Page 57 of Glitterati Omega

Winston shook his head. “That doesn’t mean you have to get pregnant and give birth,” he said.

“But Iwantto,” Rupert pressed. “I want to. And I know that makes me a … vapid breeder or what have you, but that’s what I want.”

He glanced down. “I suppose it’s my own fault,” he murmured. “I think you’re wonderful—handsome and kind, generous and smart, and you seem so … caring, and you didn’t mind that I wasn’t going to have all my parts, that I couldn’t bear children. I might have guessed that you don’t want children at all.”

Winston was silent. Rupert looked down at his lap. He took a deep breath, then glanced up again. “I’ll … I’ll go home, I think. Can … can you call me a cab?”

Winston blinked a couple of times. Rupert curled his fists into his skirt. Winston huffed, then looked away. “Not at this hour,” he said.

“It’s hardly lunchtime!” Rupert cried. He needed to get out of here, to go lock himself back up in his tower. He’d been a fool for even trying.

“It will take many hours to get back to where there is decent internet and cell reception,” Winston said. “So a bit of a pain to book a flight last-minute or even a train ticket. And it will likely be evening by the time you get anywhere near Durban.”

“But—”

Winston patted his hand. “I don’t like the thought of sending you by yourself either.”

“I’ll be all right. There will be plenty of people around most of the way.”

The alpha glanced at Rupert, then shook his head. “It will be better to go in the morning.”

Winston stood up. “I’ll leave you here,” he said. “Uncle Stanley will stay with Aunt Gerdie.”

Rupert dropped his head. “I … don’t think I should stay here alone,” he said softly. At home, he might have been alone in his bedroom, but at least Charli and Moose would be near at hand. And there was cell reception; he could text Alina or Elise or even Morgan.

Winston paused. Rupert took a shuddery breath. “I tried,” he murmured. “Just once. After … after the cancer, and Thomas …”

He hadn’t told anyone that part. He swallowed. “Thomas, he—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Winston said quickly, and Rupert lowered his head again, tears running hot down his face. It felt less like comfort and more like dismissal—Winston didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear about it.

Wasn’t that what Thomas had always told him, about everything? He clutched at his wrists and forced himself to look out a window.

He looked up at the alpha, then laughed. “Probably another reason I shouldn’t even consider having children.” He sobered, then turned away. “Anyway. Go if you want, I suppose. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

He waited with his back turned, listening to the sound of Winston’s footsteps on the floor, the door opening. There was a brief pause, and he thought Winston might have said, “Just wait here.” Then the door closed softly.

He waited, but the roar between his ears wouldn’t stop, the constant barrage of voices that usually whispered now a crescendo. He was never going to get out of this. He’d be alone and miserable, childless and ill for the rest of his fucking life. And somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something to deserve it—that this was how he was supposed to be, in pain always and never allowed to speak about it. Just keep quiet, never ask for anything, never want anything.

Thomas hadn’t wanted to hear about the miscarriages or the cancer or the pain, the hurt, the loneliness. Winston didn’t want to hear it either. He clamped his hands over his ears, screwed his eyes shut.

He needed to forget, even just for a moment. He couldn’t wait for Winston to come back, not like this. He needed to escape somehow, and maybe then he could wait a while longer. Sleep. Maybe he could sleep.

He found his case in the other room and riffled through it until he came up with one of the lollies. Just one, he told himself firmly and shut the case up. He tore off the wrapper as he marched back to the other room. There was no danger in one; they were designed to prevent overdosing. And he’d be too tired to go get more.

He popped it into his mouth, pressed it to his cheek. Even as he did that, the chorus in his head got louder, telling him he was too screwed up, too weak, and that was why he’d always be left alone in the end.

He sat down at the table again, gritting his teeth against the stick. God, he hoped this kicked in soon.