’s a tiny hint of amusement in the tilt of his lips. “Oh… okay.”

I wince at my abrupt statement. “What I mean is… I’d love to keep talking to you but I need to get home. Like, soon.”

This beta just beams at me. I arch a brow at him. He seems more elated at the idea that I’m enjoying our conversation rather than annoyed that I’m leaving it because of drugs.

Weird.

He breaks the silence. “I can get one of my pack mates to drive you home, if you want? One of us always stays sober to drive. They’re alphas, though, so I can come, too. If that makes you most comfortable.”

Pack mates . He has a pack. A deep longing that I’ve tried to suppress rises in my chest.

“No, that’s okay.” I can feel my mind going on a wild thought-chase. I need to think of something else, anything else. If he offers again, I might accept and I really don’t need to meet his pack.

I pull out my phone to order a car service. Maybe they’ll get here fast enough.

“See, I ordered a car,” I say a bit too enthusiastically to convince him I’m fine. His lips twitch slightly, before he nods.

“Cool. I’d still like to wait with you, if that’s okay. And I’d like to get your number,” he says, seemingly unashamed but his boyish smile gives away his nerves.

Holy shit. My number?!

I stare at him for a few moments, unable to respond. Because I would love to text him. Get to know him.

But he has a pack, and I don’t deserve a pack.

Not to mention, I may be with Derek again. Our on-and-off-again relationship these past few months has been a whirlwind but it’s still a thing.

“Sure,” I finally say before handing him my phone. He puts his number in and returns it to me, looking very happy that I said yes.

I panic seeing that grin. It’s been constant since we started talking, and I feel bad that I can’t return them as easily as I may have used to.

“Could you maybe get me some water?” I ask, cringing at myself for the strange request. But he only nods, happy to oblige.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He turns to head inside of whatever house is having this party. I see the Greek letters and realize this must be a frat house, but I can’t distinguish them.

My stomach turns to knots. Shit, he’s going to hate me after this.

I swallow heavily before I turn to walk out of the backyard and to the street. My car is there and I open my app to ask the driver’s name. When I’ve confirmed it’s the right car, I crawl in.

I see a figure appear around the corner of the house, water bottle in hand.

My car takes off down the street before I can see his betrayed expression.

There’s a slight ache sitting where my heart is, but I tell myself it’s better this way.

He has a pack and I’m not destined for one.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t break my heart. And my omega’s.

I make it home with only a few minutes to spare. I’m starting to feel the tingling sensation that’ll spread throughout my body for the next twelve hours. I lock the front door and make my way through the house quietly. I give a sigh of relief when I see Rory’s bedroom door is pulled shut.

I lie on my bed and focus on my breathing. The chirping in my pocket zaps me back into my body. I fish it out and look at the screen with half-focus.

Shit, when did I get so many text messages?

I realize they’re all from Derek. When I open the text chain and the texts come into focus, my stomach drops.

(10:03 pm) Derek: Where are you?

(10:34 pm) Derek: Are we seriously doing this today? I lost a game and I want to see you.

(11:13 pm) Derek: Oh, I see. You can ignore me but you’re sitting around doing god knows what at the party at MY frat house?

(11:15 pm) Derek: That’s not very lady-like, Stacia. Do you even know those people you’re sitting with?

(11:21 pm) Derek: Ignoring me for that low-life beta? Fine. I see how it is. I’ll find another pretty omega to warm my bed tonight.

(11:35 pm) Derek: [Image Attached]

I feel hot tears threatening to overflow.

I stare at the picture of my—now ex again—boyfriend explicitly fucking another girl.

She’s on her back, her head thrown back.

I feel bile come up my throat at the image, not only because of the blatant disrespect but because there’s no telling if this girl even consented to being photographed like this.

The image starts to distort as the drug in my system settles in.

The movement makes me panic. I almost forgot about the trip, and now my phone is becoming a sea of insecurity.

I hear it thud to the ground as I involuntarily throw it to the side.

The image is painted in my brain and before I know it, I’m dry heaving.

I thought I had something in my stomach to throw up, but I must have eaten dinner earlier than normal.

By the time my body calms down, my throat and stomach are hurting and I am starting to fully feel the body high.

Without any other choice, I cuddle up in my makeshift nest, close my eyes, and prepare to ride off the terrible wave. Tears are streaming down my face, but they feel like a slimy stream with an odor almost as bad as Derek’s dirty lake smell.

He’s ruined my trip. He’s ruined my night. But more importantly, I’m starting to realize, it feels like he’s ruined me .