3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Beth

T he last time I cried myself to sleep, I woke up looking like I suddenly developed a serious allergy to shellfish, after spending a whole night at one of those all you can eat seafood places.

When I caught my first glimpse of the puffy, patchy mess that had become my face in the bathroom mirror, I immediately made it sound like I was puking my guts up into the toilet.

I grabbed the toothbrush cup while I started making gagging, puking noises, and I poured mouthwash into it so I could make splashing sounds.

Gotta go as real as you can if you're trying to pull off a sickness on a school day.

My mom knocked on the door about two minutes later.

"You okay, sweetie?" she called out, likely because she wasn't sure which one of her daughters were in the bathroom.

I made mumbling sounds, flushed the toilet and put my props back quietly before I staggered to the door. Opening it, I kept my head down.

"I don't feel so good," I mumbled, while Mom put her hand against my forehead.

"You might have a temperature," she told me, frowning. "I have to go into the office today, but you shouldn't go to school."

She was reluctant to leave me home alone, probably because I looked like my throat might swell up and kill me at any given moment. I was practically eighteen at the time. She knew she could trust me to be in the house on my own, at least, as much as any parent can really trust their kid. I was far more into sneaking out than sneaking people in.

A couple days of feeling like I might die of a broken heart while I pretended I had food poisoning really sucked, but I couldn't pretend I was okay and it seemed smarter to act sick than to admit I'd fallen way too hard for a guy who made me think true mates might actually be real before he pulled the rug out from under my feet and took back every last thing he'd ever said to me.

The way he looked at me after, no hint of emotion in his eyes, was like taking a knife through the heart. It was like he had to make sure he showed me that nothing he'd ever said to me meant a damn thing. That cold expression killed any last shred of hope I might have harbored for us.

He felt nothing for me, and he never had.

That's when I realized everything I'd been warned about Alphas was right.

They're predators who chew Betas up and spit them back out when they're done playing with them. They don't care about anyone but themselves, and they have zero respect for Betas.

Alphas are fucking awful.

I don't care how bad Beta males can be, they'll never be on that level.

No one ever gets to make me feel the way Rourke Mariner did.

That's the one promise I made to myself once I finally stopped grieving the loss of something that was never even real.

Marcus Hamilton is no Rourke Mariner.

What Marcus did was fucked up and dumb, but I'm not going to let him burrow under my skin like Rourke did. He doesn't get to break me. He isn't worth hurting over.

I let my tears drip onto my pillow until they stop flowing.

Then, I turn it over and close my tired eyes.

I'm done letting men hurt me.

I deserve to be happy, and I will be.

Living here with Catherine is better than being in the dorm.

We might even get to be close like we never were at home.

I'd really like that.

I ignore the tingling sensation at my wrists when it starts up.

My scars are already fading. They won't be bothering me for much longer.

When I start to let my thoughts drift, it's easy to fall into a deep, relaxed sleep.