Too Beautiful for the Alpha

Chapter 22

Maybe I'm an addict. Maybe he's my own personal drug, my own breed of liquor. When I look at him

now, in the front seat, driving, I can't help but think about jerking the wheel and colliding with the

monstrous tree just ahead. It's the call of the void. It's that one split second where the real darkness

within seeps out and takes over. My eyes stare at the wheel, my hand fists my shirt, then I glance off

out the window.

I try to do things that are good for me, sometimes. I convince myself that I'm not going to give in again,

but when you're addicted to something, who knows. Maybe I don't care anymore. Being hurt is familiar,

unlike our moments when he's kind to me. Those moments are more frequent, and I'm worried that I'll

grow used to them. Is it wrong to feel grounded when I'm hurting? I don't know anything else. What if I

won't like being happy?

My mother acts like she understands me when really she thinks I'm pathetic. She doesn't like me deep

down, I know it. It's hard to like me, I think.

I try to do things that are good for me, sometimes, but sometimes I like being this person. I understand

this person. I've grown to accept that this is who I am, so maybe James is good for me either way. If

he's bad, then it will be... Well, that wouldn't be easy. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't think I can take it when

he hurts me. I've learned that. I've felt it before when I was here the first time. I know that.

When I'm with him, I can't be the hurt person or the happy person. That is, if he is this drug, if he is my

own bitter taste. If he's telling the truth, if he's been genuinely trying, then I don't know what to expect. I

don't know how to be happy.

If people are afraid of the unknown, am I afraid of happiness?

I said I was going to test him, and I am. There needs to be a lining of caution tape around him at all

times. I practically told my mother that I was going to prove her wrong, but that may be a long journey. I

can't be a strong Luna if I don't trust my Alpha and if I don't feel stable. It's a staircase. Climbing will be

hard, but eventually, I'll get to the top. She'll grab at my feet and pull me down, this comforted-by-

sadness part of me, but I could always try again.

Happiness is a fear I can conquer with him. I just pray he is telling the truth.

He was honest about the green-eyed girl, and that gives me hope, but I know about him and hope. So,

I'll take my time, nice and slow, something sure. James needs to prove himself.

A hand rests on my arm, and I suddenly come in contact with light. My eyes shy away, my fingers

rubbing into them. Once aware, I peer around and realize we're back and that I fell asleep. James

looks down at me. "We're here. I'll grab your things, go on inside."

I nod and slip off my seat, my feet landing abruptly on the hard ground, telling me it is time to move.

When I open the front door and walk through, everything comes back to me in one harsh wave. For a

moment, I doubt if this is a good idea, then I venture on to the kitchen. I hear them, Gail and Theresa.

James wants to keep me from his father. It's simple. There are things I want to keep from him, things I

would lie about to protect. I would never want him to know about my insecurities, the ones that keep

me up at night, the ones that I have a hard time admitting to myself. Eventually, he may find out,

though. That's the problem. Eventually, all secrets a revealed.

Part of me wants to go back home just so these insecurities never reach the surface.

I lean into the kitchen and the two turn. Smiles come to their faces, and I find it relieving. "We knew

you'd be back," Gail says while nearing me. She wraps her arms around me, warming me in a motherly

hug.

"It's so good to see you again, dear," Theresa says.

I sit down with them at the table and chat about things that had happened while I was back home.

Obviously, I don't mention Noah or James' visits, but I do tell them that it was very hard. "I'm glad to be

back," I say. "Things are going to get better between us." If he doesn't lie again.

James steals me away, and I follow him upstairs. The familiar hall, and the haunting doors that sit at

the end taunt me. When we reach the top, I notice James walking towards his bedroom with my things,

and I am quick to stop him. I slip past him and stand in his way. "I'll be staying in my old room," I tell Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

him bravely.

I do understand his assumptions, though. We did lay together that one night, and he did sleep in my

bed last night.

His free hand loosely grabs mine. "I would like it if you stayed with me, so I know you're not off in the

forest in the middle of the night."

I let my hand drop. "Not yet. Not until I can trust you."

"Then at least promise me you won't leave the house past twelve. I just want to know that you're safe."

I take a breath and compromise, wanting everything to go smoothly. "Okay."

James leaves my bags on the bed before giving me some time to get settled all over again. The bed

still smells of roses, and I feel somewhat at home when laying in it. I place my books back on the shelf

along with the diary and find the phone to be still hooked up on the bedside table. The bathroom has

my half used hair products still in the shower, and I wonder if anyone has been in here since I left. It

seems to be untouched.

Once all of my clothes are put away, I grab my iPod from the side pocket of the bag. It accidentally slips

from my hand and falls to the floor, tumbling under the bed. I get on my hands and knees, peering

underneath to find it, and I see it resting beside something dark. My hand swipes my iPod out first

before grabbing at the piece of fabric. Right when I pull it out, his scent bleeds onto my hands and

crawls up my arms. It's James' shirt.

He's been in here.

Without thinking, I make my way towards those taunting doors and knock, hoping he is inside. It takes

a few seconds for him to appear, and I hold the shirt out to him. "I found this under the bed," I say,

finding my reason to see him.

James takes the shirt from me, not knowing how to explain himself.

"You slept there, didn't you?"

He sighs and leaves the doorway, wandering in. I step inside, not going far enough to fall into the trap.

James tosses the shirt onto his bed and turns to me. "It smells like you in there. It helped me sleep."

I nod, satisfied. "I want to be with you, James. I want to sleep in here with you, but you have to

understand that your bed smells like her. I'd be sleeping in her place, and I can't do that. What you did

to me—it can't be fixed with an apology and explanation. The pain I felt can't go away so easily."

"Then tell me how to make it better," he says genuinely, almost begging for the answer. "All I want is for

the past to go away, for your pain to go away. Rae, I want you to trust me. I don't want you to see me

as a monster anymore."

"Then you're going to have to show me. That's why I'm here, for you to prove that you've changed.

Show me that I can trust you."

James crosses his arms and nods, hopefully understanding. It must be odd for him to hear orders from

someone else rather than giving them. I never thought I would be telling an Alpha how to act and what

to do. He reels me in and wraps his arms around me, embracing me, and it takes a few moments for

me to realize what is going on. My cheek is against his shoulder, and I can almost hear his heart. It is

as if I was wired to be able to hear it, to depend on it, the constant thumping. My muscles quickly relax,

recovering from the shock.

"I'm sorry. I've never felt this regretful and thankful. I'm going to fix this, Rae, alright? I'm going to make

things better," James murmurs by my ear, almost whispering to me, only needing me to hear it. "I just

need you to know that I'm sorry. I can't believe I did this to you."

I feel his hands grip the back of my shirt, holding onto me as if I am about to fall. "I really hope so,

James."

He lets me go and tells me he has to check up with Will, but that he'll be back by dinner. I watch as he

makes his way downstairs and towards the door before finding my way back to the kitchen. Thankfully,

Gail is still there. She smiles when she sees me, telling me to sit, asking if I'm hungry, offering to make

me a snack. She starts putting something together anyway, even without an answer.

"James said he'll be back for dinner," I say, sitting at the counter, watching her.

"That's lovely. It's about time he sat down for a proper meal. I swear, every time I get here in the

morning, food that was in the fridge the night before is gone. I offer to leave him a plate, but he just

says I don't have to go through the trouble—oh, I can make something nice for you two. What do you

like? Red meat? I'll go fetch a few things. Should I get a bottle of wine? Do you drink wine?"

"Uh—no, that's alright. No wine, thank you. Are you sure you can bother with all of this?"

Gail waves me off. "I've been waiting for this."

My heart begins to race just from thinking about sitting down with him for a meal. It seems odd, out of

place for us, but it may be a step in the direction of healing.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," Gail says while placing a plate of cheeses and crackers in front of me,

sliced into little cubes or ready to be spread. I look down, not knowing any of the cheeses, most of

them foreign to me. "Dinner will be around seven." Then she's out the door as well.

I take a deep breath then pick up a square cracker, taking a bite while I try to calm myself.

It's not a big deal. It's only dinner. Gail is just excited, that's all. It's only your first actual sit down with

James over food and chatting about things other than your problems. It's only actually getting to know

him, and him getting to know me. Asking questions. Questions about my family, my past, my opinions,

my dreams, at least that's how everyone else makes it seem. Oh, Goddess.

My heart begins to beat even harder, and I swiftly bring another cracker to my mouth, needing to focus

on anything else.

Do I have to dress nicer than average? Can I wear normal clothes? Do I have to wear a skirt? Do I own

a skirt? Will I be expected to know what each utensil is for? How many utensils will there be? Is this my

first date? Is this a date? How can it be a date if we're just having a normal dinner at the house? I don't

know how these things work. The other girls—they'd know what to expect. But of course, I'm not like

them. Of course, I've never had dinner with a man before.