Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the Alpha

Chapter 145: Scared Roomie

Clark POV:

I lay on that unfamiliar mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling, listening to the slow, rhythmic hum of the building. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked, then slammed. Someone laughed—too loud, too long. The wind outside scraped faintly against the windows, like fingers tracing the glass.

Still no reply from Sara. My last message just hung there, delivered, unread.

I tried not to spiral, tried to tell myself she was just busy. She was probably knee-deep in open suitcases, already gossiping with her roommates about who’s hot, who’s weird, and which prof has the ugliest shoes. That’s what girls did, right?

Maybe it was the shaken figure curled up on the other bed, wrapped tight in the covers like the walls might cave in. I didn’t even know his name. I’d literally just arrived at the dorms, and now this?

I should’ve left. Maybe wandered around. Found a vending machine. But one look at him—his shoulders twitching with every random sound, his soft gasps like he was holding in a scream—and I knew I couldn’t. No way I was leaving this guy alone.

Sometimes when fear claws through you, you just want someone. Anyone. Even a stranger.

So, yeah, I stayed.

The dorm lights buzzed faintly as night crept in. The shadows outside our window grew deeper, longer. A strange hush settled over the building. I couldn’t hear much beyond the faint wind whistling outside. No chatting from neighboring rooms, no footsteps. It was like the building exhaled and then forgot how to breathe again.

I lay down, hoping sleep would drag me under. It didn’t.

I tossed, turned, my mind buzzing.

Everything kept pointing back to one thing: bullies. It had to be. The guy in bed looked like someone who had been cornered, shaken down, probably roughed up for looking the way he did—delicate, pretty, fragile even. Maybe they thought he was an easy target.

I hated bullies.

God, I hated them.

high ground, but because I knew what it was like. I knew that feeling—the cold dread in your stomach, the shame of being seen as weak,

side, staring at the ceiling, and suddenly I was six years old

Grade two.

wanted to laze around and sneak extra cake from Mom.

like a storm. Banging the door, face red, fury dancing in her eyes. She didn’t even open her books—just started firing off addition questions like bullets. Anyone

a game of survival. Kids flinching, tears forming. She

my additions. I answered fast. No pinches

time she walked by, already red from her cruel little pinches. And when the class ended, he looked

he cornered me

think you’re better than me?" he

Just tried to walk

I could still hear him laughing. His breath smelled like stale cereal. I didn’t cry—not in front

told anyone, he’d knock out my front teeth. Said people would laugh

So I kept quiet.

tell Mom. I didn’t tell Dad. But Clare? Clare knew something

our room that night and cornered me with her signature scowl.

She promised.

which never happened. She hated it more than math itself.

Billy came

Billy. Red-faced

asked what happened to him, Clare

Billy nodded. Hard.

She bit Billy.