Total pages in book: 203
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 998(@200wpm)___ 799(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Another supposed friend who prides herself on being blunt messaged me to tell me that this ‘crash and burn’ isn’t a good look but she can understand my fear of being claimed and having sex for the first time. She thinks I should take a beat and count my blessings before deleting my post and alluded basically spreading my legs directly afterwards.
To read all that and feel the humiliation of it all followed by him bursting in here and punching the wall makes me feel even worse.
None of their comments, none of his apologies have improved the way I feel.
Though I haven’t really allowed myself to feel, have I? I’ve been trying my hardest to shove every emotion other than anger and determination away for the last few days. Am I ready to sit down and sift through my emotions? Process all of this? And if I do, would it change what I’m feeling or will I feel even worse?
***
I log onto the SCC portal that shows multiple request forms. I have to go three levels deeper to find the mate bond severance form.
I back out of that, feeling a strange, cold sensation crawling through my veins at even the sight of that form. I shove the unpleasant sensations away to click on a basic / general request form for immediate intervention by the SCC on an urgent issue.
I fill it out, requesting contact for immediate assistance with a law change request, describing what I’m proposing and filling out the comment section with a brief but succinct paragraph that states it’s imperative that females are given the right to request a formal, urgent review before being claimed by an alpha, if they so wish.
Instead of sending it to the secure general delivery server, I message Erica and ask her for contact details for Lucinda Walsh, the SCC witch who was here when Aviva Starling died, who was involved in the sanctions against Erica.
Erica immediately calls.
“Hey,” I greet warily.
“You okay?”
“No. I’m freaking out and maybe you should talk me down.”
“You at the library alone?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“You’re ready to send your petition to Lucinda?”
“Well, my petition doesn’t have the weight I’d hoped for, but I’m running out of time. I could use a favor.”
“Talk me through it.”
“There’s a general request form I can submit. Instead of submitting it through the regular channel where it could sit for days before someone looks, I was hoping I could submit it to Lucinda and seeing, maybe, if she’d be able to expedite it with our tight deadline of tomorrow. Maybe if you sent her a text asking her to look at it, that’d also help.”
“Good idea. Time is of the essence.”
“Yep,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“You need girlfriends right now, don’t you?”
“I… um… actually I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You need to talk this out. I know you’ve been avoiding that but I think you need to have at least one conversation with your friends before you submit that.”
“I… don’t know.”
“Gimme twenty minutes and then I’m on my way,” she informs.
“I’m not sure I can, Erica. My head is a mess.”
“You need support. Even if you’re not ready to talk it all out, you need support right now. See you in a few.”
***
I’ve done it. I’ve hit send feeling like I needed to do it before someone tried to talk me out of it.
I found Lucinda’s contact details on the secure forms server. And now I’m almost hyperventilating. My group chat has been dinging and I can’t read any more of that right now, so I decide to slip outside for some air, wishing I had my waffle box here.
The library has always been my sanctuary, never a place I’ve felt the need to have a stress smoke. But sending that in, feeling like it definitely doesn’t have enough back-up, along with that fist-sized hole in the wall being in my periphery… everything is screwing with me.
Once I step outside, I’m looking at Malachi sitting on the pavement with his back against the building beside the entrance. He’s reading a Dean Koontz paperback.
He startles when he sees me, going wide-eyed and scrambling for his pocket.
I frown watching him yank his phone out. His body language has me thinking he’s about to call for help.
But he sits there, poised with the phone in hand. Waiting. For what, I don’t know.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothin’,” he quickly says, his voice coming out almost soprano.
And he waits, staring at his phone, holding it in a way like he’s about to call someone.
“Hey Mal, can you help us move a couple picnic tables over here?” Misty calls, poking her head around the corner. “Hey, Bailey!”
“Hi,” I reply.
“Can’t,” he says. “In the middle of something.”
“In the middle of what?” she asks.
“Ask someone else,” he answers, annoyed.
Her eyes flit from him to me. “What’s good, Bailey?”