The white doormocks me as I stand in front of it, and my fist squeezes by my side. Every time I go to knock, it freezes midair and then disappointingly goes back down.
There’s silence on the other side, disturbingly quiet, but Opal’s light is on just like it always is when she is home. I bite the inside of my cheek, once again irritated by the cowardice in my bones.
Ever since Valentine’s Day, I’ve craved more of that friendship that unexpectedly blossomed as we sat on the couch and did nothing but keep each other company. It was comfortable, laid back. It was everything I needed to break the ice with her.
And now I’ve ramped myself back up again, scared to invite her for quality time while I make dinner. Which was originally going to be a solo dinner, but sometimes it’s sad to eat alone, especially when your packmates, who are scent matches, decided to go out for an impromptu dinner date.
The idea of sitting alone in our pristine kitchen has me raising my fist once more, prepared to knock on this damn door. I push past the hesitation and hold my breath as soon as my skin touches the damn wood. It’s quiet for a few moments, and my head starts to become dizzy from obstructing my lungs, but then I hear the smallest voice ever.
“Come in,” she says. Or at least, I think that’s what she says because the sentence is said so low and muffled that it’s hard to make out the exact words. When I open the door to greet her, I see why.
She’s lying on her side, her covers pulled up to her chin. Her eyes are closed, and for a moment, I wonder if I hallucinated her invitation to come in because she looks close to taking a nap, but then her eyes flutter open as much as they can.
“Hey,” she croaks, her voice sounding parched with the single word.
I tilt my head, worry taking over my features. “Are you okay, Curly?”
She shakes her head but it’s slow, like it hurts her to do so. “I’m fine… it’s just…” She pauses, maybe because she’s hurting or because she’s thinking, but then she says, “That time of the month.”
My eyes widen. “Are you cramping? Do you need me to get something?”
She does her weak head shake again, but then she raises her arm, pointing at the wall. “Can you… turn off the light? My head hurts.”
I immediately walk over to the light switch and push it down, plunging the room into darkness. She lets out a little sigh, like the absence of light immediately relieved some kind of pressure on her head.
“Have you already taken something?” I ask, but the room stays quiet. I realize if she shakes her head, I can’t see her in thislighting, so I step closer. When my eyes start to adjust, I see her eyes scrunched in pain once more. It jolts something inside of me. “You have to tell me if you’ve taken anything yet so I know what to do to help you.”
Her mouth opens slightly, like she’s about to respond, but then she closes it again. I kneel beside her bed, my alpha pushing me. “Omega,” I warn her, the word firm in my mouth. She slowly opens her eyes, but the look is anything but normal. She peers at me like she’s seeing something for the first time, and it pushes me to finish what my alpha unexpectedly started. “Tell me.”
She wets her lips, careful not to move too much. “No. I haven’t taken anything. I also need”—she huffs out a breath—“water.”
I don’t have to be told twice, and I’m already on my way out the door. I close it quickly so no light from the hallway can get in, and then head to the kitchen, where Sam keeps a well-stocked medicine cabinet just in case anything like this happens.
There are so many different pain relievers that my head starts to spin. My phone becomes my new best friend as I spend what feels like an hour going through the different purposes of each one. When I finally pick one, I grab a water and some Gatorade and head back to her room. I place the medicine and water on the end table and kneel at her side once more. The blanket is now over her head, shielding her from the outside pain, and even though I feel bad for doing so, I know she needs to get this medicine into her body ASAP.
“Opal, I need you to take this,” I whisper. She peeks her head out the tiniest bit, and when she sees the little white pill, she groans. Her eyes instantly gloss over.
“I can’t take that,” she says.
“Oh,” I say, looking at the pill now like it’s offensive. “What can you take? Sam has a whole pharmacy down there.”
She shakes her head, a few tears spilling over. It feels like something is clutching at my heart when she cries, her pain more than she can bear.
“I can’t take anything,” she says pleadingly, the speech broken up by her sobs. “Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
I find myself reaching for her but pull back as I come to my senses. “What can I do? I can’t leave you here in pain, Curly.”
At first, she looks like she’s going to decline any kind of help. This omega is a stubborn one, I realize, but she’s also in so much pain that I don’t blame her. Then, she bites the side of her lip, looking to the side like she’s in deep thought.
“Can you…” she trails off as more tears fall onto her rosy cheeks. “Can you maybe hold me? Just for a little while.” My mouth gapes open at that, my heart sputtering slightly. It’s not uncommon for omegas to want comfort in moments of distress, but I don’t want her to regret asking me this when her head clears. I don’t want her to wake up to my mint scent in her bed and immediately have the repulsive reaction to throw away her sheets.
I’m about to voice my concerns when she whispers, “I just don’t want to be alone.”
All the hesitation leaves me from that simple statement. That’s the exact reason why I sought her out in the first place, looking for someone to sit with me because I’m tired of being by myself. I find myself nodding before I even have time to think about it.
I move to the other side of the bed and slip off my shoes before sliding beneath the covers. The temperature difference underneath is drastically different, and I don’t realize why until I touch her hand to pull her into me. Her skin is fuming, likeshe has a fire burning beneath the layer that I’m touching. I fold my body over hers, letting her get comfortable as I hold her securely with one arm. When she gives a tiny sigh of contentment, I give my own pant of relief.
“You’re burning up,” I comment, her body like a furnace against me. “Rest for a while, but if you still have a fever when you wake up, I’m going to make us some soup and figure out what to do.”
