Too Beautiful for the Alpha

   "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."

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,

is empty. "There will be someone to take

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

best," he says, looking

I say immediately, "I

not now." There is a moment of silence between us

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

'goodnight' and 'goodbye', but I leave the

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

bed and collapse onto it, burying myself into the pillows and blankets. The tears come immediately like a dam opening its floodgates, wetting the

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

around as I once did. Pulling over bookcases

he told me last night. I expected this, but my body wants to touch him one more time, my mind wants to see

I thought before this all started. Theresa and Gail come

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

kitchen. Gail looks up at me and smiles a sad smile. "We made you breakfast

my bag against the wall. "Where

as if