Page 44 of The Devil Takes
I’d been going to sleep earlier and earlier lately, and after I’d plowed through an entire cake on my own, I’d passed out pretty much immediately. Most days, by the time the sun went down, the exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks, with or without cake. No amount of caffeine seemed able to remedy the situation either, that itchy feeling under my skin only amplifying when I was at my absolute worst.
I crept closer, finally catching the tail end of someone’s words as my heart sank somewhere beneath my feet.
“Last time he left the house, I went through his nightstand and you wouldn’t believe what I found.”
That was Brett talking. We’d been hanging out enough lately there was no way I wouldn’t recognize his voice, even from a distance. Dude had a major skater-dude accent when he was with anyone but me. Like he thought talking that way would help him pick up omegas, or impress the other alphas at the house.
They all kinda did that though, postured with each other, put up these fronts to appear cool. I couldn’t blame them for that though, because it wasn’t like I was being honest with any of them either.
“What?” That was Frank. Deeper voice. Scratchier too.
“Fucking…” Brett paused for what I assumed to be dramatic effect. That sinking feeling inside me only grew stronger, like a black hole sucking me deep, deep down into the unknown. “Suppressants.”
I could practically see the nefarious jazz-hands he was probably wielding.
The way he said suppressants made it sound like it was a bad word. Scandalous. Something to be ashamed of. Which, realistically, I knew it was. I wasn’t supposed to be taking them. Hell, I was never supposed to be taking them. The fact that I’d gotten a prescription for them in the first place was because the doctor who prescribed them was willfully negligent. Everyone knew that. That’s why he was my dad’s favorite. A secret weapon to get pain meds and blockers whenever the fuck he wanted.
“Really?” Frank sounded equal parts dubious and delighted. I knew they were talking about me. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, since I was pretty damn sure there wasn’t another dude at the frat pretending not to be an omega. But still, something inside me hoped they weren’t. Prayed, they weren’t, even though I’d never been one for prayers.
“Dude’s all blanked up.”
I flinched, acid climbing up my throat at the slur. Blanked up. Something I’d heard alphas laugh about for years, but never heard directed at me. To be an omega that was blanked up meant you were practically worthless, even though that wasn’t how suppressants worked. No pheromones. No senses. No way to attract a mate with your systems all blank.
“It’s a shame, honestly.” Brett laughed. “He gives off the biggest ‘fuck me’ vibes I’ve ever seen. Like a deer or something. Ready to get run over.” He laughed again and the sick feeling only amplified.
“With your dick!” Frank cackled.
Fuck me eyes.
Why did everyone say that about me?
It still hadn’t hit me yet that this conversation meant Brett had spilled my secret. That he’d lied to me. They all had. I didn’t want to believe it was true, forcing the feelings to the back of my mind as I continued to listen, praying I’d find out they were talking about someone else, anyone else. Even if that made me a shitty person. Wishing someone else was getting disrespected like this.
Brett quieted and, for a moment, I thought that was it. That the worst had happened already. That my thoughts weren’t spaghetti. That I wasn’t about to shatter. And then he spoke again, and I nearly threw up all over my hole-ridden socks.
“Wonder if he still gets slick,” Brett groaned, the sound playfully pornographic. “Fuck. I was after his roommate before he moved in, but a hole’s a hole, right? Who cares if he’s not pretty, so long as he’s got a tight ass.”
I stumbled back, disgust and alarm blaring inside my head, my earlier thirst forgotten. The adrenaline pumping through my veins sent me into a tailspin as I bumped against the banister and tried to breathe through my rising panic.
Wonder if he still gets slick.
A hole’s a hole.
Who cares if he’s not pretty?
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
Bile rose and my damp palms trembled as the laughter in the other room paused.
“What was that?” Frank again. Fuck. I’d hit the bannister too hard. I held still for a moment, my breathing ragged, my teeth bared. I wanted to go back upstairs. To fall asleep. To fall into the darkness and tear my way to where Haden slept at the back of my mind. He’d comfort me, even if he wasn’t really mine. Even if he wasn’t really real.
“Probably just the stairs being creaky as fuck again,” Brett replied.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
“Don’t remind me. Last time I tried to sneak someone home, I got clocked by fucking Matthews the second he heard them squeaking.”
“Fuck you, dude.” Matthews replied, followed by the sound of a scuffle. “I didn’t say shit.”