All three respond the same way; a low chuff that ends on a playful growl.
I’m sure most pet owners talk to their animals. I’ve seen it plenty of times at pet stores or the rare occasion I’m around other people at dog parks. But I doubt they talk to their pets the way I talk to my dogs. Then again, I have nothing to compare it to, it just feels like I have a different relationship with mine than most. And I doubt most animals are as smart as these three, either.
I watch them get situated, Cy taking first watch as Bee and Rus sprawl out in sun spots on either side of the doorway. They like having work to do and I can tell they feel good about protecting my omegas.
Our pack.
It’s like they know I’m not justtheiralpha anymore. I belong to Olive and Nikolai, too, and they’re happy to see our pack grow.
They would have listened to me no matter how they felt about things but they’ve taken to my omegas almost the same way I did, and I’m glad for that.
Pulling open the screen, I step up into the camper and take all of three steps to the sink, turning on the hot water as soon as I’m there so I can take care of my thumb.
I clean and disinfect the wound before I dry it off then reach for the surgical thread and needle. It doesn’t take too long since it wasn’t my dominant hand, but it’s such a small area and my thick fingers struggle a bit with tying things off. I grab a small cup and fill it with isopropyl alcohol then drop the needle into the liquid, sterilizing it the best I can since I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get more. I had to do that with the others and despite how sterile I know this shit gets them, I’m keeping them separate by person. After what I just did, I’ll be adding my name to that cup before I secure it with Olive and Nikolai’s.
Turning to the table, I stare down into my overflowing first aid bag, debating on whether or not I need to cover my thumb and just when I decide I should, at least for a little while, I freeze at what I hear.
“Can I help you with that?”
My heart starts hammering in my chest, beating so fucking hard it’s going to crack a rib. My mouth goes dry and my palms begin to tingle as I hold my breath.
I can’t see her because of my hood, and I’m grateful that it means she can’t really see me either, but I can feel Olive take a few hesitant steps toward me.
She and Nikolai have been sleeping off and on for the better part of the last three days. It’s part of the healing process after so much trauma to their bodies. I’ve limited any medications to mostly topical for their wounds but they’ve both needed occasional injections of extremely low doses of morphine. I’m not a doctor and I’ll never pretend to be, it’s a miracle I can fucking read the labels on the meds, but morphine is the only thing I have for pain that isn’t over the counter. It’s the only thing that works for me but they’ve barely been getting a fraction of what I give myself when I have to. I don’t want to create more problems with something so potent, but watching them each cryin their sleep was enough to make the decision for me to do something about it.
It’s also why I’m standing here like a statue right now. I haven’t had to worry about speaking to either of them beyond the second day we were here, and that was so brief I didn’t get nervous about it.
I am now, though.
It was stupid to think talking to them would be easy. I assumed that since they’re my scent matches, it would feel natural or something to talk to them, that I wouldn’t become wildly insecure at the thought alone. My human interaction had been beyond limited since I left The Circuit, to the point of nearly nonexistent, but my feelings and thoughts about Olive didn’t waver once. They still haven’t and while breathing in their scents, as those peonies and lavender fragrances fill my senses and make every inch of my body ache with longing, the confidence I had prior to this moment is waning.
I don’t actually think I’ve ever felt insecure before.
There was never a reason to.
Everyone either knew how uneducated I am and didn’t care because of the select few things I do bring to the table, or they see my size and decide it’s better not to underestimate me in any way.
Olive and Nikolai are the first people I’ve genuinely cared about and what they think of me means more because of that. I don’t like that kind of vulnerability, I’m not used to it, but the fact that I didn’t anticipate it really shows how stupid I am.
“It’s the least I can do.” Olive takes a few more steps, putting us close enough to touch if we were inclined to do so. “Wrapping something like that with one hand can be difficult.”
Her tiny hands slowly appear in my line of vision, her delicate fingers outstretched as they cautiously reach for me.
“May I?” Olive pauses as she waits for my response and I manage to give her a subtle nod of my head.
I’ve waited fifteen years to touch her, to have her willingly touch me, and it seems fitting that both are only finally happening because of my idiotic mistakes. Every day I allowed to slip through my fingers, each and every one of those only supports what everyone has always said about me.
Stupid. Worthless. A waste of skin and bones. The only thing I’ll ever be good at is causing pain.
Scent match or not, my omegas aren’t immune to that.
I crave them, anyway.
Selfishly. Wholly.
I crave my omegas and their presence, their scents, their touch. I yearn for them to belong to me, to be mine and feel our bond the same way I do. And it’s that part of me that is waiting on bated breath as I watch Olive’s fingers hesitantly slide over my wrist and under the back of my hand.
“You managed to stitch yourself up okay.” She gently lifts, turning my palm back and forth slowly to look over my thumb but I can barely focus on anything other than how her skin feels against mine.
