MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 6

The words hit me like a shove.

Mine.

Not “my friend.” Not “my suite-mate.” Not even “my problem,” which was already annoying enough.

Mine.

Possessive. Certain. Like he’d just stamped his name on my forehead in front of everyone and expected the universe to agree.

I stood there on the edge of the dance floor, Alex’s hand still wrapped around mine, the music still thumping like a heartbeat, the string lights still blinking like nothing had happened.

But everything had changed.

Because now people were looking.

Not the normal “who’s that cute couple” look.

More like the “oh, that’s him” look.

Like Alex was a rumor with legs.

The guy who’d grabbed my wrist had backed away so fast he almost collided with a group of freshmen holding plastic cups. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t complain. He didn’t even glare back like most guys did when they got embarrassed.

He just… retreated.

Pale.

Quiet.

As if his body had decided it liked living too much to keep challenging whatever Alex was.

Lina and Bree finally noticed, because drama had gravity and Lina was allergic to missing it.

Lina’s mouth dropped open. Bree’s eyes widened like she’d just watched a plot twist in real life.

“Um—” Lina started.

I didn’t let her finish.

I yanked my hand out of Alex’s grip so hard my fingers tingled.

Alex’s gaze flicked to my hand instantly, sharp and checking, like he expected blood.

It made my skin crawl. It made my chest twist.

“Don’t,” I snapped.

His eyebrows lifted. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say that,” I hissed.

Alex’s expression didn’t change. Calm. Controlled. Like the party lights were just reflecting off stone.

But his voice dropped, softer. “He shouldn’t touch you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I said.

Lina took one step toward us like she was stepping into a boxing ring. “Okay, everyone breathe—”

“Not now,” I snapped at Lina, and immediately regretted it when Lina flinched.

Bree hovered behind her, clutching her cup like it was a shield.

Alex’s gaze moved over Lina and Bree briefly, then returned to me. His focus tightened like a cord.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m angry,” I corrected.

“You’re both,” he said.

I hated that he was right.

I hated more that his voice sounded like he cared.

“You don’t get to talk like that,” I said, voice low and sharp, because I refused to have this conversation as a public performance. “You don’t get to act like you own me.”

Alex’s jaw tightened.

The air around him felt… dense. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just heavier, like storm pressure.

“I didn’t say I own you,” he said.

“You said I was yours,” I snapped. “That’s the same thing, Alex.”

His eyes darkened.

“It’s not,” he said quietly.

I laughed once—short, bitter. “You’re unbelievable.”

He didn’t argue.

He just stared at me like he was holding back words the way someone held back teeth.

Lina cleared her throat, trying again. “Okay, maybe we—”

I stepped back. “I’m leaving.”

Bree’s eyes widened. “Wait—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied automatically.

Alex moved—one step forward, too quick.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“No,” I said instantly.

His eyes sharpened. “Yes.”

I glared at him like my glare could physically push him away. “I said no.”

His voice dropped, dangerous calm. “And I said yes.”

That was the problem.

He kept saying yes like my no was optional.

Like my choices were cute until they got in the way of his instincts.

I felt heat rise in my throat, in my eyes, in my whole body.

I hated it. I hated feeling anything that could be mistaken for weakness.

“I don’t need you,” I said.

Alex didn’t blink. “You do.”

“Stop,” I whispered, because my voice was cracking now, and I refused to let it.

His eyes searched my face in a way that felt too intimate for a boy I’d known for two days.

“I’m not—” he started.

I cut him off. “I’m leaving.”

Then I turned and pushed through the crowd before my pride could collapse.

I heard Lina calling my name behind me, and Bree saying, “Should we go after her?”

I heard Alex’s voice, low and absolute: “Stay.”

Then I heard his footsteps.

Following.

Of course.

The hallway outside the lounge was dimmer and quieter, like stepping out of a loud dream into a colder one. The music became muffled, the laughter dulled, the air cooler.

My breath came out too fast.

I walked quickly, almost stomping, like I could stomp my anger into the ground and bury it.

Behind me, footsteps matched mine.

Not hurried.

Not panicked.

Just… present.

Like a shadow that refused to leave.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to see him, because if I saw him, I might say something even worse. Or say something that sounded like I cared.

I made it out the front doors of the rec building and into the night air.

The campus looked different at night.

During the day, it felt like a place where you could pretend nothing bad existed.

At night, the shadows got longer. The trees looked thicker. The boundary path in the distance seemed like a dark line leading into a mouth.

The wind moved softly through the leaves.

I hugged my arms around myself even though I wasn’t cold.

I was just full of too much feeling and nowhere to put it.

“I told you not to follow me,” I said, still not turning.

Alex’s voice came from behind me, calm. “I’m walking.”

“You’re walking behind me.”

“I’m walking behind you,” he agreed.

I spun around so fast my hair whipped my cheek.

“Do you ever listen?” I demanded.

Alex stood a few feet away under a pool of light from a campus lamp. His hoodie made him look even more like trouble. The shadows under his eyes made him look older than college, like he carried a night he didn’t talk about.

His expression was controlled, but his gaze was intense—too intense for someone who claimed he wasn’t doing anything.

“Yes,” he said. “I listen.”

“Then listen now,” I snapped. “You don’t get to say I’m yours.”

Alex’s jaw flexed.

“I said it because he—”

“I don’t care why,” I cut in. “That’s not your decision. That’s not your language to use on me. I’m not a thing you protect like property.”

Alex went very still.

The lamplight caught his eyes and made them look almost silver-dark.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

“That’s how it sounded,” I shot back.

Silence stretched between us.

Somewhere far away, someone laughed. A door slammed. The party still existed like a different universe behind us.

Alex took one slow breath.

Then another.

Like he was measuring his own control.

“You’re right,” he said finally.

The words surprised me so much my anger stumbled.

I blinked. “What?”

Alex’s gaze held mine. “You’re right,” he repeated, voice low. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

My throat went tight.

I didn’t expect him to apologize. Alex didn’t seem like the type.

He seemed like the type who got worse when challenged.

He took a small step closer, not invading, just reducing the distance enough that I could smell him again—rain and metal, storm and something wild.

“I wasn’t trying to claim you,” he said. “I was trying to warn him.”

“Then warn him,” I snapped. “Without turning me into a—into a label.”

Alex’s eyes flickered, almost pained.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly.

I laughed again, sharp. “You love saying that.”

Alex’s gaze dropped for a second, like he was looking at the ground to keep himself steady.

Then he looked back up.

“I’m not good at normal,” he said.

The words landed strange in my chest. Because it sounded… honest.

I didn’t soften, not fully. But my anger shifted slightly, like it didn’t know where to go when the other person wasn’t fighting back.

“Well,” I said, voice still tight, “learn.”

Alex’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“I’m trying,” he said.

I stared at him, and for a second my brain did the stupid thing it kept doing around him—noticed details like the curve of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the way his shoulders held tension like it lived there.

I hated my brain.

I looked away fast.

“I’m going back,” I muttered.

“To the dorm?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Alex nodded once. “Okay.”

I blinked. “You’re not going to argue?”

“I already did,” he said.

That annoyed me again. “You’re impossible.”

His eyes followed my face. “You like impossible.”

“I do not.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Sure.”

I turned and started walking.

He fell into step beside me, not behind me this time.

I didn’t tell him to move. I didn’t want to admit that having him beside me felt… safer.

Not safe.

Just safer.

We walked in tense silence for a few minutes.

The campus lamps cast circles of light on the path, leaving darkness between them like gaps in a story. Each time we stepped into a dark stretch, my body tensed automatically.

Alex seemed to notice, because his posture shifted slightly—subtle, protective, like he was positioning himself between me and the deeper shadows without saying a word.

That irritated me.

And also calmed something inside me.

Which irritated me more.

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I muttered.

Alex didn’t look at me. “I know.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

His voice was quiet. “I can’t.”

I glanced at him. “Why?”

Alex’s jaw flexed again, and he didn’t answer.

The boundary sign was visible in the distance, pale under moonlight.

BOUNDARY — DO NOT CROSS AFTER DARK

My stomach twisted.

I forced myself to keep walking like it didn’t matter.

“Are you mad?” Lina’s voice suddenly called from behind us.

I turned.

Lina came jogging up the path, breathless, her expression a mix of guilt and concern and curiosity.

Bree trailed behind her a few steps, slower, looking nervous.

“I told you not to come alone,” I snapped at Lina, because apparently I was incapable of not snapping.

Lina held up her hands. “Okay, valid. But you stormed out like a dramatic heroine and I panicked.”

Bree nodded quickly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

My anger softened a fraction, because Bree’s concern looked real.

“I’m fine,” I said again, because I was loyal to lying.

Lina’s eyes flicked to Alex, then back to me, then widened like she realized something.

“Wait,” Lina whispered loudly. “Did he say the ‘mine’ thing?”

My face heated. “Lina.”

Lina looked at Alex like she was ready to fight him with words. “Did you?”

Alex didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Lina gasped dramatically. “WHY?”

Alex’s gaze stayed on me, not Lina. “Because someone touched her.”

Lina opened her mouth—

I cut her off. “Stop. Both of you.”

Bree stepped forward awkwardly. “Do you… want to go back to the party? Or…?”

“No,” I said instantly.

Lina made a face. “Okay, same. I’m suddenly tired.”

We all turned toward the dorms again.

It should’ve been normal, walking in a small group at night, going back to our rooms after a party.

But my nerves stayed tight.

The path ahead seemed darker than before, the shadows deeper.

The trees whispered.

And every time the wind shifted, I kept thinking I heard something behind it.

We reached the dorm building. The lobby lights were bright and harsh, like the building was trying to pretend night didn’t exist.

Inside, everything felt safer.

Students lounged on couches, scrolling phones. Someone heated something in the microwave. Someone laughed loudly at nothing.

Normal.

We climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.

The hallway was quiet now, most doors shut, most noise softened.

We reached the suite.

Alex swiped the keycard and opened the door.

I stepped inside first, shoulders still tense.

Lina and Bree followed.

Alex stepped in last, and when the door clicked shut behind him, the suite felt smaller again.

Bree hovered in the common room like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to exist in our chaos. “Okay,” she said softly. “I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” I repeated, because I didn’t know any other sentence.

Bree smiled, unsure. “Cool. Okay. I’ll… go.”

Lina walked Bree to the door, giving her a quick hug like Lina was incapable of letting anyone leave without affection.

When Bree left, Lina turned back to us with wide eyes.

“Okay,” Lina whispered. “So. That happened.”

“Stop narrating my life,” I muttered.

Lina looked at Alex. “You’re scary when you’re protective.”

Alex didn’t smile. “Good.”

Lina shivered dramatically. “Okay, wolf-boy.”

Alex’s eyes flicked to Lina in mild annoyance. “Don’t call me that.”

Lina blinked. “Wait, why not? It’s cute.”

“It’s not,” Alex said.

Lina squinted. “It’s accurate.”

“Lina,” I warned.

Lina held up her hands. “Fine, fine. I’m going to bed. I don’t want to be in the room when you two explode again.”

She pointed at me. “Lock your door.”

Then pointed at Alex. “And you—don’t be weird.”

Alex’s mouth twitched faintly. “I’m always weird.”

Lina made a face like she’d won something and disappeared into her room, shutting her door.

Silence dropped again.

Alex and I stood in the common room with the couch between us like a neutral territory neither of us trusted.

I wanted to go to my room. I wanted to slam the door. I wanted to pretend my heart wasn’t still hammering from the party and his voice and his hand on mine.

But the moment I turned toward my door, Alex spoke.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I froze.

I looked back at him. “No.”

His gaze moved over me anyway—my wrist, my elbow, my shoulder—like he didn’t believe my words as much as he believed what his eyes saw.

“It didn’t leave a mark,” I said sharply. “He barely grabbed me.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched at his sides briefly, then released, like he was squeezing something invisible.

“You shouldn’t be touched like that,” he said.

“I can handle it,” I snapped.

Alex’s eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t have to.”

That sentence, again.

It hit me in the same stupid place in my chest.

I swallowed hard, frustrated.

“You can’t—” My voice broke, and I hated it, so I tightened it back up. “You can’t talk like you’re my protector.”

Alex’s gaze held mine. “I am.”

“No,” I said, voice shaking now with anger and confusion and something worse. “You’re not. You’re—” I searched for the word. “You’re just… here.”

Alex took one step closer.

Not aggressive.

Just… closer.

“I’m here,” he agreed.

My breath caught.

I didn’t step back.

I didn’t step forward either.

We stood too close, the air thick between us.

“Why did you really come?” I whispered.

Alex’s eyes flickered, like the question hit a place he didn’t want exposed.

“To the party,” I clarified. “You said you didn’t like it. You said no. And then you showed up.”

Alex’s jaw flexed again.

He looked toward my bedroom door for half a second, then back at me.

“Because you went,” he said simply.

My throat tightened. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said.

I stared at him, anger flaring again. “So you followed me?”

Alex didn’t deny it.

“Yes,” he said.

I made a sound of disbelief. “That’s creepy.”

Alex’s eyes darkened, and his voice went low. “I know.”

The honesty threw me off balance.

“You know?” I repeated.

Alex took another slow breath, like he was forcing himself to say things carefully.

“I don’t like being away from you at night,” he said.

My heart slammed.

“That’s… not normal,” I whispered.

Alex’s mouth twitched, almost bitter. “I told you.”

I shook my head, trying to push the feeling away. “You can’t just—feel that way.”

Alex’s gaze held mine with brutal steadiness.

“I can’t stop it,” he said.

My skin prickled. “Stop what?”

Alex’s hands clenched again.

This time, it wasn’t subtle.

His fingers curled hard enough that the tendons in his hands stood out.

Like he was restraining something.

Like he was holding himself in human shape by force.

I stared at his hands before I could stop myself.

They were shaking.

Not from fear.

Not from cold.

From effort.

From control.

My stomach twisted, cold this time.

“Alex…” My voice came out smaller. “Why is your hand—”

He snapped his fist closed.

The shaking stopped for a second, then started again—tiny, controlled tremors.

His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump near his cheek.

He noticed me looking.

His eyes lifted to mine.

And something raw flashed there—something not teasing, not arrogant.

Something like pain.

“Go to your room,” he said, voice low and rough.

I didn’t move. “What’s happening?”

Alex exhaled slowly, like the air was heavy.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re not,” I whispered.

His gaze sharpened. “You don’t know what you’re seeing.”

“Then tell me,” I said.

He stared at me for a long beat.

Then he stepped back abruptly, like distance was safer.

His hand still trembled.

He shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie like he could hide it there.

“I’m controlling myself,” he said.

My stomach twisted harder. “From what?”

His eyes held mine, dark and stormy, and his voice dropped into something almost dangerous.

“From doing something I can’t take back,” he said.

A chill ran down my spine.

I whispered, “To who?”

Alex didn’t answer right away.

His gaze flicked toward the suite door.

Toward the hallway.

Toward the night beyond it.

Then back to me.

“To anyone who touches you,” he said.

My breath caught.

“Alex,” I whispered, shaking my head. “That’s not—”

“It is,” he cut in, voice tighter now. “It’s what I am.”

My skin prickled.

The memory of the hallway guy, the varsity guy, the party guy—how they all backed away like they sensed something in him—flashed in my mind.

And for the first time, my brain stopped trying to pretend.

This wasn’t just intensity.

This was instinct.

This was… predator logic.

I took a step back, not because I wanted to run, but because my body needed air.

The step landed wrong.

My heel caught the edge of the rug near the couch.

My balance went.

For one horrifying second, I pitched backward, arms flailing, about to fall in the most pathetic way possible—inside my own suite, in front of the storm boy who kept claiming to protect me.

“—Whoa!”

I fell.

And didn’t hit the floor.

Because Alex moved.

Too fast.

One second he was across the room.

The next, his arm was around my waist, his other hand braced against my back, catching me mid-fall like gravity was optional for him.

My body slammed lightly into his chest.

My breath left my lungs.

His grip was iron and careful at the same time—strong enough to stop me, gentle enough not to hurt.

For a second, we were frozen like that.

My hands pressed against his hoodie.

His arm locked around me.

My face inches from his chest.

The world shrank to the warmth of him and the storm scent and my heartbeat hammering like it wanted out.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice rough.

My throat worked.

“I—” I started, then realized this was so embarrassing I might combust.

I pushed away too quickly.

My feet hit the ground. My cheeks burned.

“I tripped,” I muttered.

Alex’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

He didn’t.

He looked at my face too carefully, like he was checking for tears I refused to give.

Then his gaze dropped to his own hand—still at my waist.

And I saw it again.

The shaking.

His fingers trembled like he was holding back a different shape under the skin.

I stared, stunned. “Your hand…”

Alex’s jaw tightened.

He pulled his hand away fast, like touch made it worse.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s not nothing,” I whispered.

He turned his head slightly, looking away—like he didn’t want me to see what was happening to him.

“You shouldn’t have gone,” he said, voice low.

I bristled despite my fear. “Don’t.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, frustration flashing. “You don’t understand what nights do to me.”

My breath caught. “What nights do?”

Alex took one slow step back, like he needed distance to stay human.

His hands clenched again at his sides.

Then he whispered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“The moon makes it louder.”

My stomach dropped.

I stared at him, heart pounding.

“That’s…” My voice trembled. “That’s not normal.”

Alex’s laugh was short and humorless. “I told you.”

Silence pressed in.

The suite felt too quiet. Too tight.

I should’ve run to my room. I should’ve locked the door. I should’ve done the smart thing.

But my feet didn’t move.

Because he’d caught me.

Because he’d shaken like he was fighting himself.

Because something about him looked… trapped.

And I couldn’t stop the question that slipped out, quiet and real:

“Are you afraid of yourself?”

Alex went still.

His gaze lifted to mine slowly, like the question hit a place that hurt.

Then, for one heartbeat, the calm mask was gone.

Something raw showed through.

His eyes caught the lamplight—

And they glowed.

Not bright like headlights.

Not dramatic.

Just a sudden flash of gold under the dark, like a spark inside a storm.

One second.

A blink of impossible light.

Only I saw it.

Alex blinked.

The glow vanished.

His eyes were dark again—human again—almost.

He stared at me like he knew I’d seen it.

Like he was waiting for me to run.

My breath came out shaky.

“Alex…” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

He only watched me—silent, tense, controlled—like a storm holding itself together by force.

And in that silence, I realized something terrifying:

He wasn’t only protecting me from other people.

He was protecting me from him.