“Are these Stacia’s?” I hear the unfamiliar masculine pitch through the open doorway to the living room and shake away the thought of decadent green apples.
I round the corner, another very disorganized box in my hands. “Yes, they are. And so is this one,” I reply on instinct, handing the box over to the first person I see. When I let go, I look up into the eyes of the alpha in question. His green eyes sparkle, and I find myself staring a moment too long. The stranger makes me pause, mesmerized by his beautiful features, before trying to put a name to the face.
Stacia said an alpha would be here. What’s his name again? Something with an S…
His shoulders are broad and he stands proudly, which both intimidates and charms me in weird ways. His blond hair sits perfectly on his head, not a single filament out of place. The smile he gives me is friendly, but something about it hits me right in the chest. I don’t know why until I get another whiff of the air around me.
Green apples.
My eyes widen; his scent is much more intense with our proximity. It courses up my arms and flattens along the barrierof my body. Is it really pushing out that much, or is it just me? If I could smell him that vividly in the kitchen, does that mean…
The omega inside me whines, but no scent flies forward at the revelation. My blockers do their job to force it back, keeping the lychee aroma locked beneath my skin. She berates me for that choice now, as we stand here completely shell-shocked at the presence of our scent match right in front of us.
I think I’m going to throw up.
The air now feels ten degrees hotter, and the sweat on my skin alerts me to something way scarier than discovering my scent match when he can’t scent me back.
I’m flaring up, and it’s coming on quickly.
“Um.” My tongue ties immediately, the fight-or-flight mode activating. I turn towards Atlas. “Can you please tell Stacia that I’m sorry I can’t see her off like I said I would? I have… an emergency.” The lie feels like fire all over my body, dousing me with guilt and shame, but I don’t have time to think about that as I head to the door without a response from my friend’s prime.
The spring air does nothing for the sweltering heat now soaring through my body. I take deep breaths and trudge along my friends’ yard as inconspicuously as I can. My body burns, like it needs the relief of pushing my scent out, but I won’t let it. Ican’t.
Shit, Dr. Peck said this would happen. The blockers can only do so much to suppress the symptoms. Even without my scent to alert others, the blockers can only stump the natural progress for so long. I guess meeting my scent match has finally forced it to push through the only thing keeping it at bay.
A cramp starts violently, and I can’t stop myself from bending over and clutching my stomach in agony. The fear of what I’m experiencing doesn’t help as my situation starts to become abundantly clearer by the second.
It’s happening. The very thing that every omega with my condition is terrified of. The thing that no other omega has to worry about until they bond with their pack.
I pull out my phone in a hurry. It’s not ideal, but there’s only one place where I’m safe right now, and it’s not out here on the street, where any passing alpha might sense my body betraying me.
“Siri, call 9-1-1.” The phone starts to ring, and I rush around the corner as the front door to my future home opens behind me, alerting me that I need tomove. It’s a struggle as I crouch down and move as fast as I can, explaining my situation and location to the dispatcher.
The last thing I remember before succumbing to my omega is the smell of apples, soft green eyes peering at me, and the pain of my first heat taking over.
ONE
Playing: “Wasting My Young Years” by London Grammar
January
The loud clank of metal banging on the floor yanks me out of my sleep. For two seconds, I think my house is being invaded, but then I see the beige ceiling that’s so different from Rory’s and my old white one. The lumpy couch beneath me barely moves as my bones scream at me, then the cold rush of reality pours over my head before I can even sit up.
One of Cindy’s roommates must have dropped a pan because the metal clinking continues like it didn’t rip me from my slumber, which is the only way I can get any peace and quiet lately. The people here aren’t happy about my presence, and Cindy doesn’t do much to defend me either. I’m almost certain whoever just dropped that pan did it on purpose.
I sit up and put my head in my hands, already over the day before it’s even started.
The strength to get up finally arrives with the departure ofwhatever roommate was commandeering the kitchen. Now that I’m alone, my omega and I can finally take a breath and process what we have to do today. Starting with two little capsules from my pill caddy.
One to keep my scent at bay and the other to sort out everything else hormone-related. My doctor’s warning of persisting with my scent blocker rings in my head as I swallow the pills one after the other. Looks like that’s a problem to revisit tomorrow.
I’ll be brave enough one day. But today is not that day.
I close my eyes and can almost see the place where I lived with Rory. I can smell the wax melts in the air, see Rory’s critically acclaimed movie posters framed on her coveted wall. Now, they’re in her new townhome, where she lives with her pack downtown, and I’m here, with everything I own sitting around me in disorganized piles that make my skin prickle with unease.
The sanctuary in my daydream suddenly gets overridden by thousands of termites and other creepy-crawlies slithering over the floorboards and up onto the walls until there’s nothing left but buzzing and white noise. The house is dramatically obliterated. The image reminds me of the precarious situation I’ve found myself in, and I sigh. Not even my imagination is safe from the reality of my life.
Damn those darn termites.
