Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse), page 2
A bang of the stairwell door silences his faint voice completely.
Holding my hand over my mouth, I lean against the wall with my back. The stifled sobs try to push their way out, but there are no tears. It’s been a while since I lost the ability to cry. The panic and the pain…they’re still there. Rushing through my chest, paralyzing my entire body. I cling to the wall, knees shaking.
This isn’t good for the baby.
Closing my eyes, I fight to get a grip on my shallow inhales and exhales. I squat down next to the stairs, holding onto the railing.
I thought I could do it. I thought I could listen to exactly what I expected to hear. Hell, I even thought that I was ready for that naive sliver of hope of them maybe finding a way to proceed with the case to be crushed, but I wasn’t.
I wasn’t ready at all.
Still, it all burns and fills me with rage. With that maddening fury born of the helplessness I’ve experienced over and over again, magnified tenfold every single time since it happened and I’ve had to talk about it, hear about it, think about it, or relive it.
As soon as I manage to get myself somewhat under control—when it no longer feels like I’m being run over by a steamroller—the realization sets in. Maybe it’s time. Maybe everyone who’s told me I should drop the case before it ruins my life any further was right. My well-meaning parents. My supervisors. My so-called friends.
It may be time to let go, to take the loss, accept the damn settlement, and…resume living my life. Or what’s left of it.
I stare at the floor. Now that the anger has faded, the familiar numbness settles over me. The air in the stairwell cools my face, but I hardly feel it. Feel anything.
This is my life, I remind myself. No matter what I do, I can’t change that. I’m certainly not the first omega, or the first person, to go through something like this. Nor will I be the last. What is so special about me that I thought anyone would care or that the privileged bastards who raped me would get punished or even take responsibility?
Nothing. That’s right. Nothing’s special about me.
I drop my head between my shoulders and exhale deeply, trying to recall the therapist’s advice. Slowly, I sit myself down on the bottom step of the stairs, focusing on the panic gradually humming away, leaving through my fingertips. As I do, I glance at my stomach. It’s almost starting to look like I’m actually pregnant, not just bloated.
This. This is the reason to keep going now. I can’t forget that.
I keep my breathing slow and try to focus inward. Forward. My friends' shocked faces—well, people I considered friends—flit through my mind, and I push them aside. No matter what happened to me or what they think, the life growing inside me is a blessing.
Even if this child was born out of the most disgusting, violent act, I get to choose what that means to me. Not anybody else.
I smile faintly, thinking about how differently I would have viewed this topic before. A few months back, I probably would’ve felt the same apprehension. But somehow, without knowing how or why, from the first moment when they told me at the checkup after I reported all those strange, uncomfortable symptoms…I knew this was my lifeline—my way of pushing through this shit and continuing to live—even if I didn’t realize it right away.
It might be selfishness. A primal sense of survival. Or some hormone-driven parental instinct baked into my brain that’s tricking me into this. Either way, it’s irrelevant.
Something good needs to come out of it. It couldn’t have been only misery.
“It’s just the two of us,” I whisper, caressing my stomach. “Nothing else matters.”
I hide in the stairwell for a little while before I muster the strength to get up. No matter how low I feel, I can’t lose sight of what’s important. If there is no chance of the case going any further, I might have to accept the offer that was made in the beginning. I have to return to work, too. Even though they can't easily fire me now that I’m pregnant, these damn corporations always find a way.
Not to mention I’ve almost burned through all my savings. I can’t keep going like this. It isn’t just me anymore. I keep forgetting that.
I need to do better.
No more surviving from paycheck to paycheck or living on fast food. My shitty little studio won’t do, either. I’m about to be a parent. I need to sort out my life.
I’ve held off on accepting the settlement for as long as I could, but if I have no better choice, it’s the best I can do for both of us. My pride be damned.
A small sum of money that will get me a decent place and the transfer to the sister branch of the company in the city three hours away—that was the tempting, easy way out they gave me. The new position has a higher salary, too. They knew exactly what to dangle in front of my face for me not to go public or keep on fighting.
The bitter taste in my mouth stings. Yet I swallow it, and together with it, my pride.
I’m going to need to save up for essentials, toys… God knows what else. And getting away from this place, from this city and these streets that all lead to that one building, that one memory… Isn’t that what I’ve wanted?
I nod to myself, steadying my breath as I get ready to reach for the door handle.
“This is what we’re going to do.”
Accept the deal. Move. Work for as long and as hard as you can.
I can’t stay locked in my apartment forever, hiding from life and people. From…alphas. “We’ll be alright,” I say firmly before walking out, hoping my lawyer is still somewhere in the building.
Chapter 2
Sam
“This is all so sudden, Sam. I can’t believe you said nothing about this or consulted us before making this massive change,” I hear Mother’s exasperated voice from across the room, where I’ve left my phone. As I open another moving box, I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see my face.
“You were the one always telling me to stop stressing myself with the trial,” I say, trying not to let bitterness into my words. If I find a therapist here, maybe they will tell me it’s wrong to push everyone away like this. But right now, while I’m free to make my own mistakes, I don’t care that much about that.
This empty apartment I’ve put a deposit on with the last of my money is big enough for me and the baby, close to my workplace, and in a good area. Its white walls and bare rooms filled only with cardboard boxes are inviting. They’re not stained with memories. Not a single one. A fresh start.
I can finally breathe.
At least for as long as I don’t think about my first day at my new job tomorrow.
“Well, I didn’t realize it involved moving hours away, out of nowhere. You’re all by on your own there, in an unfamiliar city, with no support system…”
I take out and then fold all the little snapsuits I’ve already bought into the bottom drawer of the basic, cheap dresser that came with the place. Arguing with my parents is the last thing I want to do right now, so I let out a sigh and go grab my phone while grinding my teeth and building my resolve.
“I know,” I say, putting the screen in front of my face. Mom sits on the couch with Dad next to her. He smokes his cigar and looks focused on something else until he notices me. Their expressions are so similar it nearly makes me laugh—eyebrows drawn together, mouths slightly pursed in near patronizing concern. It's almost funny, except for their obvious certainty that I can't handle all these big changes. That makes it hard not to scowl back at them through the phone.
I try not to think about what I think about each time I see them now. The crude awareness that this isn’t what they expected from me or wanted for me. Even though neither of them would ever say it out loud, they don’t fully agree with my choices. I imagine they always thought I would have a regular, normal beta life, just like them.
And they certainly have no clue how to act around me ever since it all happened, more so than before. A part of me worries they’re embarrassed. Disappointed. Disgusted, maybe.
“I’m already here. There’s no undoing it. All my stuff’s sold and the job transfer’s completed. I am almost thirty years old, Mom. I can take care of myself. I can handle this. I am…handling it.”
They exchange a glance that conveys more to them than it does to me. A glance that only makes the paranoid side of me wonder about all the things they say about me behind my back.
“We’re just worried, darling,” Mom says, narrowing those meticulously plucked, thin brows.
“I know. You don’t have to be.”
“Promise you’ll update us and call if you need anything. And don’t forget to go to therapy, okay?” Mom continues. She means well, in her own way. She always does.
Therapy is going to have to wait until I settle into things here and make sure I can actually handle returning to work. That I can still function among other people. The thought worries me, but I push it aside, releasing the tension by flickering my fingers.
“I will. Promise. I…I still need to unpack a bunch of boxes. I have an early start tomorrow, so—”
Dad makes a pleased nod. “Right. Go on. Let him do his thing, then.”
As uncomfortable as I know he is with his son being pregnant, he certainly appreciates me jumping back to work. Tirelessly pushing yourself in your nine-to-five is all he’s about. According to him, marching on like that heals all wounds; besides the ironic fact that it was at work where I was wounded in the first place. We don’t talk about that part.
“Take care of yourself, Sam,” he says.
We share an awkward smile before Mom ends the call with a wave.
Releasing a sigh of deep relief, I place the phone on the box next to me and hang my head down. My eyes automatically land on my barely visible bump. I feel the corner of my mouth tug upward.
That’s right. I have to do everything I can to put this behind me. No matter what anyone thinks, I need this fresh start.
“No matter what, we’re going to be happy here,” I whisper gently. “I promise…”
❈
Sitting on the sage green sofa in the reception area and tapping my foot against the ground, I wonder if it’s not too late to turn around and run. My stomach is in knots. My back feels drenched in sweat. It’s been so long since I’ve had a first day at a new job, and my current circumstances make it that much harder.
“Mister Snyder!” I shoot up the moment I hear the voice, before even finding out where it’s coming from. “Welcome,” says the woman rushing in from the elevators. She’s slim and polished, wearing a flattering black pantsuit. Her heels clack against the tile floor of the vestibule as she makes her way toward me.
Rocking my most convincing, confident smile, I accept her hand when she offers it. “Hello,” I say after quickly clearing my throat.
“So nice to meet you. I am Sandra Randall, the head of the department,” she announces with a perfect customer-friendly voice. Her teeth are straight and as white as pearls, shining against her flawless brown skin. “Welcome to our northern branch. We are delighted to have you here.”
I bow my head with a polite expression and try not to feel overwhelmed by her. She seems genuine, if not a little overzealous.
“I um…thank you. I’m happy to start here. Gorgeous building,” I add quickly. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice my trembling hands, which I press firmly against my thighs.
Still smiling from ear to ear, she gestures for me to go with her. “Yes, yes. A fairly new build compared to most of the city. I will take you to the offices now,” she says while leading me toward the door on the other side of the lobby from the elevators. I follow, focusing on her voice rather than the pounding of my heart inside my ears. “Your recommendation was very good. Hardworking and precise, it said. And I can certainly see it! I have a sixth sense for that sort of thing.”
Though her positive, high-energy aura seems genuine, I can’t help but feel the anxiety slowly wiggle its way into my mind. How much does she know? How much do they all know about the reason why I was transferred?
She must know something. Must have heard whispers. They tried to keep what happened as hush-hush as they could, but people talk, right?
The idea of her and everyone here knowing the ugly truth and only playing nice while thinking the same thing they all do makes me nauseous. Thankful for her to be walking in front of me, I scrunch my nose and close my eyes briefly to collect myself.
We go through a long hall decorated with various technical drawings and pictures of buildings. The air feels stiff, or maybe I’m just losing it.
Come on, Sam. Breathe.
“We have quite a few omegas working here with us, so you won’t have to worry about being an odd one out,” Sandra says, nearly making me halt. I tighten my fists, willing my legs to continue moving.
I can’t break down every time someone mentions anything to do with this.
“I see.”
“We are aware you are pregnant, of course,” she says, briefly turning to me again. “Congratulations! We take the comfort of our gestating employees extremely seriously, so do not be shy to let me, or anyone else, know about any issues you might have! Also, feel free to take breaks as often as you need.”
I listen to her, wondering if I’ve always been this distrustful of people. Sandra’s voice vibrates with excitement, and perhaps some taught, HR-approved politeness on top. Yet I can’t help feeling like she’s mocking me somehow.
She doesn’t know—I repeat those words over and over inside my head, trying to get it through my skull, but the uncomfortable sensation prevails.
I don’t want to be this way. To see the world through this bitter lens. I despise how they ruined everything for me, how they changed me.
Not that I was a ray of sunshine before. But now I can’t help feeling like everything around me is only a pretty little facade hiding the horrendous truth underneath. Exactly like those men in their fancy suits, wearing expensive watches and shiny shoes, masquerading as charming, respectable people…until it was all stripped away the moment they entered that restroom.
“Are you alright?” the woman asks, making me blink and look at her. We’ve stopped, and she studies me with a cautious gaze. “Today must be very stressful for you. My sister-in-law was barely able to keep any food down for the first half of her pregnancy, and stress only made it worse. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be.”
I shake my head. “Oh, no, I’m fine. You just walk fast,” I say with a chuckle.
Sandra makes this expression as if I’m a little lost puppy. “Dear! Sorry about that. Long legs,” she says, grinning awkwardly. “But we are right outside the main office area, so before we get in—do you have any other concerns or questions?”
I dart my eyes toward the door ahead of us with a ‘Design Engineering’ sign above it. There are indeed about eight thousand and twenty-five fears and concerns burdening me right now, but those are not for her to deal with. And completely irrational for the most part.
While narrowing my brows and adjusting the strap of my bag, which is cutting into my shoulder, I force a nervous smile. “I just hope I can get along with everybody and be a valuable member of the team, even in my condition,” I say, putting on that submissive, mellow expression I’ve used my entire life. It puts others at ease. Lets them think I am exactly who they expect me to be.
She brings her hands together with a clap that makes me jolt slightly. “You’re so very sweet. I’m sure everyone will adore you. No need to worry.”
Visibly satisfied, Sandra opens the door that leads into the open area. The space is airy, with large glass windows on one side. People quickly look up from their computers and stations once they notice their supervisor and come to welcome me. Their faces are friendly and warm. Still, I can’t help but scan for danger within every single one of them. Nobody stands out, thankfully, so my twitchy subconsciousness can rest. At least for now…
Whether it’s a coincidence or they know more about me at this company than Sandra let on, there seem to be only betas and a few omegas around. Internally, I sigh in relief. My chest opens up a bit, and the knot in my stomach loosens.
After the mandatory pleasantries and showing me where the kitchen and the toilets are, Sandra takes me into a smaller office in the corner, away from everyone.
The room is windowless, filled with stacks and stacks of paper. At first sight, it’s probably the last place someone would want to work, especially compared to the fancy main area. The ventilation is pretty miserable, too, and whatever unorganized data is lying around seems about ten years out of date. The computer on the only free table in the room also appears a few decades old. And yet, I finally feel at ease.
This isolated little den is precisely what I need. It’s almost like they created this entire job position specifically for me. I don’t even care if that’s the case. I will take any win I can get.
I step inside and look up at the weak ceiling light that probably needs changing. Sandra stands behind me, hands held together over her lap. “Let’s leave this door open, so you get some fresh air. We wouldn’t want you fainting in here. I will ask someone to bring a fan. It gets hot.”
Another person appears at the door, startling me.
“There he is,” Sandra says, her powerful voice filling the small room. She spreads her arms out before touching the man’s shoulder. “This is Kristoff Dawn. He will show you the ins and outs of our system and be the one to train and look after you. For bigger things, ask for me. Everything else—Kristoff here should help you.”
“Hello!” Kristoff waves at me. He seems to be younger, or at least has this smooth, round face that’s almost boyish.
“Hey. Sam. Nice to meet you.” I step forward and hesitantly reach out my hand. When he squeezes it, everything inside me tightens, but I clench my teeth and slowly breathe through the discomfort. There are no pheromones. He’s a beta. And while the knowledge that any man could potentially hurt me stands out at the forefront of my mind, I think I can handle being alone with him.
