My lips twitch at her indignance. Part of me assumed she’d chalk it up as another unpleasant thing about me, and not care to know the details. As much as I’m not a big fan of talking about my upbringing, it’s nice to know Camille cares.
Even if it’s only out of morbid curiosity.
“My parents were part of this movement called OnePack, which took the whole ‘it takes a village’ mentality very literally. We lived on this giant farm where everyone worked and lived together. And, uh, if they were of age, slept together.”
I grimace. I’m not a prude, but the free love that surrounded me as a kid wasn’t as idyllic as people hoped it would be. It was messy, both literally and emotionally, because no one set boundaries or had a system for addressing difficulties that arose from not being able to claim pack members.
“There were no packs or family units, and they actively discouraged forming those kinds of attachments, because it was too ‘limiting’ to the prosperity of the collective.”
“Holy shit. River, that’s…” Camille’s eyes are comically wide, which is the standard reaction I get when I tell people about my childhood. “So, wait, did you not know who your parents were?”
I shrug, showing off a nonchalance that I’ve gained over many years of distance from that life. I’m an expert at compartmentalizing weird and uncomfortable shit.
“I mean, I knew who they were, since my mother would visit the nursery sometimes and my father was the only Asian guy in the collective. I’d see them around, and at holiday celebrations, but they weren’t really my parents. I was raised by a group of omegas who had a fondness for kids, but even they didn’t really take on the role of my parents. They just made sure the kids didn’t, uh, die.” I clear my throat, realizing my voice has gone tight as I think about their lack of care. “The one good thing about their hands-off approach was that they didn’t want to put in the effort to educate us, so we went to public schools.”
Camille scowls. “That sounds like neglect. How is that even legal?”
I shift again, taken aback by her angry tone. She soundslike she wants to go back in time and yell at the people in the commune. Like she wants to protect me, though god knows why.
“Who knows? I think they’re small enough that no one bothered to look into it. And I turned out okay, minus the occasional eye twitch when I see a bonfire. And my general disposition,” I joke, keeping my tone dry and unbothered.
I’m not about to tell her all the damage done by sixteen years of not being given proper medical care and being told my arthritis wasn’t real and a symptom of attachment to limiting beliefs.
It’s over now. She doesn’t need to know.
Camille slides down the couch until she’s right beside me. My brain goes blank, unable to understand why she’s moved. I flinch when she reaches toward me, and she pulls her hand back with a small whine.
“Shit, sorry,” Camille gasps, like she’s as surprised by her actions as I am. “My omega really wanted me to comfort you.”
I blink back at her. “Oh.”
I should tell her I’m fine. That I don’t need her comfort. But now that she’s next to me, I can smell the bitter, burnt edge to her scent, and I hate it.
If her touching me will make her feel better, then I can handle it. Besides, if her omega doesn’t want me to be upset, that means things are going well, right? It means at least part of her doesn’t hate me.
Swallowing hard and begging my alpha to be cool for once around this omega, I nod. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”
Her brows pinch together. “Are you sure?”
No, I’m not. “Yes.”
Camille reaches out again, and I expect for her to touch my arm or my hand, but she places her palm in the center of my chest. I watch her, rapt as her eyes fluttershut and a soft, tentative purr rumbles to life in her chest. The vibrations travel into me where we’re connected, and a sigh escapes me before I can keep it in.
Her eyes open, and she gives me an apologetic smile. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. This whole being an omega thing is so weird.”
This close, I can count the constellation of freckles dotting her cheeks and get lost in the endless expanse of her soulful eyes. Every molecule of my body is vibrating in time with Camille’s purr, desperate for more of her.
I can’t find words to express how I’m feeling without betraying my attraction to her, and after a moment, she starts to draw back. Before I can stop myself, I place my hand atop hers, keeping it trapped on my chest.
“Stay.”
The word comes out little more than a hoarse whisper, but it’s enough. Her wide eyes search my face, and I know I’ve let my mask slip, but her purr and nearness feel too good to put it back on.
The ache in my spine eases.
The weight in my chest from discussing my fucked up childhood lessens.
All the reasons why I can’t be with Camille the way the others are slip away.
