Well… the city’s version of fresh air.
The moment the Institute's glass doors slid open, it was sensory overload to the point my head ached. Traffic noises, conversations, the scent of exhaust and food and perfume and a thousand other things that made up the cocktail of Seattle. When I breathed, I could taste the city on my tongue. Not sterile hospital, but something intoxicatingly alive.
"Take it slow," Janet murmured, noticing my rapid breathing.
I was fine though, just marveling at the way my warm breath fogged into the chilly air, so I was inhaling and exhaling quickly to watch.
We walked half a block to a waiting car that took us to the Seattle Art Museum. They'd chosen it carefully—not too crowded on weekday mornings, controlled environment, plenty of places to sit if I became overwhelmed.
There was so much to look at, so much to digest. At one point, I stood in front of a massive canvas splashed with colors so vibrant they seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. Art was so different when viewed in real life instead of through a screen. I could see the texture of the paint, the deliberatebrushstrokes, the places where the artist had used a heavier or lighter hand. It felt like the paintings were as desperate to be seen, as I was desperate to see them.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a stranger commented, stopping beside me.
I froze, startled by the casual interaction. What if this stranger was sick? What if I caught something? What if…I didn’t have to worry about that as much anymore?
“Are you okay, sweetie?” The gray-haired woman with kind eyes studied me. She was acting like I was normal. Like I belonged there.
"Yes, I’m fine," I managed to reply. "Just overwhelmed seeing it in person."
She smiled. "First time at the museum?"
"First time at any museum."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t press for more information. She simply nodded and moved on, leaving me with the thunderous realization that I really was becoming just Lucy. Not sick Lucy. Not time-consuming Lucy. Not Lucy with parents who couldn’t take it anymore. Lucy who could go to a museum and talk to a stranger.
Dampness filled my eyes.
I choked on a sob.
"Lucy, what’s wrong?” Janet moved around me, her trained eyes looking for signs I was in distress.
“I’m just,” I swallowed, fighting back the threatening tears, “happy.”
An arm wrapped around my shoulder. I glanced over, finding Leanne. She smiled, checks ruddy and eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “You should be happy, Lucy. Happy for the rest of your life. You deserve it.”
My gaze moved back to the painting.
To the riotous colors splashed across the canvas.
Happy for the rest of my life? Was that even possible?
27
LUCY
A fresh wave of melancholy washed over me as I returned to the present, my forehead still pressed against the window of my Eros Institute suite.
Vivid pinks, yellows, blues, and green danced in my vision, as if I still walked through the museum. I blinked, seeing the slashes of stark black slicing through the brightness.
Every painting had woken something new inside me.
And that taste of freedom had been intoxicating, terrifying, overwhelming—and nowhere near enough. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
And that was what made today's scent sampling so important. It was the next step toward a real life, with real connections. Real touch. After experiencing the outside world without barrier how could I possibly go back to any level of isolation?
But the fear remained. What if my scent was wrong somehow? What if no Alphas matched with me? What if they did, but couldn't handle my medical history, my strangeness, my inexperience with everything that normal people took for granted?
The clock kept moving.
