“You do not look fine,” she says with narrowed eyes. While I’ve noticed that Meghan is soft spoken, she clearly has a spine of steel. “Can I help or get someone for you?”
“No.” I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth as my vision darkens at the corners while I force myself to take a step forward. Maybe it’s not a good idea that I’m about to shower. Is it possible to drown if I pass out in there?
Is it wrong for me to hope that happens? I know my pack died for me, but I wish more and more that I had been killed as well. I don’t know what to do or how to be anymore, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to function. I wish so badly that things could be different. Wishes in one hand and shit in the other still amount to the same thing: a whole lot of nothing.
“I just need some space, Meghan,” I groan, scooting around her as I stumble to the community showers. While there’s a private bathroom with a shower on the other side of the compound, I’m not going to make it that far. I’ll be lucky if I make it down the hall.
Benji definitely inherited his stubborn streak from his mother I’m finding. I know he went to get her because he was worried and not about to take no for an answer, and if this were any other time, I’d appreciate it. However, I’m hanging on by a thread. I’m horrified that I’m slicking and that my stomach is cramping. It should be anathema for the universe to do this to me. It just shows that the world doesn’t care about your problems. Slick and heats seem to be as inevitable as the sun rising and falling every day.
I’m vaguely aware of Meghan whispering something to her son before she quickly stalks down the hallway after me. But I ignore her, as well as the stares I’m getting from other residents, and everything else. All I want is to let hot water run over me so it’ll wash away what feels like a betrayal to my mates. If I had my way, I’d never have a heat again.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Meghan growls. This would almost be comical if it weren’t so damn sad. Her attitude is adorably scary.
Continuing through the long locker room, I close the door to the shower stall in her face and drop my clothes on the bench before I quickly shed my sweat-soaked ones. I sob at the slick on my skin, the despair physically manifesting in each painful tug until they’re gone.
Being an omega can be so gross. I hate myself and my designation.
“O!” Meghan yells, hoping to get a response from the cute nickname that her son has for me but it falls flat.
I don’t have it in me for cute right now.
“Go away, Meghan.” I rasp, the words feeling like shards of glass in my mouth as I say them. “I just need some time.”
Soiled clothes dropped to the floor, I crank the shower on as hot as it’ll possibly go. I want to scald off the slick and disgusting need my body is making me feel. I don’t want it, never again, and words to that effect are whispered under my breath like a prayer.
“I’m leaving, but not for long,” Meghan says, her voice thick with tears. I hate that I’m making her feel this way, but I can’t comfort her. I can barely function as it is, there’s no way I can muster the ability to hold space to comfort anyone else.
Sometimes, when the world is shattering at your feet, it’s okay to be selfish. It’s the only way to be able to keep your head above water.
Except, I don’t even think I’m capable of that.
My knees buckle from the pain, and I barely register the sting of the tile as it splits my skin. I hardly notice the way my thighs begin to shake, or how every muscle in my body starts to spasm. I don’t even feel it when I lurch forward and nick my forehead on the faucet handle, the only indication I did being the slight pressure before I land on the shower floor in fetal position.
The cramping intensifies, and I vaguely wonder if Meghan is going to go find Aurelia or Aisling. They’ve both been fairly patient with me. I know I can come off as standoffish and bitchy, but they never react with anything but kindness. Maybe they’d take pity on me and put me out of my misery.
My eyes roll back as my body rips itself apart from the inside out, an involuntary scream tearing from my throat as the water continues to cheerfully flow over my skin. My skin that suddenly feels clammy and cold. At least it’s doing part of its job, rinsing my slick down the drain, erasing a small part of?—
“Oh my god.”
I can’t see who’s speaking from this position, I didn’t even hear them come in, but I do recognize the voice, and there’s a whole lot of fear in it. More than there should be all considered.
“Olive, you’re not in heat,” she says. “Get up, we need to get you help. Let’s go.”
What? What does she mean I’m not in heat?
That’s what this is, right? I’m not great at tracking my cycle and this is early, but that’s not unheard of. Especially when you factor in all the stress and trauma. I think this makes a lot of sense but I guess Aisling doesn’t agree.
“I’m so sorry to push you, Olive. There’s no way I’m losing you.”
I’m still trying to work through brain fog, and I’m not tracking what she’s saying.
I feel hands on my body, gripping my arms and trying to move my legs, and that’s when my fight instinct kicks in.
“Don’t,” I whine as I start to flail my limbs the best I can. “Please, don’t touch me. Leave me alone!”
“Olive, we have to move you.”
“No! Stop touching me, just?—”
