My life

Bathroom

MICAS POV

We sat down at the table, but I barely tasted the food in front of me. My attention kept drifting, my senses stretched thin, searching. Finally, I leaned toward my beta and told him the truth,my mate was here.
His reaction was instant. His face lit up with excitement, questions spilling out one after another. He told me I had to talk to her, that this was what I'd been waiting for. I wanted to agree. I wanted to walk straight over to her and introduce myself.But something felt wrong.
I told him about the things I'd noticed the way she looked constantly on edge, how her eyes darted around the room like she was expecting something bad to happen, how fear clung to her scent beneath the sweetness. I told him I didn't want to scare her, that I'd try to talk to her later, maybe as she was leaving.

After we ate, I excused myself and headed toward the restroom, hoping a moment alone would clear my head. I stood at the sink, washing my hands, when the door suddenly flew open behind me.
She rushed in.

The sight of her stopped me cold. She looked terrified, no, worse than terrified. She was shaking, crying, gasping for air like she couldn't breathe. Panic rolled off her in waves, so strong it made my chest ache.

I turned toward her immediately and asked what was wrong, my voice low and careful. I took a step closer, slow, so I wouldn't frighten her any more than she already was.

But the moment I moved, her legs gave out.

She collapsed to the floor and curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her body, sobbing like she was trying to disappear.

Something inside me snapped.

Why was my mate this afraid? Why had she run into the bathroom like she was being chased? Why did she look at me like I was something to fear? Rage burned hot in my chest, not at her, never at her, but at the world that had clearly hurt her.

I kept talking, asking if she was okay, if someone had hurt her, but she didn't answer. She just cried. Desperate, I reached out and gently touched her arm.

The effect was immediate.

Her sobs slowed, then stopped altogether. She looked up at me, eyes wide and glassy, like she couldn't understand what had just happened. She apologized, her voice small, realizing where she was and that she was in the men's restroom.

I told her it was fine. That she was okay. I asked again if she was hurt.

She stood up then, and that was when I really saw her.

She wasn't just thin, she was dangerously skinny. Malnourished. Her body looked fragile, like it had been denied care for far too long. Bruises marked her skin: faint ones on her legs, one dark and angry beneath her collarbone, another clear as day on her face. And then I saw the marks, fingernail impressions right where her skirt ended.

My vision went red.

It took everything I had not to lose control. Not to hunt down whoever had done this to her. Not to tear them apart.

Before I could say a single word, before I could ask who had hurt her or tell her she wasn't alone, she apologized again and rushed past me  straight into the women's restroom.

And I was left standing there, shaking with fury and fear, knowing one thing for certain.

Someone had broken my mate.
And I was going to find out who.

GENEVIEVE'S POV

The second the door swung shut behind me, I knew. 

Even through the blur of tears, through the pounding in my ears and the way my chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, I knew I was in the wrong bathroom. The realization hit me like ice water. My stomach dropped, twisting painfully, and I lifted my head just enough to see him standing there. 

The same guy from earlier. 
The one who had looked at me for just a second too long. 

Fear wrapped around my throat and squeezed. I couldn't move. My body locked up completely, every muscle frozen in place as tears streamed down my face. I tried to tell myself to run, to turn around, to do anything—but my legs wouldn't listen. 

When he started walking toward me, something inside me shattered. 

I didn't think. I didn't decide. My body gave out, and I sank to the floor, curling into myself as tightly as I could. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pressed my forehead down, sobbing harder, louder, unable to stop. I felt small. Exposed. Trapped. 

This was so embarrassing. So humiliating. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have messed up. I shouldn't be causing problems. The thoughts piled on top of each other, crushing me. 

He was saying something. I could see his mouth moving, hear the sound of his voice, but the words didn't reach me. Everything felt far away, like I was underwater. My breathing came in sharp, painful gasps, my chest burning with every inhale. 

Then I felt it. 

A hand on my arm. 

I flinched instinctively, bracing for something worse—but instead, something strange happened. The panic eased. Just a little. The sobs slowed, then stopped, like someone had gently turned down the volume inside me. The warmth of his touch spread through my arm, steady and grounding, and for the first time since I'd run in, I could breathe. 

I was still scared. Terrified, even. But I wasn't falling apart anymore. 

I looked up at him, confused by the sudden calm, my lashes clumped with tears. That's when I realized—really realized—where I was. The men's restroom. My face burned with shame. 

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I—I didn't mean to—" 

He said it was okay. He asked if I was alright, if I was hurt. 

I didn't understand why he cared. He was a stranger. Strangers didn't ask questions like that. They didn't look at you like they were genuinely worried. It made my chest ache in a way I didn't know how to explain. 

I forced myself to stand, my legs shaking, and that's when I noticed his eyes on me. Not in a bad way—at least, I didn't think so—but it still made heat rush to my face. I felt exposed, like he could see everything I was trying so hard to hide. 

"I'm really sorry," I said again, because apologizing felt safer than anything else. 

Before he could say another word, I rushed past him and into the women's restroom, my heart racing all over again. 

Inside, I locked myself into a stall and pressed my back against the door. My hands trembled as I wiped my face, taking slow, careful breaths until I felt steady enough to stand. I splashed water on my cheeks, checked the mirror, and made sure I didn't look swollen or broken. I needed to look normal. 

When I finally walked back out, everyone was already getting ready to leave. Relief flooded through me, so strong it almost made my knees weak. At least I'd be safe now. At least my cousin wouldn't do anything else—not today. 

I clung to that thought as we headed for the exit. 

But deep down, a quiet voice whispered that safety like mine never lasted. 

And I couldn't shake the feeling that something had already changed.