Page 19 of Knot My Fault
They’ve respected every single one.
“Do you want more?” Blair asks.
I could say no, make a joke, turn the whole thing into bad decisions and good sex and whatever else people say when they’re trying to crawl backward out of honesty. Instead, I keep looking at the painting and say, “I don’t know how to trust people I can’t read.” I force myself to keep going before I lose my nerve. “Everyone else gets scent. That’s the whole thing, right? You know when someone’s angry or calm or turned on or lying or whatever because your body tells you. Mine doesn’t. I get coffee. Chlorine. Bleach. Dining hall eggs, unfortunately. People are just people unless I watch every single thing they do.”
Parker’s eyes don’t leave my face. “You can’t scent designations at all?”
I shake my head. “No Alpha edge. No Omega pull. No Beta calm. Nothing useful. I read hands, shoulders, distance, tone, whether someone looks at the door before they answer. That’s it.”
Milo’s voice stays gentle. “And they know?”
“They figured some of it out.” I rub my thumb over the cup lid, already regretting every word and still unable to stop. “Hollis purrs and I can feel it but I can’t understand it the way other Omegas probably do. I feel it in my chest. In my bones. It’s the only Alpha thing that’s ever made sense to my body without someone translating.”
Parker’s expression softens so much I have to look away.
“And Bishop,” I say, because if I’m already humiliating myself, I might as well finish the collapse, “always makes sure I can see his face when he talks. He turns toward me. Keeps his hands where I can see them. Gives me words. He started doing it and I haven’t even really told him why it matters.”
Blair is quiet for a moment, which makes me nervous. Then he says, “That’s not pity.”
Parker bumps my shoulder with hers, light enough that I can ignore it if I want to. “Wanting more doesn’t make you weak.”
“It makes me stupid.”
“No,” Milo says, and he sounds more serious than I expect. “Running is useful if you know where you’re running to. If you’re just running in circles, that’s cardio.”
Blair makes a pained sound. “That was almost wise. I’m uncomfortable.”
The bell rings before I have to answer. Around us, chairs scrape, bags zip, and the professor reminds everyone about next week’s reading like anyone in this room has retained a single academic thought.
I shove my notebook into my backpack too fast and nearly bend the cover. “This has been horrifying.”
Parker smiles. “Same table next class?”
“No.”
“Great,” Milo says. “We’ll save you a seat.”
Blair catches my eye before I can leave, the usual sharp amusement still there but aimed carefully now. “For the record, I spent very good money helping Bishop win you. Don’t waste my investment by being an idiot.”
I stare at him. “Why did you?”
“Because I know what it’s like when nothing seems to line up properly. When it’s only money in the way, I feel obligated to help.”
I leave the classroom irritated, embarrassed, and too aware of the phone in my pocket. The hallway is crowded with students changing classes, everyone loud and moving too close, but I barely notice them as I unlock the screen.
Hollis' dog photo is still there. Under it, another message waits.
Hollis: bishop says i should stop texting. i am demonstrating restraint.
Then, immediately after:
Hollis: this is restraint.
Below that is one from Bishop.
Bishop: He lasted thirteen seconds before texting again. I did try.
I read it twice, standing in the middle of the hallway with my backpack sliding down my arm and my heart beating with something that feels strangely close to hope.
