Hearts of Deceit (ManxMan)

Ch 9: Fool Me Twice

There's a saying. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. It's a simple concept. Don't be an idiot. Learn from your past mistakes. There's writing on the fucking wall. Look at it. 

I opened my heart up once. That's dangerous business for a delta with little to no money to his name. In movies, the omegas are the damsels-in-distress, the alphas are knights in shining armor, the betas are comedic relief, the gammas are intelligent if awkward geeks. The deltas? Usually the low-life henchmen of the devious alpha villain. Pathetic, good-for-nothings who get punched by the alpha superhero in his righteous red cape. 

People like to pretend that sub-genders don't matter anymore, that we've all moved on to an age of progressivism but as a delta, it creeps up on you in little ways, pricking your skin ever so slightly each time. I saw it in the way my mom would duck her head as she passed a beta on the streets while walking me home. I saw it in the way an omega would sneer at me if I held the door open for them. I felt every part of it when Joe threw me out onto the streets of Portland with a dismissive glance. The way he accused me of leeching off of him for his money. 

I saw it on the nights James would silently cry on my shoulder while reminiscing his time with Dominic or talking about the scowls from co-workers at his law firm. 

I promised myself that I would be above that. I had Elise, James, Declan, a quiet job at a bar, and Tulach Hills. I'd been looking forward to finally opening the box my dad had given me all those years ago. Then Misha came along. I guess I was missing something.

Misha, the tall, silent beta with curly brown hair that fell over pine green eyes and a gentle smile that brought you ease as he spoke kind words tinged with a soft Russian accent. I forgot what I was around him. Or more so, I only remembered that I was Conrad Fitzroy and not just a delta. 

We dated for a year and a half. My clothes would be strewn about his apartment, or his at mine. We'd fall asleep at one another's watching a movie or coming in from a long night with my friends. It didn't seem too far-fetched to ask him, mostly during a drunken episode, if he could move in with me. 

It took some wrestling. I still made only a quarter of what he did but I'd be damned if I'd let him pay everything for an apartment. We found something reasonable in Chelsea, and I could eek out enough to pay for a little over half of the rent and utilities. It wasn't big or fancy and the dish washer still needed to be repaired. But life was good. I cooked on the nights we couldn't go out. Long walks down the streets of Manhattan, evenings in Central Park, him watching me as I carved out my latest piece. Everything was perfect like it had once been all those eons ago in Portland. Funny that. History sure had a way of repeating itself. A twisted, aggravating, annoying way. 

It was a gradual shift like before. At first, I didn't notice Misha coming home later than usual as the days went on. When I started commenting on it, he'd let me know gently that it was work related. He'd apologize and suggest a movie to watch. Some nights he'd come home to the tune of about 2 in the morning, and I'd give a defeated sigh looking into those guilt ridden eyes. It's not like it was a big deal. We both had lives outside of each other. Things were fine. Truly.

....I guess I knew something was up when he came home one night just as I had finished the dishes. It was jarring. The smell of a foreign odor as the front door creaked open. A rich cologne. Expensive. Maybe it was because it smelled vaguely of Joe on the nights he would go to some high-end gathering. There was a vague hint of something rich on Misha that blurred with the beta musk and the smell of pine cones he usually carried. It wasn't a particularly late night. 

I turned to him with a smile. It dropped when I saw the blood. It wasn't a big smattering of blood. Only little droplets that popped out against the paleness of his cheekbones. Maybe that's why he hadn't wiped them off that night. Looking back, the exhaustion visible in his eyes was also cause for concern. He'd clearly slipped up. And that was the first night I would see a hint of something I didn't know about Misha.