Page 27 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

Theo

I lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling, watching the beams of sunlight from the window on it. TV blares in front of me, but I’ve stopped paying attention to the new episode of a show I’ve been meaning to watch for a while now.

Every so often, a dull pain shoots through my hand.

I look down at it. Underneath the bandages is my swollen, gnarly-looking index finger with a thick line of stitches.

I’ve always had a high pain threshold—I broke my arm when I was twelve and we went to the hospital, only for them to discover another, slightly older fracture, from when I must have broken it before and didn’t even notice—but the doctor stitching my finger together was up there.

Getting chastised for not coming earlier made me that much more grateful for Sam’s help.

At least I can wallow in my misery by myself in the empty house, since Martin and Enya are both out. Though…staying at home with nothing to do, since I can’t go to work because of my injury, isn’t as great as I’d hoped.

Usually, I would play guitar. Can’t do that with my messed-up finger. Not being able to pick it up and pluck tunes is weird and unnatural, even if the Doc said it should heal fast, and I’m due for a checkup in a few days.

I hum melodies that come to me instead, but nothing feels right. Of course it doesn’t… I can’t think of anything but Sam. Nothing compares. Nothing else makes sense or seems worthy of any interest or effort.

I’m beginning to accept that this is my life now.

Constantly having him on my mind. Picturing his reserved, deep eyes, those smooth, bouncy curls of his hair, and his scarcely seen, rare, glorious smile every time I close my damn eyes.

It’s not like I can fight against it. I’ve tried.

In the two days that I’ve spent sitting on my ass at home, and even before, I've tried convincing myself in all the ways I could think of that this can’t be how things are.

At first, I told myself that this was just a hormone thing. Something to do with my pheromones, or rut. I got my levels checked at the hospital, but everything came out fine.

I even contacted Adam, my omega roommate from college, who was always delighted to hook up, no strings attached, when the mood struck us. When we finished school, he made sure to let me know that as long as we were both single at the time, he would always be happy to lend a hand if I needed it.

‘I could just be horny,’ I figured. It’s not like things were too hot with Emily at the end of our relationship.

The few months of hot-and-cold sex life could have been the cause.

After all, I’m still young, right? Everything is working as it should, hormones are…

floating. I thought that maybe it was a guy that my body desired sexually, for whatever reason.

I’ve mostly been with women, aside from Adam and a handful of one-and-done encounters when I was younger… So I tried.

I did what Sam wanted me to do. But when I met up with Adam and we started making out, I was almost…repulsed.

Not that Adam looked any worse than he used to.

In fact, he’d grown even taller, more handsome, and his black hair had gotten long and shiny.

Everything about him was beautiful. It shocked me that he’s still single.

And yet…the moment I was to undress him, to touch him sensually, sexually, everything inside me tightened and writhed.

As if I was doing something wrong. Something unthinkable.

I had to back out, which left Adam understandably disappointed and frustrated.

Feeling bitter, I chuckle to myself while thinking about what Sam said in the car. If only he knew how much I’ve tried to make sense of this ‘ridiculous fantasy’.

If only he felt the same way I do.

This insatiable, intoxicating need to center my life around him.

I guess that’s just what I’ve come to. Accepting this madness.

What other choice do I have? There’s nothing else for me.

At this point, I’ve accepted that this world no longer makes sense unless it revolves around Sam, even if he wants nothing but to push me away.

I wish I could tell anyone the true extent of it, but not even Dad would understand.

It looks like the other hopeless weirdos online are the only people I can reach out to for sympathy.

The ‘Fated Mate Hub’ is the most sensible forum I’ve found when it comes to the topic.

It’s now a permanent bookmark on my phone, no matter how embarrassing that is.

It seems to contain the smallest number of fanatical Dualists and borderline delusional stalkers.

Those are the worst of it. The ones who think their other half owes them something. That they deserve their affection only because they believe they’re fated mates.

I would never be like that. I promised myself that the moment I read the first creepy, obsessive, rambly post from one of them.

I know Sam and I belong together—I feel it in my bones and in every fiber of my being—but I would never push.

I would never put that on him, and I would never pressure him into it. Never.

So, even if he never wants me, I can be content with that. I can wait as long as he needs me to. And if he doesn’t feel anything for me, I will die at least knowing I was able to meet him and be in his presence.

I don’t care if it’s never or if he gives me a chance when we’re eighty and the man he chose has died after having a bunch of children with him. Even if I had one year, one month, one day with him, it would be enough.

I grimace to myself, a ping of idiotic jealousy passing through my chest like an arrow.

Alright, maybe I don’t really like the idea of Sam with another alpha, but it’s not like he’s mine. I might hate the notion, but I’m not some animal. I’m not one of those possessive assholes. Never have been. I’m not going to start now, no matter the pull inside me.

All I can do right now is what I believe will make Sam happy. That’s all that matters.

“Do this for me. Go out and try to date other people, people your age.”

What the hell did he mean by that, anyway? Out of frustration, I rub the top of my bandage, trying to ease the uncomfortable itching of the wound.

It’s not like we’re that different in age. Sam doesn’t look much older than me.

But how could I know for sure? I barely know anything. His name, and that’s about it. I don’t know his age, his birthday, where he’s from, if he has any siblings, what he likes to do, or what his favorite treat is…

I don’t even have his damn phone number.

Which might be for the best, considering the desperate thoughts that come to me sometimes. Just the idea of not being able to work for weeks and not having any way of contacting him is driving me insane.

Rolling onto my side with frustration bubbling inside my stomach, I hold my phone in front of my face, lazily scrolling through my contacts.

He wants me to try dating someone else. I hate the idea, but if it’s what he wants, maybe it will please him if I do. Is it just so he feels safe? Am I coming off too strong? Or is it that he doesn’t want to date me right now?

He said he didn’t dislike me.

I fully realize I sound like a completely desperate, dependent mess. And yet somehow, my alpha pride, or just my plain ego, doesn’t react. Pleasing Sam is all that matters, they scream, pounding that message into my head with each beat of my heart.

There’s this woman in accounting who's always liked me. She was at Mickey’s retirement party and kept throwing eyes at me. I have her number. Don’t remember how I got it, but I assume she inconspicuously saved it in there at some point. I was helping her with some boxes full of files that one time…

Tapping my finger against the edge of my phone, I stare at the name.

I don’t want to. I don’t even want to try.

Being in the mere presence of another omega feels pointless. Especially if I could spend that time doing something more productive. Sam might not be mine, but…I am his.

I close my eyes and put the phone down. I relax into the soft backrest of the couch and attempt to settle my mind. The wound aches again, but not as much as my stupid, foolish heart.

With a forceful determination, I get up. Time to do something productive.

I go to my room, where a stack of books awaits me on the nightstand.

They’re the batch I ordered most recently, and they finally turned up at my door yesterday.

‘Male Omega’s Pregnancy Made Easy’, ‘All You Should Know When Expecting: For Omegas’ and ‘The Omega Midwife’s Guide to Pregnancy, Birth and Beyond’ are the main ones I’ve been excited about.

I researched stuff online, but I figured that having official, properly published information might be the best.

I’ve never particularly enjoyed reading, but I can’t wait to learn everything there is.

Putting those three books to the side, I look at the ones that send prickling goosebumps across my skin. ‘To Survive & To Understand: A Guide to Relationships and Healing after Sexual Abuse’ and ‘Allies in Healing: Pheromones, Love and Sexual Abuse’.

Under those two books is another. The one I stole from Gail’s bedroom the last time I was at home. One of the few books she left behind after moving out.

‘The Tragedy of Venuskind: An Uncomfortably Close Look at the History, Relations, and Societal Implications of Alpha and Omega Interactions’.

I stare at the book with something heavy pressing against my chest. The bright red cover with white letters is as striking and uncomfortable as the topic itself.

And as intense as Gail has been, and likely still is, about the topic.

I should’ve listened to her more. Should’ve tried to understand her view on things before it was too late.

Now, only her books remain. If I weren’t the exact epitome of what she claimed I was, fighting to defend myself and proving her wrong, maybe our family would still be whole.