Too Beautiful for the Alpha

Chapter 14

"I'm going to hate myself for this," he murmurs, his hands dragging down my arms. "I don't deserve

you, not after what I've done."

His hands come to my face, brushing back my hair and caressing my cheeks, one drops and the other

hand runs down to my jaw. I grab his stray hand and hold it in between my own, covering it and

bringing it to the center of my chest. "I'll forgive you, I just need time. I need to see that you're willing to

open up to me. No more trying to push me away. No more trying to hurt me."

I feel different. I have never felt like this before. There is an anxious feeling growing inside of me,

making my chest hurt. Looking at James now, looking at some unknown version of him I didn't know

existed, I feel anxious—nervous in ways that I can't quite understand. He's hurt me, I know that. People

hurt others. I've hurt people in my life, maybe not as harshly as he's hurt me, but I believe in

forgiveness, I think.

I didn't see this coming—maybe that's what has me on edge, or maybe it's our closeness. Maybe it's

our closeness and the fact that he could be willing to try.

My eyes study his face, enjoying themselves. I have never been so close to him besides times when

he's tried to push me away, but I don't think he's pushing away anymore. It frightens me. I am in

unknown territory. I was used to the fact that I would be alone for my life, but I never prepared myself

for this.

He is capable of hurting me again, I can't forget that and I won't forget that. No matter how blind the

bond makes me, I will not let it weaken me, not anymore, not when I am giving him a chance. I have to

be alert for this. "What are you scared of?" I ask him, needing a break from my thoughts. "You make it

seem like you're taking a risk."

His hand falls from my jaw but I keep the other close to my heart. "I should have never taken you from

your home. I should have never trapped you here. I need to bring you home where you belong, where

you can be happy."

When he says it, it brings a sour taste to my mouth. When he says that he needs to bring me home, I

don't want to go home. "But you don't want to let me go," I tell him, wanting to remind him.

"After how I've treated you—"

"I just need to know that you're willing to try," I cut him off, not wanting to remind myself of the things

he's done. "Just please...don't hurt me again. Don't talk to her again, or take my things, or grab me," my

voice grows small, "or pretend like I don't exist. You—you took my shirt from my bedroom, I know you

did. I know it."

James steps back and turns away, placing his hands on the counter as if he needs to brace himself.

"You have to go home," he says, his voice low. "You deserve to be happy. You need to heal. You'll

leave in the morning. This is what's best for you. I am not good for you, Rae, and I am sorry for bringing

you here in the first place."

My lungs squeeze, or maybe it's my heart dropping, or my stomach rising. I feel the need to reach out

to him again, to show him how good my touch is, but I hold myself back and nod. I can't speak—if I

open my mouth I am afraid I'll cry, so all I do is nod. This is what I wanted, right? To leave? I've tried so

many times to, and now I am finally getting what I wanted, right? I wish there wasn't this hole inside of

me. It is a cavernous feeling that I know only he can fix. It hurts and I haven't even left yet. It burns.

He straightens up and brushes back my hair again, catching it behind my ear, taking one last sip before

the glass is empty. "There will be someone to take you home in the morning. I'll inform Gail and

Theresa and they will help you prepare. I'll be gone before you wake up, so it will be much easier."

I want to latch onto him and never let go, stopping him from sending me away. I know I told him that I

hate him, and that I'm dying here, and that I want to go home, but now I regret every word. I can't help

but regret every word. The hole is growing bigger inside of me, eating away. "Are you going to reject

me?" I ask with my last bit of energy.

"I suppose that would be best," he says, looking back at me, making my heart ache.

"Not now," I say immediately, "I can't handle it now."

"Okay, then I won't, not now." There is a moment of silence between us then finally he speaks again.

"It's late. You need rest."

Every part of my body aches now, even my fingers and toes. I know what is coming, and I was

prepared for it once before, but now all of that has been thrown out the window. I don't know how to be

alone anymore, not like that. Sure, I didn't have him, but at least I was close to him, at least I got a

taste of him.

I swallow. "Okay," I say, trying to choose between 'goodnight' and 'goodbye', but I leave the kitchen

after that.

For a moment, I thought he was going to give this a try. I thought he was going to keep me. I thought

we would grow together over time, my forgiveness coming after his endless amounts of apologies

ranging from different attempts to earn it. I thought we would sleep together in his bed, that I would feel

his arms holding me greedily from the world, not wanting to share. I thought we would kiss a hundred

more times and laugh and cry and yell. But no. It's over instead. I wasn't even given the chance to

forgive him.

Once inside my bedroom—the door locked—I rush to my bed and collapse onto it, burying myself into

the pillows and blankets. The tears come immediately like a dam opening its floodgates, wetting the

pillows and filling the room with quiet, muffled sobs.

It hurts already, and I know I should be happy to leave, I know I shouldn't care about leaving him, but I

can't help it. I can't help myself. Just the sight of him gives me a warm feeling, especially after that inch

of hope. He gave me my things back and he touched my face, looked into me with soft eyes and

brushed back my hair, only to send me home. There was no passionate kiss to mark the beginning of

our healing, or gentle hug to show me that he's going to try, only a struggle to let go.

In the morning I feel the need to throw things around as I once did. Pulling over bookcases and

smashing lamps like a madwoman.

He's gone, he's not here like he told me last night. I expected this, but my body wants to touch him one

more time, my mind wants to see him, to remember him properly.

I slowly begin to pack my clothes and books and other things such as a hairbrush and toothbrush into

my bag that I came with. It was stuffed under the bed, never to be used again, or so I thought before

this all started. Theresa and Gail come up one at a time to offer help, but I quietly tell them that I can

handle it. I'll miss them. They were one good thing about this place.

I stuff my books and iPod into the bag last, seeing the diary laying on the bookshelf, begging to come

with me. I take it and gently maneuver it in, needing to keep it to at least remember all of this. I'll need a

reminder someday when I am old. I'll look back through the journal and remember how I once had a

Mate, how I wasn't destined to be alone.

I make my way downstairs to find Theresa and Gail sitting at the small table in the kitchen. Gail looks Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

up at me and smiles a sad smile. "We made you breakfast before the drive."

I wander in, setting my bag against the wall. "Where is he?"

They keep quiet as if they didn't hear me.

"Is he close," I prod again, sitting down. "Is James close by?"

"Rae," Gail starts, then snaps back, "hurry and eat before it gets cold."

It isn't until about twenty minutes later that Gail comes back from the living room and says, "the car's

here. The Guard is waiting just outside for you when you're ready."

I grab my bag and face the two women. "Thank you for everything."

"Take care of yourself, dear," Theresa says and gives me a small hug, then Gail does the same.

I leave the house after that, not wanting to make things harder than they have to be. The large car out

front is similar to the one that too me here, and I watch as Theodore gets out of the front seat and takes

my bag, placing it in the back. "Go on and get in," he says.

I climb in the passenger seat and slowly strap myself in, feeling as if I am not entirely here. I feel numb

and distant like a ghost wandering an empty house.

Theodore gets in as well and glances over to me before starting the car. "So this is it? You're going

home?"

"He let me go," I murmur and peer out the window, not wanting to talk.

The rest of the drive is silent, but I do not find myself drifting off to sleep, I am awake for the hours that

it takes to get home. Theodore attempts a few more shots at conversation, but my lifeless responses

tell him not to. I want to do nothing but stare out the window and dread the loneliness I am going back

to, second-guessing the life I could have had if I stayed. Wondering if James could have loved me,

really loved me like I had once convinced myself I didn't need.

I was wrong. I need it. I need love. I don't want to live without it, and now I fear going home and having

exactly that happen to me.

His touch haunts my skin, my cheeks still feeling the warmth from his hand, and I fear it leaving me. I

fear that my cheek will grow cold.