Night Alpha

14 - Arm Apology

I breathe, that's all I can do laying on floor, goosebumps building since his body left mine. I manage to bring a hand to wipe my face, to rub my mouth and hide my eyes in shame. I hear the bathroom door close. I feel the wetness under my sweats. I feel it in a place where it shouldn't be. Red hair comes into my mind and a sob racks my body. Just a bit more. Just a bit more and I'll be back home.

I need to focus, I can't let his warnings break me down like this. When another strangling cry threatens to leave my lips, I curl on my side, hide my face in the crook of my arms. I let myself feel the comfort of drawing my legs in like a shield. Relinquish in it. Candles and smoke. Cake and laughs. I need to go home. I'd rather die than spent my life here, with him. Among them.

I feel the cold air nip at my skin, it engulfs even under my clothes. I rub my stomach with my shirt, try to erase his traces. To to forget his touches. I wipe my hands on the floor, manage to drag the plaid around me. I ignore the chill, bite down on my teeth to stop their shaking. Not from the cold but from my own body. It feels a lot like something broke and my chest aches.

I hear the bathroom door open, still in my position, body curled and hands over my face. Go away, please go away. I hear his footsteps coming closer, he is purposefully making sound? It doesn't matter because soon enough he finishes wrapping me in the plaid and carries me. I try to stay still, to stay perfectly silent, but when his arms pick me up and tuck me to his torso, the first cry comes out.

It's small and quiet, but after the first one leaves my lips, other follow and soon I can't stop crying. Tears pool at my hands, but I don't want him to see me, don't want to see him. I know he must have noticed, decides not to react anyway as I'm carried to the bathroom. He lays me gently on the floor, leaves me for barely a minute as I wipe the tears away, try to settle my heaves.

He comes back with a change of clothes, doesn't even look at my face. He pulls the door close with him, leaves a few inches open just like yesterday. It takes me while to stop the cries, tears still flow when I rise and head to the shower fully clothed. I scrub everything inch he touched, stomach red and ignore the sticky fluid running down my legs. Taking off the wet clothes, I wash away everything I can.

I pat myself dry, dress with what he brought, a shirt and a new pair of shorts. It's a bit hot in the room with the fog that build up, I can't even see his figure in the threshold. I take the wet pile left in the shower and shove it in the basket in the corner. The tears have stopped but my eyes sting. My chest pangs too, I feel like I've lost something else today.

I sit under the sink, let the cold porcelain soothe my nerves. Fuck. Stretching my legs before curling them against my chest, I try to breathe, try to calm my raging heart. I stay under the sink until the fog clears. When it does, he opens the door, pushes gently as if not to startle me.

He's still sitting, doesn't move to stand. His face is blank but his eyes are kept low. He slides the phone gently, its cracks are illuminated by the bathroom light. It lands at my feet, his eyes stay low and he fidgets with his fingers. I wait, I don't even acknowledge it. What's the best course of action here ?

I want to ignore him, to hide a little longer but I feel like I'm dealing with an unpredictable child, with a wild beast. Push and pull is too risky. And I'm too scared to pull. I take the phone.

« Sorry » fuck you. This is not something just say sorry for. It's not going to cut it. Not even close.

Breathe. Don't pull, don't push.

« Don't say sorry if you don't mean it. » I don't need fake promises.

I try not to flinch when he gets up. I don't see his face from under the sink as he rises. I press by back further, reach to clutch my knees to my chest. He walks with slow purposeful steps, sits on his heals carefully. I don't look at his bare arm when he grips the sink for balance.

I remember his strength, delicate fingertips and rugged knuckles. The heat of his body, of his lips on my palms. Soft and wet. I don't look at the veins of his bicep when he keeps his arm there and finally looks at me. His eyes are red and puffy. He reaches for the phone, gently settles it on my bent knees.

His index points at the lone written word, simple apology. I have to bite back the sadness building up. He shows me a frown and a sad smile. I nod once. He nods too, I don't know what for. His arm flexes again when he pushes on it to get up. He stays still, waiting for me to get up. It takes me a while to find the courage.

I see him type on his phone when I finally do. I don't want to deal with him, don't want to talk to anyone. I head for the bedroom, watch him in the corner of my eye when he doesn't react. I quicken my pace when I pass the threshold, half jog to the bed. I hear his steps behind me, he doesn't pick up his pace.

I don't look at him, get under the covers in the same spot where I slept last night. I bury myself and pat the pillow. I close my eyes. The small heat of the cover only fuels the tiredness. From not sleeping last night, from fright, from anger and hate. I think I cried enough for a lifetime.

My eyes snap open when I feel him sit by the bed, in the same position as yesterday, head laying at my feet. He doesn't look at me, still on his phone but I don't see any emoji. I don't plan on forgiving him but at least I learned that he wants to be in my good books. He was making a point, one well engraved now.

I add openly talking about his blue balls to the list of bad ideas with bad repercussions. Are mates not supposed to argue? Or is it because he's some sort of high ranking wolf? My eyes flutters close again. I don't know who's he's talking to but the sound of his fingers typing is getting on my nerves.

« Who are you talking to? Is it the alpha? » I mutter winder the cover. I wonder how many friends he has.

I see him gasp quietly and almost loose the grip on his phone as he fumbles with it, head turning to my half closed eyes in a snap of his neck. Did I startle him ? He type quickly, gently pushes the phone to my face, stretching his arm on the bed.

« Alpha to be. No » short answers as always. I don't know why he feels the need to say it's the son and not the alpha each time.

« So who? » I mumble again, sleep taking over slowly. I settle again, plant my head firmly against the pillow, raise the cover to my face, arms coming up to secure the pillow tightly.

« Lise » he shows me the screen, hand moving atop of the duvet.

I don't answer, can't when exhaustion has caught up. I hear myself hum back but soon feel myself fall asleep with the heat of his arm never leaving me. I curl and hum once more, more to myself. 

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Sorry I couldn't post for a while. Let me know if you spot any grammar mistakes. Let me know if you like the story, I even enjoy getting your feedback, your impressions and theories. Stop by through messages if you want to discuss anything. Working on other stories, might post a pool to see what you'd like me to write next.