Page 36 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

The heavy sensation looming over me won’t go away. I recognize it as the irrational dread that blooms inside me before the panic takes over, but for some reason, I’m unable to take hold of it and push it down.

He’s doing this for me, I know, and he means well, and yet my brain struggles and races to find a way to connect this to that experience it still can’t comprehend the cruelty of.

It darts through ridiculous ideas until it finds the one that makes my heart stop and all the little hairs on my body stand on end.

Is it ‘easier this way’ because he worries about how he would feel if he let himself be in that state around me?

Paralyzed by that notion, I look at him.

I study his face, that handsome, sweet face, those big blue eyes staring at me with worry, and those parted lips I kissed, as if the rational part of me is trying to remind me who he is, but in that moment, the rational side loses. I see only what he is: an alpha.

“Sam? It-it’s okay, just—” He tries to reach for me, voice smooth and soothing, but I jerk away, shifting away on the bench.

“Are you scared you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from doing something horrible if you didn’t use them?”

“What?” he blurts with an alarmed frown. “Of course not! How could you even think that, I—”

I have to think that. It’s all I can think about.

Oh fuck, it’s all I can think about…

I drop my meal to the ground and scramble to my feet as quickly as my body will allow. All I can focus on is my pounding heart and the need to get out. Get away, run, protect yourself.

I rush as fast as I can through the hallway and don’t stop until my already-claustrophobic lungs scream for me to. Leaning against a wall behind me, I bend over, pressing my trembling hands into my knees.

This was one of those moments when I should’ve taken a deep breath and thought about it. Talked about it. Reasoned. Rationalized.

But I couldn’t.

My heart still pounds with gripping fear. It actually hurts. All I want is to be somewhere alone and safe, so I head back to the office. I close the door, turn off the light, and sink into the chair, staring at the blinding computer screen until my eyes burn.

As if the babe herself is judging me for losing my shit so easily, I feel my belly tighten uncomfortably for a few minutes.

Rubbing my face, I breathe through the Braxton Hicks, knowing damn well it has nothing to do with that, but still feeling like it’s some kind of punishment. Or rather, a reminder.

A reminder that my body’s running practice drills for the birth, which is coming sooner than I’d like, and I’m still not the well-adjusted, composed person I wanted to be before my baby girl arrives.

“Fuck…” I whisper, holding my head up with my hands.

As the day goes on, and even long after I get home, the stress and panic I felt slowly shift to guilt. Theo’s horrified, hurt expression haunts me.

I blurted out the first nonsense my warped mind threw at me and didn’t even consider how much it could affect him. I basically accused him of being no different from the monsters who raped me, when he’s done nothing but dote on me.

In the evening, I finally win the fight against my ego and decide to send him an apologetic message. It’s Friday, and I don’t want him to feel bad the entire weekend.

Or maybe I don’t want to feel bad…

There’s no answer.

Usually, Theo responds quickly, but no text comes before I go to bed, either, or when I lie there struggling to sleep, and not even when I open my eyes in the morning…

He doesn’t strike me as someone who would give me the silent treatment just to make me feel like shit.

Did I hurt him that much? Is he really upset? Is that it?

I sit at my small, cheap dining table, overlooking the morning city below.

The view is something I love about this apartment.

The three glass panels run along the wall facing the kitchen, making it a well-lit, lovely place, especially in the mornings.

It’s pretty unfortunate, considering how bad at cooking I am. I don’t spend as much time.

Stirring my tea in the purple mug Mom gave me years ago, I absentmindedly turn away from the window and to the kitchen. Somehow, for some foolish reason, I imagine Theo cooking in here. His food is heavenly. He never misses.

My heart clenches painfully.

I unlock my phone for the umpteenth time today with a sigh and blankly stare at the unanswered message. “What should I do, hm?” I ask the baby, but for once, she does not answer. I wonder if she’s resting, sucking her thumb like she does in the ultrasound photo that’s now displayed on my fridge.

I only keep making things more difficult for myself.

What would Dr. Stewart say if I told her about this? Pursing my lips, I picture her in her chair with a notepad in hand. She would do her affirming nod with a soft hum and tentative brow twitch. Then she would ask me a question. Something like, ‘Why do you think you reacted the way you did?’

Of course, I know why I did what I did. I’m painfully aware.

I suppose that’s exactly what I should explain to Theo. The thought of talking to someone else about what happened to me still makes me feel uneasy.

Especially an alpha.

But this is Theo. It’s different. He’d understand, I know he would. If not understand, then do his best to be empathetic, and he’d make me at ease, understood, heard…

My message to him is a little too plain, driven only by fear and guilt. ‘I’m sorry for what I said and how I ran off. I didn’t mean it’ really isn’t enough, is it?

It’s never been easy for me to open up to others, though… I don’t know if it has anything to do with my upbringing or if it’s simply a Sam problem. Either way, the implications of opening up to Theo in particular scare me, no matter how much I know deep down I would be safe.

Wouldn’t it make us more than just friends? Wouldn’t it push us even further into the gray area that I have no clue how to deal with?

I stare at the cup in my hand, realizing I need to pee again.

None the wiser about what to do, I decide to leave it for later, hoping that Theo will perhaps respond with something that makes me feel better or gives way to a more genuine apology.

I do some things around my apartment—put out a dozen small fires I’ve been letting smolder throughout the week, like the dishes, putting away more baby clothes, laundry, and sorting out some legal stuff.

My hospital bag is half ready. My birth plan is a scary folder on my computer that I get pretty anxious about opening.

I wish I could press pause for a little while.

It seemed like I had so much time at the beginning.

Now, everything is passing too fast. The baby is growing, new responsibilities keep popping up, and the pressure on me to be a responsible, stable, competent adult and parent keeps mounting.

I can’t afford to allow this issue with Theo to burden me on top of all of that.

I have enough worries, pains, and aches to deal with.

And when I ask myself what advice I’d give to my baby girl—sometime far, far in the future—if she asked me how to deal with a similar situation, it would probably be to not let it fester and to talk.

Begrudgingly, I take my own advice and do something I absolutely hate.

With the phone next to my ear and a finger in my mouth as I anxiously bite down on the inside of my lip, I give Theo a call.

I pace around the nursery. It’s the room that relaxes me the most with its muted, warm colors and cute cartoon pictures of animals I’ve bought, but it isn’t doing enough to stop my heart leaping into my throat with every ring.

The idea of Theo deciding that perhaps I’m too much effort and drama after all grips me. Maybe that is why he hasn’t responded. Maybe that’s why he—

He finally picks up.

I hear him take a breath. “Sam?”

The way my entire body relaxes nearly makes me want to grab my belly out of fear that it will drop to the floor. I swallow hard and blink, stopping by the window.

“Hey.”

I never call anyone. I hate talking on the damn phone, because I never know what to do when I can’t see a person in front of me.

“You didn’t…didn’t answer my message, so I wasn’t sure if…”

He lets out a loud huff, too close to the phone’s microphone. “Oh, shit. Right. No, no! I meant to respond. I’m sorry I…I was going to.”

There’s something strange about Theo’s voice. Something strained and weirdly fractured. His breath is loud against my ear, making me draw my brows together in confusion.

“I was going to get back to you when I um…when my mind was a little clearer,” he mumbles, letting out an awkward, muffled laugh.

I dart my eyes around the scenery outside the nursery window without actually focusing on anything. “Are you okay? You sound different,” I say, tightening my grip on the phone.

There’s an obvious pause. Nothing but his distant, shaky breaths permeates my hearing. I want to give him time to answer, like he always does with me, but I am not as patient as he is.

“I’m grateful that you did what you did. To make me feel comfortable. I wasn’t— Ah, I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know you didn’t,” he mutters before a strange hiss.

Is he in pain? “Theo?”

After another moment of agonizing silence, he breathes, more controlled this time.

“It’s the weekend, so I’ve stopped taking the suppressants.

They… The usual side effect for me is that the rut hits me straight away much harder.

I’m just a little…mhmm, just a bit uncomfortable right now, that’s all. ”

Of course. How could I be so self-centered as to not even consider that?

After all, suppressants are a pesky medication that usually works well, but not always. They don’t work at all for some, and for most, there are various bothersome side effects, big or small. There’s just not enough venus in the world to justify more money going into further, more complex research.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me if you knew—”