Breed Me, Daddy Alpha-Chapter 95

Lyra

"You have got to be kidding me!"

I shot up so fast the stool screamed against the tile, nearly toppling over as I pointed one trembling, accusatory finger straight at her forehead like I was about to cast a bitchy curse.

"You invited Marcus? Like Marcus Marcus? My Marcus? The Marcus who ruined my life and then had the audacity to ask for a selfie after emotionally annihilating me?"

Tasha just blinked at me, chewing her toast like she hadn’t just detonated a trauma bomb in the middle of my kitchen. Her face was way too casual for someone who had just dragged my dignity out into the street and run it over with a party invitation.

I was already spiraling.

"Tasha! Don’t you remember what that boy did to me? Don’t you remember how he insulted me because I didn’t give him my virginity? Are you fucking insane? Because I remember everything! I remember the way he looked at me like I was some defective product.

"I remember the voice note where he said I was pretty but clearly inexperienced and that he didn’t date girls who didn’t know how to ride. I remember the messages.

" I remember the laugh reacts from people I thought were my friends. I remember sitting in the bathroom stall during P.E. with toilet paper in my hand, trying to figure out if I was ugly or just delusional."

Tasha rolled her eyes.

"Oh my God, Lyra. It’s not that deep."

I gasped so loud the air left the building.

"Not that deep? Tasha, I cried for days. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I blocked him, unblocked him, stalked him, cried again, deleted his number, memorized it, then screamed into my pillow every time I saw the letter M.

"I literally considered selling my soul for closure, and you’re telling me it’s not that deep?"

Tasha shrugged like I’d just complained about the weather.

"It’s in the past. People move on. You should too. Like, grow up, babe."

I clutched my chest like she’d stabbed me with a glitter pen.

"Grow up? Tasha, I’m literally eighteen. I just grew into my hips last semester. I still have braces in my old selfies. I’m still figuring out if I’m a bad bitch or a permanently anxious raccoon with lip gloss. And you’re telling me to grow up? Because I don’t want to be in the same house as the boy who slut-shamed me for being a virgin? Because I don’t want to watch the same boy who said I was emotionally immature do body shots off your cousin’s waist while I stand in the corner trying not to cry into the cheese platter?"

She didn’t even blink. Didn’t flinch. She just looked at me like I was doing too much — which, fair, I probably was — but that didn’t mean I was going to stop.

"I’m not crazy for still being pissed! That boy made me question my entire self-worth! He made me feel like there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want to give him my body like it was a fucking participation trophy. He told people I was frigid, that I ’acted grown but folded when it mattered.’ Tasha, he told people I probably still sleep with teddy bears. Which is true, but it’s the principle! That was private!"

She took another bite of toast like she wasn’t currently watching my mental breakdown in Dolby surround sound.

"Oh my God, breathe."

"I am breathing! I’m breathing spite! I’m breathing betrayal! I’m breathing post-traumatic Marcus disorder, Tasha!"

She rolled her eyes again and reached for her phone. "You need to let it go."

"No. What I need is for you to uninvite that emotionally manipulative bastard before I call on the ancestors and let them deal with you personally."

She smirked without looking up. "You’re being dramatic."

"Dramatic? DRAMATIC? Tasha, you don’t even know the half of it. That boy kissed me, ghosted me for three days, then came back with a meme about girls who don’t swallow. He humiliated me, made me feel like I was broken, like something was wrong with me for not spreading my legs like Wi-Fi, and now you want me to shake ass to Burna Boy in the same room as him like that didn’t happen? Are you okay? Are you high? Or just spiritually irresponsible?"

She looked up slowly and blinked.

"Are you done?"

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"No. I haven’t even started."

Because my brain was racing. My stomach was doing gymnastics. And beneath all of that chaos was the real truth that I didn’t want to say out loud — that Marcus was the first person I almost gave it to. That I thought I loved him. That I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d finally be ready if it was with him. And he ruined it. Not just the moment. He ruined the whole idea of sex for me. Turned it into a weapon. Made it feel like something I owed instead of something I wanted.