Not tonight.
The words echo in my skull, taking on new meaning now that the heat fog has cleared. Not tonight. Notever. They didn't want to claim me. They just... took pity. Saw the pathetic omega in heat and did the bare minimum to shut him up.
My stomach churns.
I think I might be sick.
They touched me—held me down, made me come until I couldn't think—but they didn'twantme. Not really. Not enough to actually claim me. Atlas made that perfectly clear when I was on my back, legs spread, literally begging for it.
Not tonight.
Translation:Not you. Never you.
The shame hits like a tidal wave. I curl in on myself, pressing my face into my knees, breathing through the nausea that crawls up my throat. I can still feel their hands on me. Can still taste Bane's fingers on my tongue. Can still hear myself whimpering and pleading and making promises I would have kept—god help me, I would have let them do anything—
And they didn't want it.
They cleaned me up. Put me to bed.
Left.
Like I was a problem to be managed. A charity case.
I can't breathe. The walls are closing in. If I stay in this house one more day, I'll have to face them. See the pity in their eyes. Watch them pretend tonight never happened while I walk around knowing exactly how desperate and needy and unwanted I really am.
I can't do it. I won't survive it.
My hands are shaking as I grab my laptop from the nightstand. The screen is too bright in the dark room—I squint against it, typing fast.
Black market suppressants. No prescription.
The first page of results is useless. WebMD articles. Reddit threads about why you shouldn't buy medication online. A news story about counterfeit pills killing someone.
I scroll faster. Click through to page two. Page three.
Omega suppressants buy online no rx
More garbage. Scam sites with broken English and stock photos. Forums where people warn each other about getting ripped off.
Come on. Comeon.
I throw off the covers, suddenly unable to sit still. My skin is crawling. The heat is still there, simmering under the surface, and any minute now it's going to spike again and I'll be right back where I started—desperate and needy and begging for someone to touch me.
I yank open my dresser drawer, pulling out clothes at random. Jeans. A hoodie. Underwear. I don't care what I grab, just that I'm moving, doing something, not sitting here waiting to fall apart.
I force myself back to the laptop. Dig deeper. Click through sketchy links I'd normally never touch.
And then—finally—a forum thread. Someone asking the same question I am. And in the replies—a handful of contacts. Burner numbers. Telegram handles. Warnings about which ones are scams and which ones are legit.
I start texting.
Looking for suppressants. Can pay cash. How fast can you deliver?
I send it to three different numbers, then go back to packing. Shirts crammed into my duffel bag. The charger for my phone. My wallet—I check the cash inside. Two hundred and change. Is that enough? It has to be enough.
My phone buzzes. I nearly drop it scrambling to check.
Sorry bro, don't have any rn. Try back next week.
