Imay have slightly overestimated how much I’d enjoy touring. It’s an embarrassing realization to come to after everything, and it feels like I can’t even admit the truth when I’m the one who pushed so hard to make my dreams a reality.
I’m exhausted, and nothing is quite like I thought it would be.
The bus stops, and I know what that means. Either it’s shift change for the drivers or we’ve reached our destination.
The subtle rocking motion and whooshing noise usually help me sleep.
My eyes pop open.
I groan, roll over, and pat around on the nightstand. Blinking rapidly does nothing, and my vision stays foggy. I yank open the drawer and dig around until I find the pack of suppressants.
My stomach rolls uncomfortably, and my eyes fly to the door. I might have to make a mad dash to the toilet.
I haven’t even taken the pills yet… Maybe it’s a mental thing, or maybe it’s my body trying to protect itself.
Hell if I know.
I groan, stretching to grab the bottle of water I keep at the ready.
The side effects from the suppressants are getting worse. My hands shake as I try to mentally prepare myself for the misery I know is coming my way.
Ultimately, I have no choice but to take the medication. Popping out today’s pill, I toss it back with a huge chug of water before dropping the packet in the drawer and placing the bottle on the nightstand.
I fall back against the pillows, and even that tiny movement causes a shooting pain to ricochet between my temples.
A whimper escapes my lips, and my forehead throbs with a sharp stabbing feeling that can’t be normal.
What kind of permanent damage am I doing to my body? How much longer can I really keep this up?
Being an omega is a giant pain in the ass.
I mean, it’s fine for some people.
The ones who are okay with staying at home and raising a family, but if someone has goals and dreams…
You’d better come to terms with how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to achieve those ambitions.
It’s frustrating, and I hate it. It’s so hard not to be bitter when everything could be different if I had been born a different designation.
Curling up in a ball, I pull my knees to my chest. The blanket isn’t even on me. I must have kicked it off while I slept. I’m burning up, but my skin prickles with a cool sweat.
It’s like having the flu every single morning, and it’s getting worse, not better.
My mom warned me. She’s always said how awful the suppressants made her feel. She thinks they’re toxic to an omega’s system. She took them something like twenty years ago.
Shouldn’t modern medicine have come up with a solution by now?
Yanking my pillow out, I fluff it. It doesn’t do much, but I snuggle in and pray it isn’t time for me to have to get up.
There’s no way to be sure how much time passes, but I jerk awake, feeling like I’m going to be sick.
The smell hits before my eyes are fully open, and it’s familiar. That salty, beachy scent belongs to Declan Clark.
Declan is older than me by a few too many years. He’s Dexter Clark’s little brother, but the two couldn’t be more different, at least personality-wise.
Declan looks a lot like Dexter, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. But Declan is ripped from all the work he puts in at the gym. His wavy hair is longer on top, and the sides are shorter, making them about the same length as his blond beard. His dark blue eyes are narrowed at me in suspicion. That ridiculously hot jaw of his flexes as he glares.
“Get out of the way,” I groan, pushing myself out of bed and aiming for the door.
