Matilda: But you’ll be my good boy?
Murphy: I’ll be your anything, Omega.
My meddlesome friend wastes no time in spreading the news about her new housemate.
Before the day is finished, I have a visit from Doctor Nichols. He offers me a temporary position as a community nurse and seems pleased about having an extra set of qualified hands. I’m reluctant at first, and explain to him how dangerous my aura sickness can be, but he seems undeterred.
He reassures me the Bodella community is almost entirely mated or Beta, and I’d barely have to deal with auras at all. And, despite the Doc being unmated himself, his scent does nothing for me. At his age, I know he must have aura sickness, yet his aura feels almost non-existent. Like an iceberg with its depths hidden beneath the still water of an arctic sea, the older Alpha is a fortress, a brick wall.
On Monday morning, I report for duty at the local community centre where the front rooms are used as the doctor’s surgery during the day. They thankfully have air conditioning running, otherwise I think my scrubs would be soaked through with sweat before noon.
By mid-week, I’ve settled into my role and am confident enough to take on more complex tasks. With every patient interaction, my confidence grows and my aura stabilises. Without the constant oppressive weight of other auras, I feel my old self blooming. My natural ability to empathise with my patients is back and I can get an accurate read on their state of mind without losing myself.
Later, when Doc Nichols leads me outside to a large four-wheel-drive ute with “Bodella Surgery” emblazoned on its side, I blink back at him in confusion.
“Most of our patients don’t live in town and it’s a fair hike for them to come in. They’d rather ignore their health issues than come into town to see a Doctor – especially an Alpha,” he explains as he hands the car keys to me.
I wrinkle my nose and ask, “What makes you think they’re going to want me turning up at their homes?”
“I’ve seen you with the patients here. They trust you. You say your aura sickness is a problem but, when you’re one on one with a patient, you’re the best nurse for the job. You actually care,” Doc says, and I feel a flicker of pride swirl in his aura before it snaps shut again like a steel trap.
Three days of a week, I travel hours to treat the stubborn members of the Bodella community. I know it will take a while to get used to their gruff, and often dismissive attitudes, but it makes building their trust all the more satisfying. I find myself feeling fulfilled by my work for the first time in years.
The only unsatisfying part of my new life, other than the oppressive heat and the persistent flies, is the absence of my scent match. My Alpha.
Murphy keeps his promise to call and text me daily. In fact, we have an almost constant stream of communication happening. Every morning when I wake, there is a sweet message waiting for me.
Murphy: Good morning, Spitfire. I had a very nice dream about you last night.
Matilda: Good morning, Mayhem. Tell me more about this nice dream.
Murphy: Mayhem!? What kind of pet name is that?
Matilda: Almost as good as Spitfire.
Murphy: Spitfire perfectly describes you. You’re a little go-getter.
Matilda: And Mayhem doesn’t describe you?
Murphy: I think I’m proving that I can rein in the chaos, if I do say so myself. I’ve only broken two bones on this tour.
Matilda: What? Two bones?
Matilda: When? How?
Matilda: Are you okay?
Murphy: …
Matilda: Murphy!
Murphy: See? You’re my little Spitfire. And I was kidding, it was only one sprain... and bruised ribs.
Matilda: For fuck’s sake, Murphy.
Murphy: Ah, yes. A tried and tested nickname I respond to.
Matilda: I’m sticking with Mayhem.
