Uncapping the syringe is an easy task, and it slides smoothly under his skin as I push down the plunger. The little beta winces for a second before I remove it and put it back into my pocket. I’ll dispose of it back at my place, I don’t want to worry about it being found. Gently covering Camden backup with his many blankets, I turn to leave, knocking the table with my side.
Hissing because I’ll have a bruise there later, I check to make sure he’s still asleep, and then turn to look at the papers I knocked down. Leaning down, I pick them up, intrigued when I see the words:Hospital Dischargeon them.
Is that where you were, little rabbit?
My eyes move over the paperwork, widening at the words: overdose, mental health stay, and depression. Fuck. There were so many pills spilled out the day I came looking for him, I should have imagined this was the reason why.
Camden simply doesn’t seem depressed…
The patient has severe anxiety, and says the feelings of self harm overwhelmed him until he couldn’t help himself,I read.
Ah, well that makes more sense. He doesn’t get to leave this world unless I say so, and I haven’t. Even with all of our suspicions of why he’s at Crown Well Academy, I don’t want him dead. Do I want to torture him, find out his truths, and make him mine?
Yeah, I do. My obsessions surround both my own distrust as well my own need to possess Camden. I know I don’t want anyone else to touch him, make him smile, or speak to him. I haven’t had that kind of possessive rage since I became a pack with the guys.
Fuck… I want to crawl inside of his skin, which is insane. Par for the course for me, but it also means this is more than a passing fuck and drop. I don’t think I’ll ever be over this beta, who may not be one.
Taking the paperwork with me so I can use the name of the hospital to hack into their system, I let myself out and lock the door.
Sleep well, Camden.The world isn’t done with you, and neither am I.
CHAPTERNINE
CAMDEN
Henley, Brooks, and River have been nowhere to be seen since I’ve gotten back to school apart from the classes I have with them. Even then, apart from them staring at me practically the whole class, they haven’t even tried to talk to me.
I don’t get it. Why did they go from making it their life’s mission to torment me to then not wanting anything to do with me at all?
And why does that fucking sting? I shouldn’t be upset about it, yet some part of me feels rejected. I know it’s because on some freaky biological level, they’re my alphas. I crave them, ache for them. I fucking hate it.
I shouldn’t be lying awake at night thinking about them, desperate to catch a smell of Brooks and his smokey scent, River’s rich coffee aroma, and hell, I’ve even been hoping for a whiff of Henley’s chamomile and cinnamon fragrance.
What is wrong with me? These men hate me, despise me, want to watch me fucking burn, yet every time my cock grows stiff and I need some relief, it’s their faces I’m seeing.
I’m sick. Fucked in the head. God, sometimes I fucking hate being an omega with no control over my damn body.
Other than the screwed up sexual desires of my omega mind.
For the past few days, life has been good. Almost too good.
I’m not stupid enough to think that there’s not some sort of catch to this new found good luck.
Tonight is my third night working at The Frenzy, and I really enjoy it there. The atmosphere is great, the people are nice and the music isn’t too bad. Not to mention the tips are amazing. I’ve left both nights with almost half of what I’m expected to make for a month's worth on my check.
With where the club is located, I was expecting more college students to be there. For the most part, it seems to be more of a high-end, classier clientele ranging from twenty-one all the way up to mid forties. There’s even been the occasional older gentleman, but for the most part, it’s young adults.
Tonight I’m working with Lizz, an omega who kind of scares the shit out of me, but who’s also a badass bitch who knows how to put the customer in their place when needed, and Isaac, an alpha whose head over heels in love with Tracy, one of the waitresses who won’t give him the time of day.
It’s an interesting place, that's for sure. I guess no matter where you go, there’s always going to be some sort of drama.
At least it’s not mine for a change.
After taking a shower, I head into my room to change for work. The uniform is black pants, shirt, and shoes. I thought my pink hair would end up being a problem, but so far no one’s said anything about it. It’s in need of a touch up, but maybe I’ll hold out and let it fade a bit.
Grabbing the bottle of pills on my desk, I open it and pop one onto my palm.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, the urge to shake out a few more is strong. Now that I don’t have the stronger dose of suppressants, I’m worried that it’s not doing its job, that people will be able to smell me, to find out what I am.
