#no but call me crazy but i still think nicasia deserves better

[thejudeduarte]

Tell me why I'm kinda obsessed w this

Taryn Duarte should’ve ended up with a woman idc goodbye

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 7:

That’s what I think I fear most. Not the symptoms, but being out of control. My brain taking a backseat and letting my body drive.

Previous

Read chapter 7 on AO3, or read below:

“Seriously?” Cardan asks, holding up the local newspaper the Roach handed him. “We’re too cheap for the New York Times?”

“They were out,” the Roach grunts.

“This house is a nightmare,” Cardan says under his breath.

We’ve been brought out of our cell again to pose for a proof of life photo. Seated, because I can’t stand for long. Cardan is given the newspaper to prove the photo is current, although the Bomb is holding an old-fashioned Polaroid camera and I am not sure anyone will be able to make out the details. I have been asked to do nothing but sit still.

“Do you want us to smile?” Cardan asks, once the Bomb has the camera ready.

“If you want,” says the Bomb. “Go ahead.”

Cardan does. I glare daggers.

“Well, he’ll know it’s her,” the Bomb remarks. With a gloved, almost dainty hand, she pulls the Polaroid out and sets it on top of the minifridge to develop.

“Why did you smile?” I hiss.

Cardan shrugs. “Just because we’re hostages doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re having a bad time.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Couple more,” says the Bomb, raising her camera again. “Bear with me.”

We do, as she snaps a couple more photos, presumably ones where I don’t look so much like I’m about to strangle Cardan. She takes the best ones and slides them into an envelope, which she seals shut with a little water on her gloved finger. No fingerprints, no saliva, no DNA. Just proof of life.

Cardan notices, too. “You’re pretty good at this crime thing,” he tells her. “Ever think about doing it for a living?”

“It’s really just a hobby for now,” she says dryly, handing the envelope to the Ghost, who heads up the stairs and out to deliver it who-knows-where.

“Looks like a full-blown side-gig to me,” Cardan returns.

The Bomb shrugs. “Well, this economy.”

I wonder if I should be alarmed or encouraged that our captors are beginning to genuinely like him.

It’s already late, after a long, mostly-silent stretch of afternoon in the cell, so we are fed and watered and allowed to relieve ourselves once more before we’re put away again. The Roach offers to help me walk, but I manage to make my way around the basement and eventually hobble to the mattress without assistance. It’s not dignified, but at least I maintain a scrap of my dignity.

Before the Roach is able to lock us in for the night, though, Cardan catches the door in his hand and leans forward. He’s whispering, but the room is small enough that I can hear him anyway. “Hey, um, so, can I have my drugs back?”

Around Cardan’s shoulders, I see the Roach’s face split into a terrible grin. “Nah,” he says. “But nice try.”

And then he closes the door and leaves us alone.

Cardan rubs a hand over his face and goes to sit in his corner. I am staring at him. “You wanted to get high? Now?”

“I had some O on me when they took us,” he says. “Good quality stuff. Pure. Synthetic, obviously.” He glances at me.

“Sure,” I say. It’s never really sat right with me that people have figured out how to distill some of the compounds in pheromones—O for omega, A for alpha—and that other, richer people now use them as party drugs, but, hey, at least it’s hard to overdose. And synthetic means the chemicals weren’t harvested from anybody, so, ethically sourced high. In theory.

I’ve never tried A, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Taryn has by now. Locke is not a good influence.

“Actually, I was thinking of trying to dull my receptors, in light of…” He waves a hand. “Well, tomorrow being what it is, you…”

“Oh,” I say quietly.

“Nic always said I’d ruin them if I indulged too much.” It’s dark, so I can’t see his facial expression very well, but I make out his silhouette slumping against the wall. “Thought I’d finally take that bet.”

It takes me a second to realize he means Nicasia, his ex-girlfriend. Still his friend, though. I think. It’s weirdly humanizing, the idea that he has a nickname for somebody he likes. It makes him more of a person. “You call her Nic?” I ask. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that before.”

“Well, no. You’re not allowed. It’s a special privilege.”

I snicker but don’t reply, looking down at my hands instead. Tomorrow morning will be three days since I took my last suppressant. Two days since I woke up in this cell, locked in with Cardan. I’m about guaranteed to go into heat, and I don’t know what will happen after that. Whether I’ll have enough presence of mind to care about what will happen. If I will even be myself.

That’s what I think I fear most. Not the symptoms. Not even that I might end up mating with Cardan, of all people. But being out of control. My brain taking a backseat and letting my body drive.

“Jude?” Cardan asks quietly.

I don’t want to talk about it. Not with him. Not now. So I shift to a more comfortable seat against my wall and say nothing.

But he surprises me by asking, “Did you mean what you said before? Do you really blame me for what happened with Valerian?”

“Yes.” But there’s a twinge in my chest as I remember the shock on his face, the way he avoided my eyes the rest of the day. I had struck my mark, but at what cost? As he said, it’s not like he was actually there. I press the heel of my palm into my eye. “No. Maybe. I don’t know, Cardan. You didn’t help.”

“Yeah, but like…” I hear him flick at some dust on the floor. “I didn’t know, you know? I didn’t know what he was going to do. If I had known, I would have stopped him.”

I blink in his direction. “I thought you did know,” I say abruptly, and I don’t quite realize how true that is until I say it aloud. That Cardan, who has historically masterminded so much misery, must be behind this, too.

“What?”

“After Locke…” I pick at one of the scratchy blankets. “I mean, Valerian was first, but then when it turned out Locke was trying to get with me and Taryn, I thought it was some awful competition between the three of you. Who could get in my pants first, or make me most miserable, or…”

“No, no.” Cardan actually has the audacity to look shocked. “Jude, I know that I can be a miserable son of a bitch sometimes, but there are lines.”

“Are there? You never acted like it. You insulted me every chance you got. You pushed me into a fountain.”

He chuckles weakly. “That again?”

“It was cold,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “I was cold all day. And I had to lie to my dad.”

And I don’t add the part that hurt most—that he said he was sick of smelling me and I needed to wash off. I can’t control how I smell to him. In fact, I always resented him for smelling so good to me when we clearly weren’t a match. It’s a little easier to get over since he’s so terrible, but it sucks to know that my body picked someone out who could not be clearer about his lack of reciprocation. A defect in me. Something else I can’t control.

“Well, yeah, but there’s a huge difference between that and rape.” He falls quiet for a second, then says, “I’m glad you defended yourself. I am. And I do admire you for that. That’s all.”

“Then you’re crazy. I don’t think anyone else does, aside from Madoc.” I look down. “It’s not what omegas are supposed to do. Fight back. Fight at all.”

I hear Cardan flick another dustbunny. “You know what Balekin said about it?”

My shoulders tense. I know that word of the whole thing had spread through the school like wildfire, even though the disciplinary meeting we had with the principal was supposed to have been confidential, but there’s a difference between knowing and hearing that Cardan’s older brother, of all people, had an opinion. “What did he say?” I ask slowly, dreading the answer.

“He said, ‘I don’t know what Madoc was thinking, sending those girls to your school.’ Like it was just something that was bound to happen.” I feel a little nauseated, but Cardan continues, “That didn’t sit right with me. I mean, you’d been going to school with alphas for ten years. You had alpha teachers. I mean, we had classes together for six years, and I never thought to—”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’ve been very clear about that.”

“No, but—ugh.” Cardan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I think Valerian was wrong. And Balekin was wrong. And you were right. I’d just never thought about it like that before.”

I sigh. “What do you want, a cookie? For thinking I deserve basic human rights?”

In the darkness, I see him wince. “You don’t pull punches, do you?”

“Not anymore.” I lean forward and run my hands over my bandages. The Ghost had done a good job with them. “I did mean what I said about you making it worse. Maybe you didn’t know what Valerian was going to do. Maybe you didn’t egg him on. But you upheld that hierarchy, you know. Strongest alphas on top, omegas on the bottom. You benefited from it.”

“Well, it’s just the—”

“The way things are. I know.” I exhale. “It’s not how they have to be.”

Cardan is quiet for a while. “Valerian liked to hurt people,” he says at last. “Anyone. Animals, even. It was his main alpha trait, that aggression. ‘Couldn’t be helped,’ according to his, I think, third psychiatrist. I think we all thought if we could direct that, use it for our benefit, point him in a direction like—I don’t know, an arrow…”

“Sounds like you need better friends,” I say. Managing Valerian sounds like trying to leash a rabid dog, and I truly do not envy him that. Hoping the dog will only bite other people is selfish and awful, but also bound to fail.

“I haven’t spoken to him since what he did to you.” His voice is unexpectedly firm. Again, he surprises me. “Tried to do, I mean. I told Nic and Locke to cut him off, too. He’s basically dead to us.”

“Oh.” I squint at him, feeling—I don’t know what I’m feeling. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was your friend.”

“Well…” Cardan taps his finger on the floor. “Maybe I don’t want a friend like that.”

I sit with that admission for a moment, trying to make it square with what I know of Cardan outside these walls. It’s almost like there are two of him: the awful one wreaking havoc outside, and the one in here, with me, who sounds almost on the verge of apologizing. Who uses his alpha charm for good on our kidnappers. Who reads books. Who almost seems to care.

“Your other friends are also kind of shitty,” I point out. “Didn’t Nicasia cheat on you? With Locke?”

Cardan shrugs. “Nic’s not so bad. Locke cheated on her with you and your sister, so I consider us pretty much even for that. Locke, though…” He sighs. “I wish he’d just admit he has a crush on me and get over it.”

I let out a shocked, choked laugh. “What?”

“What other explanation is there for him making out with pretty much anyone I’ve ever really liked?”

I had known about Nicasia, but it sounds like there are others I don’t know about. Still, must be nice, being Cardan, having that kind of confidence in someone being mean because they like you. “He’s a douchebag?” I suggest.

“Maybe,” Cardan says. “Too easy, though. I want complex, psychological drama, Duarte. I want homoerotic CW drama.”

“It sounds like you want Locke to put his tongue in your mouth.”

“I mean, for the experience, sure. Frankly, I’m a little offended he hasn’t tried.”

My cheeks hurt, and I realize I am smiling. How is he getting inside my guard so easily? Saying a few nice things about admiring my tenacity isn’t enough to negate years of schoolyard warfare. It feels good, though. Maybe even better because the person delivering the compliment is totally unexpected.

“Fine,” I sigh.

“Fine what?”

“You’re clearly angling to get your spot on the mattress back. It’s working.” I lean over as far as I can and pat the empty half. “Come on. Probably the last night you can sleep here.”

“You sure?”

It’s funny how I can now tell he’s raising his eyebrow just from the way he asks the question. It’s not a soft, gentle ask—like he’s worried about spooking me—but a sardonic one. Almost a challenge. So even if he is worried about spooking me, he’s spared my pride. I appreciate that.

This is the most I have actually ever spoken to Cardan Greenbriar. It turns out he’s kind of fun.

I shrug. “Sure. Either we’re going to be keeping our distance and you’ll have to take the floor tomorrow, or we’ll be too busy humping to sleep. Like bunnies. Might as well make the most of it while you can.”

Cardan kicks his shoes off, then sits down next to me on the mattress with a grunt. “I think it’s more like wolves,” he says, grinning. “Or dogs. On account of the—”

“Knot.” I visibly shudder. “I know. Gross.”

His grin widens. “Absolutely disgusting.”

I have to take a breath. This is a very specific heat/rut thing, the knot of it all, and most non-heat sex doesn’t trigger it. It is also one of the things I have looked forward to least about eventual sex-having, eventual partner-having. I had kind of hoped I’d get to practice without it. “But all kinds of sex acts sound gross when you break them down on a technical level,” I say, trying to reassure myself. “So maybe it’s not so bad.”

“Maybe.” Cardan props one of the pillows against the wall and settles down on his back, his arms crossed behind head. A model of comfort, of ease. I wonder how much he is faking. No one could be that cool in our situation.

I am quiet for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as though I can still count the criss-crossing pipes that run along it like country roads. “Does it bother you that you won’t ever have a mate? Not that you won’t mate, just that you probably can’t have a… like a mate mate?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan tilt his chin up toward me. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s different for me. You know that.” I don’t lie down next to him just yet, but I do look at him. His shirt’s hitched up a little above his jeans, exposing a line of his flat stomach, the ridge of a hip bone. “Everyone I know is an alpha. I’ll probably end up married to one. I could be…” I trail off. “I don’t even know if I like the idea. Being tied to someone like that.”

“Being knotted to them, you mean?” I give him a little shove, and he laughs, then says, “Marriage is tying yourself to somebody too, you know.”

“I know. But not on a biochemical level.”

They used to call the connection between mates a “soul bond” for how deep it goes, how sensitive it makes you to the other person, their moods, their wants. We know more now about how the actual chemicals at play work, which has demystified a lot of it. There’s still a kind of romance to it anyway, I guess. But mating bonds are really difficult to undo, so how are you supposed to know that the person you bite is the right one? What if you choose wrong? At least with marriage there’s divorce. Like many things, a mating bond is something I’d resigned myself to going without, although it would give me a measure of basic protection I don’t currently have.

“I’ve thought about it,” Cardan admits. “I think everyone expects me to eventually end up with Nic still, even though… y’know, and in that case I could have someone else on the side, maybe. It’s pretty common. Or I could be like your dad and marry an omega anyway.”

I snort. “Yeah, that worked out really well for everyone.”

“You know, with what we learned today, Vivi’s theory—”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to think about it.” Because that’s how I deal with these things. I don’t think of them until I have the time and space to handle them, which may be never, and definitely isn’t now. The last thing I need is to lie awake thinking about how Madoc might be involved in all sorts of unsavory things, up to and including arranging my parents’ murder.

Cardan does not seem to be giving this the same consideration. “Do you think Madoc and your mother were mates?”

I shudder. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Vivi had to happen somehow.”

I slide down the wall to my pillow and make a small keening noise into my hands. “That doesn’t mean they were mates. I think Madoc would have found us a lot sooner if they were.”

“You mean he would have sniffed her out.”

“Yeah.” I frown, slipping briefly into memory. “My parents really loved each other, though. I remember that. They’d smile at each other, they’d kiss before my mom left for work, they—” My throat seems to close, and I swallow.

“Must be nice,” Cardan says under his breath. I’m not sure I’m supposed to hear it.

I look down at my hands. I rarely allow myself the remembrances of my mom’s smile, my dad’s arm looped casually behind her when we watched movies on the couch. They were both omegas. They were happy. “I guess I talked myself out of my point. Mates aren’t the end-all be-all of…”

Either Cardan is oblivious to my musings or he’s trying to spare me from them, because he continues, “I mean, regular sex is pretty fun. The not-heat kind. The not-mate kind.”

“It is?” I ask, trying not to let the question strangle itself in my throat. “So… are you saying you’re good at it? I should know, before—if this is all going to happen.”

His face screws up in thought. “I’d like to think so,” he muses. “T-B-H, it’s hard to get honest feedback when you have this much money. Girls, boys, alphas, omegas, they all tell you what they think you want to hear. Although Nic wouldn’t let me slack off in bed, so yeah, I think I know my way around.”

“Oh, well, good. That’s great.” I sink further down and pull my blanket to my chest, looking up at the ceiling. “If my hormones don’t render me totally incoherent, I’ll give you a rating.”

Cardan cracks another smile. “Out of five stars? Like an Uber?”

“Sure. You know. ‘Smooth ride, good driver.’” I cover my face with my hands. “God.”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be okay. I mean, sure, we are living out the exact set-up of half the alpha/omega porn I’ve ever watched, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. Remember that movie everyone was buzzing about a couple of years ago, where they got stuck in the elevator but he held off?”

“That was a movie, with actors. Not a documentary.”

“Still, we’re dealing with, what? An elevator-and-a-half, two elevators of space? Could work out in our favor.”

I pull my hands down and look over at him. “Unlikely,” I say. “But sure.”

Cardan studies me, then turns onto his side and reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I am struck dumb, thinking he’s apologizing for everything he’s done to me. But he adds, “Just in case something does happen. I know… I know this isn’t what you want.”

Well, that isn’t nothing. I shrug. With him so close, smelling like he does, looking like he does, I almost think I could do worse. “I mean, it’s not like I’m your first choice.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him purse his full lips. “Still, I wanted you to know.”

I turn onto my side to face him directly. “When’s the last time you apologized to anybody?”

“When I wasn’t forced to by an authority figure, you mean?” A little crease forms between his brows. “I honestly don’t remember.”

Definitely not nothing. I don’t feel better, but I could feel worse. “Can you do one thing for me?” I ask, and it comes out a whisper, like I’m a frightened child.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice equally soft, which just makes the whole thing even more horrible. That he’s not being what I thought. That he’s not being cruel.

I swallow, but make myself say it. “Don’t hurt me on purpose.”

Cardan’s lips part. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, Jude.”

I turn over, giving him my back. I don’t want to look at his face anymore. As much as I want to hear him say he is sorry, I don’t want to see him feel sorry for me.

Next