When they finish, I tilt my head in acknowledgment and move quickly toward the clinic entrance. Their excited chatter follows me like a shadow.
"He didn't say a word. Is he always this quiet?"
"I think he's mute."
"Nah. That's an act. He's just shy around pretty omegas."
They giggle again. More whispers I can't catch.
Don't want to anyway.
The doors slide open, antiseptic scent hitting me like a wall and driving out the lingering syrupy sweet scents burning my nose.
Memories flicker.
Pain. Bandages. So many surgeries.
Nurses with pitying glances.
Doctors talking over me like I wasn't there.
Like I was already dead.
The pharmacy counter sits at the back. Three people ahead of me. I stand behind them, keeping my distance. Checking my mask again even though I know it's secure.
Has to be.
Nobody's panicking.
The line moves slowly. Each person taking forever, asking questions that don't matter. Small talk that makes no sense. Every moment in this place pushes me closer to the brink of my sanity.
Finally, I reach the counter.
The pharmacist looks up, her beta scent neutral but her expression cautious. "Can I help you?" Her voice is professional, but already tinged with wariness.
I give her a brief wave in greeting and take out my phone, typing quickly.
Need heat suppressant shot.
Her eyebrows raise as she reads the screen. "I'll need to see your ID."
My stomach drops.
Knew this was coming.
Doesn't make it easier.
My driver's license. The piece of identification I hate most. The one thing that shows...
Everything.
I reach into my pocket, retrieving my wallet with fingers that suddenly feel clumsy. The license sits in its clear plastic sleeve, always reversed when not in use. Hate catching glimpses of the picture on the front by accident.
I slide it across the counter, facedown, trying not to look at it.
Catch a glimpse anyway.
It's worse than I remember.
