“It’s okay, dear. We’re here to help.”
I open my eyes and come face to face with a woman looking right at me. The woman, who I haven’t previously met, scares the daylights out of me.
“You’re at Unity Collegiate.”
“At Unity?” I question. Because the last thing I remember is walking to the car service at the airport after talking with Brody. Everything after that is a blank.
“Yes, dear. You’ve been with us for a few hours now. We brought you straight up to the infirmary ward and have had to isolate you because of your flu.”
I sink against the pillow, the reality of where I am pressing down on me. It’s a lot to take in—especially becauseI have no memory of how I got here. And that’s terrifying. I blink, wide-eyed, waiting for my memories to return. But there’s nothing. Just the relentless pounding in my head.
The harder I try to figure out where I lost track of time, the sicker I start to feel. My temperature spikes so suddenly and unexpectedly that I think I’m about to puke. I feel weak as a kitten as I try to kick the blankets off.
“You’ve got a nasty fever, Simona. Try not to move around, you might dislodge the IV drip. You try to settle down and I’ll wipe your face with a cloth.”
Her voice gives me something to focus on other than how confused and awful I feel. I’m not sure I have ever felt this sick. Or alone. A tear tracks down my cheek, and she doesn’t mention it when she wipes a cool flannel over my face.
“I think you should have some pain relief and try to sleep.” She’s already walking out the door not waiting for a response, but that’s okay because I truly don’t have the energy to do anything but stare.
My eyelids droop and I blink them open a few times thinking she’s going to come back and give me some tablets, but the draw of sleep pulls me under.
Waking up for the second time, I feel better. Still not great, but at least now I don’t feel like I’m about to die. My thoughts are clearer, and I can see things for what they are now. There’s a niggling feeling, though, like I’ve forgotten something huge. Something life changing, and it’s near impossible to put a finger on what it is. The more I try to figure it out, the harder it becomes, and the feeling is destabilising. As is the unfurling sense of loss.
Rolling to my side takes a lot of effort and I feel exhausted after moving around. I vaguely remember someone talking of an IV line, it’s gone but the bandage on my arm is new. When I roll to my side, I get proof of my location. The ‘Unity Collegiate for Omegas’ sign above what I can onlyassume is the college entrance is so oversized, I’m sure you’d be able to see it from space.
But as I turn, the feeling that I’m missing something huge eclipses the brief comfort of knowing where I am. It’s a blanket of all things that feeds a growing anxiety. By the looks of it, I’ve been sleeping with it wrapped around me. But what’s odd is that I’ve never seen it before in my life, and I never would have bought it. It’s an ugly chocolate brown tartan, the kind you’d keep in the car for your grandma. Looks aside, something about it feels irreplaceable. As if it’s been mine forever. And that’s strange because I don’t hold things near and dear—Brody has made sure of that—teaching me not to grow attached by destroying anything I care about. But this blanket? If he—or anyone else—tried to take it from me, I’d rise up like a cobra, ready to strike.
My scent is obvious, though it’s a different scent that has me hooked. I inhale deeply against the scratchy blanket, and my senses come alive—heavenly notes like the ones that greet you when you step into an old bookstore. It’s the combination of old—inks, solvents, adhesives, bleaching agents, mixing with modern more astringent chemical notes that produce the crisp smell you notice when you open a freshly printed book. My blanket is that, but more. Beneath the paper and ink there’s a smoky cedarwood wrapped in the warmth of sweetened coffee.
The door behind me opens, and I tuck the blanket out of view.
“How are you feeling?”
Moving to hide what I’m doing, I’m not really surprised to see a different nurse. She looks similar, maybe a little younger, but they share the same neat ballet bun hairstyle and identical uniforms.
“I’m better,” I answer as she wheels in her trolley. My voice is croaky, and talking makes my throat hurt.
Without asking, she uses an electronic thermometer then clamps a device on my thumb and wraps a cuff on my arm, turning back to her trolley to record the data. I wait for her, happy to look out of the window and to hold on to my blanket.
“Your temperature is still elevated, but your heart rate is fine. I want to see you eating before I give you the all clear and let you out of the infirmary, so I suspect you’ll be with us for a few more days. Can I get you anything? A book or your phone? I’ll be back with some medication and then the tea ladies will come through with food shortly.”
She talks a mile a minute. The way she does lets me know she’s compassionate, but at the same time, busy.
“Do you happen to know where my bag is?” I manage after coughing a few times.
She walks to the cupboard near the window, and when she pulls it open, I see my suitcases lined up with my smaller bag and handbag on top, including my missing bag. She hands me both.
I feel sick thinking about how many missed phone calls I have. I’ll wait until she’s gone to check my phone.
“By the way,” she says, returning with a glass of water in one hand and a small plastic dish holding a few tablets in the other. She offers them to me, but I don’t move to take them, waiting to hear her finish speaking first. “We had to involve Omega Mother to speak with your Alpha, Brody, along with a large contingent of people claiming to be family. Whilst you are a student at Unity, your status as a student takes precedence. We are not obligated to provide minute-by-minute updates on your activities to anyone.”
I think my eyes nearly bug out of my head. Her response is completely unexpected. She’s not finished surprising me either.
“Of course we report on each of our students’ potential, orlack thereof, but it happens half yearly at our scheduled student assessments. Irrespective of some people believing their wealth or status in our community provides them extra privilege, they are categorically wrong. At Unity our focus is always on our Omegas. Ensuring our ladies finish their academics to the best of their ability, so when they graduate, they are well rounded Omegas, poised and ready for success. This is what drives each and every person on the faculty and the board. I hope, dear, you understand and respect our stance. We don’t take kindly to Alphas trying to intimidate.”
Her lips draw into a sharp line, and her frustration is clear as day. She finishes with a nod that ends the update on everyone back home, but it also draws a line in the sand regarding how things will be at Unity. Well, I hope I’m reading it right. The sudden swell of utter elation completely outweighs how awful I felt when I woke up.
Picking up my phone after she leaves seems a lot less onerous. The twenty missed calls and text messages don’t stir my anxiety. Instead, all I can focus on is how much freedom I will have at Unity.
