Page 13 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

And I can’t get rid of the feeling that all they’re doing is fishing for information, for the spicy gossip they can spread in the office about the slutty omega who somehow seduced all those poor alphas and then caused so much trouble for them.

After all, how could all those lovely gentlemen do something like that?

I must have been lying. That’s what people whispered about. That’s what they were all thinking.

Maybe not all. But I couldn’t take being there and feeling like they were.

Gulping, I glance down at my stomach before looking around the room to remember where I am. Far, far away from all that. I remind myself how happy I am to be here. Remind myself that I’m safe.

You don’t have to think about all that. And you shouldn’t.

As a wave of heat, followed by a shiver, passes over me, I set my phone aside and shift uncomfortably in my chair.

If only I could take a suppressant to help with this nonsense.

The doctor gave me some in case it gets really uncomfortable for me, but she also encouraged me not to use them too often, for the baby’s safety.

I’ve already put them through enough.

Smiling softly, I look down. The little one is a fighter, but I just want them to be happy and safe.

So I’ll have to push through. I can’t take more time off, or keep slacking because of my condition.

I’m just some transfer. I need to prove myself instead of constantly being a burden.

There’s only so far the favor from the agreement will take me.

Especially if I want to work here long term.

The knock on the door startles me. With a sharp blink, I look up, my insides twisting.

“Y-yes?” I shout, straightening my back so I can see over my monitor.

When the door’s closed, this little room almost feels like its own universe. Dingy but quiet. Distant. I barely hear voices or steps outside of it. Dozens, hundreds of people in the building, and I can exist in peace. Until now.

Instead of a response, the door slowly opens, sending a weird sense of danger through me. Like someone’s entering my safe space. Pressing my lips into a tight line and swallowing the lump in my throat, I remind myself that this is a damn office and anyone can come and go as they please.

Yvana, an older woman from Design, pokes her head in, curly strands of shoulder-length hair falling ahead of her face. “Sorry to bother you, but can I poke around in your drawers? Something I need to get,” she says.

Without waiting for my response, she walks in. I guess she takes my exasperated silence as a yes. Lovely.

Not wanting to make waves, I force a polite smile on my lips and ignore how much her rudeness annoys me. She rushes to me, heels clacking against the floor, so I move away from the table. She bends down, rummaging through the drawers.

“This used to be where I worked sometimes when I had bad migraines,” she mutters, almost like she’s just talking to herself. “Before…you know, they put you here.” I can’t tell whether she sounds annoyed or if it’s just in my head.

To be fair, everything looked like it had sat here for a good while when I first came.

Clearly, not even cleaners came around often, so I had to do a lot of wiping and dusting, otherwise I would’ve probably choked on all the grime.

The drawers were full of random shit, but I tried to only throw away the actual trash.

“I didn’t move many things, I don’t think,” I say quietly as I tap my finger on the armrest of the office chair. Yvana doesn’t turn to me, just keeps going through the third drawer from the bottom, reaching all the way to the back, desperately looking for something.

She glances at me for a split second, with this weird fleeting expression like…

I don’t know, like she expects me to say something, or do something, but when I don’t, she turns again.

I guess most people would engage in small talk right now.

Ask about her day or discuss the weather, like it matters or like they care…

I never was one for that. Probably why I never had that many friends.

If Kristoff were here, he would definitely start mumbling about something. He’s good at coming up with random crap to chat about. Mindless, awkward, silly topics no one can get offended about.

He’s nice enough. Nothing wrong with him, but sometimes he won’t shut up.

When Yvana inches toward the top drawer, a rattle goes through me. I realize that Theo’s note, the one I should’ve crumpled and thrown into the trash, is right there, and for some reason, my stomach turns at the idea of her finding it.

Like it’s…what? Some kind of dirty secret?

It’s nothing. It means nothing.

“Ah,” she rejoices when she grabs something at the very back of the second drawer from the top.

I barely hold in a sigh of relief when she pulls away, victoriously raising the little tattered notebook in her hand.

“There it is. Thanks,” she says, flashing me a smile. She then stands up with a grunt.

That’s it? A little notebook? God, she could’ve just said.

“You’re welcome,” I say drily.

Glancing at me over her shoulder, Yvana nods and heads for the door. At least she decided that if I’m not trying to be friendly, neither will she. I prefer that much more than the other way around. The door closes behind her, sending a wave of fresh air into the room before it clicks shut.

Exhaling deeply, I lean over the table. “What the hell was that?” I ask myself out loud, looking down at the slightly open drawer. Lazily, I pull it out, and study the bright pink sticky note lying on top.

A faint, tingly sensation passes over me as I remember him from the cafeteria. His lively, wide smile and those attentive eyes that seemed to follow my every move.

The intense sort of attention I probably wouldn’t have minded before.

But now…things are different. That realization puts a bitter taste in my mouth.

I stare blankly at the ground beneath my feet.

When I went to the first therapist after the assault, she would always say that healing isn’t linear, but it feels like instead of finding my way down a winding street back to the person I was, I’m on a completely separate track.

I can see the old path beside me, and it calls out to me, all the while I’m painfully aware that it’s one I can no longer reach.

I am right here, away from it, and the scariest thing is that I have no idea where the one I am on presently leads. Does it go to the same destination? Will I really get back to the Sam I used to be, or will it diverge somewhere ahead and take me far away?

That thought scares me.

Even worse is the idea that I will forget the old Sam. That, like the faces and memories from my childhood, he will fade.

When I realized Theo was trying to flirt with me, it was like I was back on that original road for a moment. Before the uncertainty and fear came in, I was the old Sam—without baggage and trauma—who had a handsome, interested man in front of him and wanted to bask in that attention.

If only.

I know that sort of stuff is not for me anymore. After all, I’m about to be a parent. That should be my focus. That and fixing myself up. Whether I like it or not, no matter how much it hurts, I can’t be chasing after that past me, because I can never get him back…

Resting my head against my hand, I slide down in the chair. I close the drawer, getting the faintest whiff of that coconut smell as I do.