Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse), page 9
Chapter 8
Theo
A couple of guys and I stand around the vending machine by the back door of the manufacturing hall, enjoying our ten-minute break. Most use the opportunity to go outside for a smoke, including Ben. I usually just hang out. Now, I’ve got my phone in my face, focused on reading, like I’ve been doing what feels like every free moment of every day.
After a little while, I hear steps and then sense Ben lean over me, blowing the smoke remnants of the cigarette he just finished outside in my face. Coughing, I flash him an annoyed glare. He smirks, his eyes instantly studying my screen.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this again?” he groans, rolling them into the back of his head.
I half-heartedly push him away. “Leave me alone, man.”
Ben snorts, shaking his head at me. I don’t like the way he brings everyone else’s attention to us. Furthermore, I don’t like his endless mocking, especially when it’s about something that’s important to me. Sometimes, he acts like he’s the younger one, not the other way around.
“Are you reading about that fated mates bullshit again? You becoming a dualist or something? Please, don’t. I can’t stand religious nuts.”
“I’m not joining the dualists,” I say sharply, pushing the words through my clenched teeth.
Most of the time, Ben is fine, decent company. A good work buddy. Yeah, we hang out outside of it from time to time, but he isn’t exactly someone I would confide in or call for help. Moments like these, I’m reminded that he’s a good ten years older than me and probably sees me the same way—a kid who’s fun to be around at work, to pass the time while spending half our lives here, but that’s about it.
“Do you gotta keep mocking me about this? I’m just reading.”
Like he realizes I’m serious, which I’m not that often, his expression softens. Sighing, he leans onto my shoulder. “Alright, alright,” he says, making a face that somewhat conveys he’s apologetic.
Frowning and pursing my lips, I stick my phone into my pocket. “I’m going back,” I say and head for the manufacturing floor. I wish I had someone to talk about this, but everyone I know would think I’m losing my mind.
Ben catches up with me.
“Come on, man! I’m just messing with you. It’s weird seeing you this focused all of a sudden, that’s all. You’re always all chatty and jokey on breaks, but now you keep staring into your phone. It’s unsettling.”
For whatever reason, the way he says it makes me chuckle. “Are you saying I’m thinking too much for your liking?”
Ben snorts. “Right. We all like you here like my wife likes you—a cute little entertaining dumbo. Pondering fated mates and other serious shit doesn’t suit you.” He leans in with a playful wink.
I burst out laughing, nearly tripping as we walk through the door onto the main floor. I guess he really is apologetic, bringing out his wife like that. Being a beta married to an omega, he does get kinda insecure about it sometimes. “Did you just call me cute?” I ask with a grin, dropping my voice like it’s some dirty secret.
Discomfort flashes over his face, but the way he frowns is good-natured. “Tsk. Purely platonic. Like you don’t know, pretty boy,” he mutters, a hint of jealousy hidden somewhere behind his words.
Smirking, I glance to the side at him.
It’s not like I can be mad at him. Fated mates is a concept unique to the venusfolk. I didn’t even realize it might be upsetting to him because of that implication. An implication that it’s something he could never have with his wife. “It’s all good,” I say softly before I break away from him and go sit in my spot.
It’s true that I’ve been distracted, maybe to a concerning degree. But it’s all I can think about, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
Sitting in front of my machine, I quickly settle into my rhythm—moving parts, putting things together, getting into the mindless yet focused cycle.
At the back of my mind, Sam is still there. He’s been a permanent feature of it ever since I saw him. That’s not normal. I know it isn’t.
So it must be something like the fated mates shit, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. No matter how little reasonable evidence there is behind it. No matter how few people take it seriously.
Because what else is it if not that? Am I just losing my mind? Did something click wrong inside my head? I can’t believe that. I don’t want to believe that, because that would make me nothing but some crazy stalker.
What else could I call this gnawing, ever-present need to get close to him? To see him and hear his voice and smell his scent and learn more about him? Even after he very clearly told me he isn’t interested.
It hurt. Not at all in that ego-bruising way. It just…hurt hurt.
Not like he was taking away something I deserve to have, or something that is mine, but more like some huge cosmic injustice.
I can’t even be sure of myself anymore. Was it really a hint of hesitancy in his eyes when he said it? Did he say it only because I’m a stranger? Because…someone harmed him in some horrible way? And if the child in his belly is a result of that, it wasn’t too long ago. A few months, maybe.
A lot of people, Ben included, would be telling me to run for the hills if they suspected what I suspect. If they knew how much I just want to get closer to Sam, they'd call me insane. But I still want to.
Oh, I want to be around him so damn bad. Even if I’m like the moon, orbiting him from a distance. That’s fine. Perfectly fine.
The moon exists for no other reason than to rotate around and benefit the Earth. It serves it, gives it light in the dark. I can do that. Maybe that is exactly what I’m here for. To…help him in this difficult time, somehow.
Even if I have to wait a long, long time to maybe come in actual contact, to inch close enough for impact, I can deal with that. If we’re really made for each other—if there’s something special and real about this insane pull I feel toward him—then it will happen, eventually.
I nod to myself, smiling faintly. I won’t pressure him. I won’t fuck this up. It’s the only time in my life that I’ve felt something this intensely spectacular. A sensation that feels like it’s coming from somewhere outside of me. Something greater and more solid than any emotion I could conjure in my own head.
It’s the only way. But it doesn’t mean I won’t try to inch a little closer on the orbit here and there. Because there’s only so long I can struggle against that pull…
The universe throws an opportunity in front of me the very next day. Ever since I offered that one time, it seems like Madison has decided I’m now the person to go to Engineering when something needs fixing.
I’m not even sure why people have been so unwilling to do it in the first place. Each time I go up there, everyone is nice enough. I guess just being friendly from the get-go does a lot, instead of coming in with the mentality of entering some sort of enemy territory.
And, of course, I’m more than happy to do it, because it means I have an excuse to maybe see Sam.
I didn’t see him in the cafeteria for lunch. I might have missed him, sure, but something tells me he hasn’t been. So I take the opportunity by grabbing some food I made at home and bringing it to work with me. A plate of salmon for lean protein, with a side of steamed leafy greens and green sprouts for fiber and vitamins, and some rice. Plus a few cubes of juicy mango. I remember Pop saying he craved mango constantly when he was pregnant with Gail and me.
From what I read online, this should be a balanced, healthy meal for someone in Sam’s condition. I hope he likes it. I hope he doesn’t have food aversions.
Did I make the meal mostly with him in mind? Ridiculously, absolutely crazily, because that’s what I like doing for the people I care about? Maybe. And how insane is it that I might actually have a chance to give it to him, too?
On my way to his office, I’m so nervous that my stomach feels like I’m on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and the deck is pitching below my feet. Sam’s door is wide open. I slow my pace, almost subconsciously, and hold my breath, inching toward it. I hear faint talking, so at first I wonder if he’s there with someone.
When I poke my head in, I see him back there, and my heart flutters wildly in response. He’s sitting in the chair—having rolled it away from the desk—looking like he’s having a break. Unaware of my presence, he stretches out, arms flexing above his head, before he bends down again, smiling at his belly as he puts his hands on it. “You’re awfully busy today,” he says in a voice so soft and tender it makes my cheeks burn. “What are you doing in there, huh?”
Oh, it’s almost like I’m in a trance. And it’s not just because the room is filled with his pheromones; thick and deep as I breathe them in, like I’m savoring aged wine. The blackcurrant is sweet, and the sage’s earthy. The two tones complement each other perfectly.
As I stare at him, I feel something slither at the bottom of my stomach. A wild, overwhelming urge. One that almost reminds me of…
Am I starting my rut? No, that shouldn’t be possible. It’s too early.
Knowing I can’t stand here watching him like a creep, I gently knock on the door. That, and perhaps my movement, makes him glance up sharply. He looks taken aback. Like I interrupted something secret and important.
“Hey,” I say carefully, stepping into the threshold but not moving any further. I feel like a giddy teenager talking to him. I examine his reaction for the slightest show of emotion, hoping for a positive one.
The way he studies me is cold, but not entirely annoyed. More…reserved.
“Theo. Hi,” he says. My name on his lips is like a song. In fact, I have to gulp and blink to not focus on it too much.
I wish I could get closer to see that beautiful face of his more closely. His short beard is the same shade of brown as the sweater he has on. He always wears them, and while it might make someone else look older or boring, he just looks…comfy. This one is thick, hiding his bump somewhat, but it’s still visible.
“I was sorting some stuff with the Engineering,” I say, quickly showing him the tablet in my other hand as proof. Can’t have him thinking I’m some weirdo who comes here only to see him. No, no, that would be creepy. “I just wanted to stop in to make sure you’re…doing okay, if that’s all right.” Is my voice trembling, or does it sound so stupid only in my head? Damn it.
Sam widens his eyes before his expression settles into that neutral, slightly hard-to-approach one. I like it. He doesn’t pretend. I can see all his emotions as they come, even if they’re not exactly the ones I want to see.
“Oh.”
Not much for me to work with, but that’s fine.
“I um…anyway, one of the guys got me lunch, but I brought in my own food today, so I figured maybe you’d want this? Since you’re eating for two and all that.”
My god, is that lie even believable? Why am I bringing food to this man who doesn’t want to have anything to do with me? Is it too out there?
“I-I just didn’t want to throw it away. Seems kind of wasteful,” I keep talking, keep making it worse, sounding more and more like a bumbling idiot.
Sam looks at the plate I’m presenting, and I think I sense a hint of interest in his eyes, so I make a slow, careful step toward him. And then another. He doesn’t look uncomfortable as I fully approach him. I want him to understand that I’m not dangerous, but I know it’s more complicated than that.
“Here,” I say, placing the plate on the edge of his table. The way his eyes brighten up upon examination of it makes me melt. He’s obviously hungry. I watch his lips as they part, and his tongue slides between them. I do all I can to keep myself in check. He absolutely can’t sense my pheromones. Cannot know what he’s doing to me. Not if I want him to feel safe around me.
And I want nothing more than that.
“That’s… Thanks for that,” he says, a little weary, but the sliver of warmth pushes its way into those words, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I smile widely, unable to control my own intensity, so I step away again, not wanting to ruin this moment.
“No problem.”
After feasting his eyes on the food in front of him, he cautiously raises them toward me, watching me through his long black lashes. I could stare at him forever. I could…but I shouldn’t. And when his gaze narrows, I realize I might be unintentionally showing a little too much of that desire.
I slap my hands together awkwardly, and a little too loudly for the small space. “I better get going. You enjoy that. See um— See you around, I guess,” I mumble, quickly retreating before he can get a proper look at what a mess I am.
Or before he can sense the whirlwind of emotion inside me.
Even though nothing happened, and Sam barely gave me a faint smile—honestly, he was more excited about the food than about me—I walk away with that soothing, fuzzy feeling one gets when falling asleep with a glass of warm milk in their stomach.
Ben gives me a suspicious look when I come back to my station. He’s probably going to put it together soon, but I’m not saying anything to him unless he does. I settle back into work, and for the rest of the day, I replay the scene of Sam talking to his belly in my mind. It makes me feel nothing but contentment and peace and…something else. Something deeper and more powerful than I dare to think about for too long.
I hum a melody to myself, hoping I won’t forget it before I get off work and have a chance to record it or write it down.
By the time the day is over, the familiar dull ache at the back of my skull sets in, and I know for sure there’s something off. My rut shouldn’t be starting now, but it apparently is.
On my way home, I keep my head down and my hands in my pockets. People’s stares annoy me, and my chest feels tight in that uncomfortable way it always does. Pressure builds inside my body, from head to toe, and there’s restless energy buzzing through my fingertips.
This isn’t ideal. Definitely not ideal. Not with Sam and…all that. I should not be around him like this. It would only make things harder on him.
I wonder if he could have something to do with it, even if it’s a ridiculous notion. Sure, omegas can sometimes trigger rut in alphas and alphas heat in omegas. It happened to me once before, with my first ever girlfriend. We were both seventeen, getting to that point in our relationship, and she got her heat. We fucked like rabbits for what felt like twelve hours before I started feeling the same fire she was driven by—that unmistakable biological urge—even though my rut wasn’t due. But it came, and so did both of us. Many, many times in the span of the next two days.
I stop my mind before it tries to go the way of imagining Sam in any sort of delicate situation.
You shouldn’t. Absolutely not.
It’s not what he would’ve liked or wanted, and it just feels wrong. I know I could never understand what he or Dad went through, so this is the best I can do, even if it really means nothing in the grand scheme of things.
When I finally get home, I’m all sticky and hot underneath my clothes. Discomfort pulses against my temples.
With a groan, I let the door shut behind me. Martin is on the phone with someone in the kitchen, and from what I can hear, it’s something to do with work. His voice is all serious and important. It doesn’t really even sound like him.
Now that I know what’s going on with me, I become painfully aware of his scent. It’s not like that in itself turns me on, but the faint smell of orchids is just much more there to me. It stands out and pulls my attention, as opposed to being something I ignore most of the time, especially after living together for three years.
I step into the room, making sure I’m quiet not to disturb him. When he notices me, I wave at him with an exhausted expression, hoping he leaves me alone, but Martin’s eyes go wide. Raising his finger sharply, he turns away from me and asks the person on the call to give him a minute.
He puts his hand over the microphone and presses the phone against his chest. “There was, um, a box with your name outside the main door when I got back. I put it in your room,” he says while making an awkward, pained grimace.
It takes me a moment to figure out what that means. Emily. I groan and roll my eyes. “Right. Thanks,” I mutter. There’s nothing I want more than to get in my room and sleep this off, but first, I guess I’ll have to deal with this.
She did message me about giving ‘my things’ back. I told her I didn’t need them, that she could’ve kept or thrown whatever of mine that was around her place, but she was pretty adamant. At least that didn’t include an in-person visit. I’m not sure I would have enough energy for an argument or even for witnessing the anguish in her eyes today.
I walk in, instantly recognizing her pheromones—rosemary and honey—coming off the small cardboard box that’s on my bed.
I sit next to it with a huff, opening it with an uncomfortable, somber mood setting over me. There isn’t much. A few of my shirts, a teddy bear, my razor—really?—and some photos, as well as some utter knick-knacks on the bottom. My chest tightens, and the muscles at the back of my neck feel taut, like rubber bands ready to snap.
Emily’s scent lingers, reminding me of all the time she’d spent here. We’d lie in bed, and she would listen to me play. We’d watch movies and cuddle and talk about the future. She’d muse about me blowing up and us living like superstars, able to afford anything and go anywhere. We’d naively dream about white-sand beaches and fancy houses.
I was happy, and I loved her, but even then, there was this part of me that felt like those plans were more for her than for us. They were only half-hearted, far-off wishes to me, and solid goals for Emily. Too bad I didn’t realize it before things got so messy. It could’ve saved both of us this pain.
My body tries to release all the pressure with a long, deep exhale and has me sinking between my shoulders. I stare at the floor for a moment, trying to empty my mind. When I straighten my head again, I notice Martin nervously hovering outside the door, peeking in slowly.
