Too Beautiful for the Alpha

Maybe I've been dreaming because no situation has felt as real as this one does now. My heart won't settle, my hands won't keep still, I have to take deep breaths every little bit to calm myself. It's only dinner. We've dealt with many more nerve-racking things before, but for some reason, this one scares me the most. It's the most normal. The most foreign to me.

I brush my hair while standing in front of the mirror in my cozy bathroom, stroking the dark strands as it runs through. This seems to relax me. It's six thirty, and I heard someone walk down the hall a few minutes ago. Assuming it was James, my mind keeps wandering to him, wondering what he's doing. I think he's in the shower.

I set my brush down and leave the bathroom to change. My robe is wrapped tightly around me as I rummage through the closet, already knowing what's in there, but looking as if new things have joined the collection. My shaky fingers tug at dresses, nice pants, blouses, and pull down a few. I set them on the bed to try things on. Before letting my robe drop to the floor, I close the shutters and lock the door. First, I shimmy on a dress.

I check how I look in the mirror on the back of the door. It's silver and detailed and princess-like, but I don't look like a princess in it. The dress is black and flowy, and much too short. If I bend down, I'll flash my underwear, and if I reach up, I may just do the same. I switch to another dress, then another, then a lilac blouse, then to a navy sweater.

I eventually admit to myself that I hate this, trying on clothes in an attempt to look attractive. That part of me will never change.

This is all an unwanted flashback to times of getting ready for the gathering. The purple dress, the whining, the fear, the gold dress, the stumbling, my mother's encouraging, and that bagging chest area that was never filled out. Only this time I will be talking to a guy, which right now, makes it worse. I feel like old Rae, wanting to stay in bed, reading a book under the yellow light of a lamp.

My eyes shoot to the clock once I realize I've been sitting on the floor for a while. It's five minutes to seven. I have five minutes.

Naturally, I bring myself to a panic.

"I can't do this," I murmur, "I can't do this, I can't, I can't, I'm not," all while slipping on my pajamas and throwing myself into my bed. "I can't. I can't." My eyes stare at the clock until the fifty-nine flashes to two zeros, then they smack shut, squeezing all of the light out. My hands fist the covers before yanking them over my head, wanting to be anywhere else.

I'm scared. I don't know how to act normal with him. It was all fun and games when we slept and kissed and argued and hugged, but now it's just straight conversation. Getting to know each other, how we eat, how we drink, how long I chew for before swallowing. Just us, alone, over food, which makes me even more anxious. Food.

I remember when I was sixteen and chubby legged and cheeked, I remember the rules I had for myself. No more than some obscure amount of calories and absolutely no foods that weren't guilt-free. Yet, every food had guilt in it back then.

I wouldn't eat in front of my mother. I wouldn't look in the mirror for long periods of time. I would cry because I wasn't them. It always comes back to them, right? Those girls. The girls like her, the green-eyed girl. And she had him. She had James. He had her. He wanted her. That can't be denied.

Maybe he used her to distract himself from me as he says, but he still had her body. She was able to give it to him. She knows—she knows that she's irresistible. She knows her hair is thick and soft, her skin is smooth and unmarked, her body is lean and curved, her touch—I bet he loved it. I bet he did.

I want this to work, I really do, but I know that she's going to haunt me. She'll stride into his bedroom, the girl I'll never be, and she'll seduce him with the qualities I'll never have.

How do I tell him that it will ruin things? How do I tell him that I'm scared to be vulnerable to him like that?

in his bed, but did I think about what's

returning to

side, making me

to speak. "Uh... I—Well, I-I'm feeling a little unwell. I just—I don't want to get anyone else sick." Coward.

me to

are you like this? Why can't you just get up and answer that damn door? Why do you hide away? Be strong, Rae. Tell him the truth, Rae. Stop being pathetic,

chest growing tight.

Rae.

as if someone is shoving a towel

you open

the towel down my

before switching the lock and steadily inching it open, peeking out to look up at him. I'm sure my cheeks are red and my pajamas look scrambled,

eyes wander past me, finding the visible pile of clothes on the floor and scene of panic. I inch the door closed, just enough space for my body. His

there's no

a smile flashes on his face. "You're

pajamas,

before the food gets

stay in the doorframe until he turns and heads towards the stairs, catching up to him.

of the mess I

follow him to the dining room, which I haven't been in much. Most of the time I ate with Gail and Theresa in the kitchen, which was less

There is one spot at the head of the table and one to the side, and the dimmed chandelier above sparkles down on it like a dream. Not wanting to sit at the head of the table, I choose the much more comfortable

if something terrible is about to happen, and I

much, and I hesitantly take the fork in my hand, trying to remember the position my fingers go in. It's steak and potatoes and grilled vegetables, and

are stuck to my plate, lifting bits of food to my mouth as a squirrel would eat. Nibbling. My hair creates a curtain between us, but I feel the curtain being pulled back. I look up to James with a flushed face, my fingernails pressing into my palm. "Are you alright?" He asks, looking rather

a breathy laugh sort of sigh. "I'm