I’d tried to smile back at her that day. I’d failed.
I glancedover at my bedside clock.
One hour to go. Just one hour, and then I'd be taking the next steps towards whatever waited after Eros.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, trying to steady my breathing the way the Institute's therapist had taught me. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. My heart refused to slow its frantic pace.
This was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? Even if I’d not contractually obligated myself to finding a mate, the treatments that had saved my life came with that expectation anyways—that I would enter society as a functioning Omega. That I would eventually match with compatible Alphas. That I would fulfill the biological destiny my disease had nearly stolen from me.
I wanted so much more out of life though.
And after being isolated so long, my family out of the picture and only the medical staff to raise me, the idea of becoming truly intimate with another person was terrifying.
What did I know about relationships? About desire? About Alphas, with their dominating presences and intense instincts? Until recently, I didn’t even truly understand what it meant to be an Omega.
We were monitoring me for the onset of my first heat now. The people at Eros would guide me through self-care—what to eat, what to drink, how to nest and how to manage the pain.
All my knowledge came from curated books or the internet. I didn’t try to learn about adult things on Brightfield’s network, not after the first time I’d looked up ‘hot, famous Alphas, andfound out every web search was monitored. Still, I existed in constant hunger. Hunger for glimpses of the world, for physical sensations I was denied, and for unrestrained emotions like passion, joy, and rage.
I stood again, squaring my shoulders and striding back to the mirror. As I gazed at my reflection, my startlingly changed eyes stared back with determination.
"You didn't survive just to back down now," I told myself firmly. "Whatever happens, you're going to live. Really live."
For the first time in my life, that wasn't just a distant hope—it was a tangible possibility. Even with fear coursing through me, I felt something else too: the intoxicating rush of possibility.
The clock ticked steadily toward ten.
Nine-fifteen.
Nine-twenty.
Nine-thirty.
Sitting on the floor, I leaned against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching Seattle thrum with life below. My mind had detached from my body, floating somewhere between the glass and the distant horizon. It was a familiar sensation—this disconnection—though the reasons for it had changed.
In Moab, I'd dissociated to escape the endless monotony of isolation. Here, I did it to process the overwhelming rush of new experiences that threatened to drown me.
My thoughts drifted to last week—to the day that had finally gotten through my stupid head that my life was forever altered.
Two nurses appearedat my door, their faces open and friendly in a way I was still getting used to after years of seeing mostly eyes above surgical masks or features through hazmat visors. Janet and Leanne, both specialists in Omega transitional care.
"We have a surprise for you, Lucy," Janet, standing a head taller than Leanne, said. Her eyes were sparkling. "Dr. Swann has approved a short outing."
I didn’t understand at first. "Outing?" The word felt foreign on my tongue.
"A trip outside the Institute," explained Leanne, her compact frame nearly vibrating with excitement. "Just a couple of hours. We have all the necessary precautions ready."
They showed me the emergency kit they'd carry—medication that would stabilize my immune system if it began to falter, an inhaler-like device that would deliver an immediate dose of synthetic Omega hormones if my levels dropped, and a direct line to Doctor Swann in case of any complications.
"Are you sure it's safe?" I asked, hope and terror battling within me.
Janet grinned. "Your recent test results were amazing, Lucy. You don’t need to keep living in a bubble."
Her words made me think of my abandoned blog, of my jokes about being a bubble girl, and of how I used to think my life would never truly begin.
The nurses led me out of my suite. My heart hammered so violently as we entered one of the elevators and begandescending that I was certain the nurses could hear it. My palms kept sweating, and I wiped them repeatedly against the simple jeans they’d given me to wear. The sweater was hunter green—Leanne said it made my eyes pop—the jacket was fawn brown, and the shoes were incredibly comfortable white sneakers. It wasn’t a glamorous outfit, not something a hip, healthy woman in her twenties would pick, but to me it was the most wonderful clothing in the world because I was wearing it to go outside.
They guided me to a side exit. It wasn’t the front door, but it felt so much better than entering through the underground garage. I was stepping from a ground floor level out into cold, fresh air.
