“What the fuck is this,” Dr. Stetson coughs.
“Told you what your job would be, Doc,” Jett sneers, positioning himself at the foot of my bed, his gaze roving over my body, taking in my tears and my face that’s already starting to get drenched in sweat.
“This is—this is?—“
“You’re here to do a job, not give your opinions,” Jett barks.
Dr. Stetson snaps his mouth shut, stepping up bedside my bed. His face is pale as he looks down at me.
“H—help me,” I whimper.
His jaw ticks, but he ignores my plea, avoiding my eyes. He catalogues my body, though far more clinically than Jett did.
That rejection sends me spiraling and as another wave of cramps hits me like a truck, I break down into more sobs.
“These restraints will not do,” Dr. Stetson growls, reaching up. His fingertips against the skin of my wrists sends electric shocks down my arms.
It makes a startled gasp leave my lips. All the doctor does is swallow hard, averting his gaze.
As he draws his hands away, I see they’re wet with blood.
Oh. I guess I’m bleeding.
“These kinda cuffs work fine for the dogs,” Jett grumbles.
“Well, they won’t work for her,” Dr. Stetson snaps. “She’s an omega, not a feral alpha. Her tolerance for physical injury, especially while put through—put through this artificial heat are far less robust.”
“Fine, fine,” Jett rolls his eyes. “I’ll find different restraints.”
“Preferably padded leather,” Dr. Stetson instructs. “I will set her up with two IVs, one for fluids and one to... collect her blood.”
“Wonderful! But what about IV food? That’ll mean we can keep her like this longer, right?”
Dr. Stetson’s dominance explodes out of him, making a whimper leave my throat as my senses are assaulted with the intensity. It’s like being shoved face first into a bucket of cologne and left to drown.
“You must be joking,” he snarls. “Do you know how much work is put into TPN, I can’t just ask for a random bag and?—“
“Well, that’s your issue,” Jett shrugs, waving over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with the new kind of restraints as his majesty orders.”
The thick metal door slams behind Jett, leaving the two of us alone.
“P—please help me,” I beg again, blinking up at the doctor. “Please.”
“I—I can’t,” he says, kneeling beside my bed, his heartbreak evident on his face. “I wish I could.”
I close my eyes, the last shred of hope I have drifting away before I give him a jerky nod.
“It’s okay,” I croak out, my natural instinct to soothe making an appearance. “I know you have a family you have to take care of.”
Instead of helping, my words just seem to make him more upset.
He shakes his head, opening up his briefcase and pulling out some medical supplies.
“I have to ask,” he murmurs softly. “This is the normal protocol for unbonded omegas undergoing their heat, I know itmight not mean jack shit in this place, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t ask while you’re still cognizant. Who would you like to service you through your heat, if its’ allowed.”
I blink up at him, the question catching me off guard. In the normal world I’d get to pick?
Someone would be able to help me through this pain?
