“She’ll experience side effects,” Dr. Walton warns. “Nausea, fatigue, and possible vomiting. She should rest for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. No school this week.”
My mental calculations shift. My work schedule, savings, the bills due this month… Everything needs adjustment.
“The suppressants will minimize Heat symptoms but won’t eliminate them. With a fresh Mark, her biology will still respond to the Alpha if he’s near.” Dr. Walton lays out the facts with soft concern. “Keepher home as much as possible until her next Heat cycle.”
Another set of adjustments to my mental timetable.
Dr. Walton opens a drawer and withdraws a packet, handing it to me. “These are for reporting the Alpha. There’s also information about support groups and legal aid.” His fingers linger on the packet. “The system isn’t perfect, but itcanhelp.”
I take the envelope, fold it, and tuck it into my jacket pocket. “Thank you for your help.”
“Before you go, let me give you this.” From another cabinet, he pulls out a plastic bag. “It’s not much, but every bit helps.”
With a look at me, he adds a second one with a smile. “It certainly can’t hurt.”
I open it to inspect the contents and find a cheap nape guard, the simple buckle kind meant to stop accidental Marks during consensual sex, but easy enough to remove. Beneath it, I spy condoms, a dental dam, and a week’s worth of suppressants.
Lena blushes bright red when she checks her own bag, and I take it from her without comment.
Outside again, the cold autumn air cuts through our thin jackets, and Lena leans into me as we walk, her movements already sluggish from the medication.
My arm circles her shoulders, steadying her against the wind.
I can’t fix what’s already happened. But I can decide what happens next.
Evening creeps through the blinds in blue shadows, turning Lena’s room into a cave of half-light. I sit on the edge of her bed, the mattress indenting and tipping her toward me. The emergency contraceptives have painted dark circles beneath her eyes, her skin pale enough that I can trace the blue veins at her temples.
Her hair spreads across the pillow in tangled waves, damp at the roots from the fever that broke an hour ago. She breathes through her mouth, each exhale carrying the bitter scent of the medication working through her system.
Outside, traffic thickens as people return from work, horns blaring when someone cuts too close at the intersection. Normal Monday evening noises, but nothing is normal now.
Lena stirs beneath the blankets, her fingers clutching the comforter. A small noise escapes her throat, discomfort or distress, and I lean closer.
“Do you need water?”
She blinks up at me, pupils dilated from the medication. “My stomach hurts.”
I reach for the glass on the nightstand, holding it to her lips. “Small sips.”
She manages two before turning her head away, water dripping down her chin. I catch the droplets with the corner of the blanket before they can reach her neck.
“The doctor said the nausea might last until tomorrow,” I remind her, setting the glass down. “Try to sleep through it.”
Lena shifts, wincing as the movement jostles her body. The medication works through her system like poison, necessary but cruel. I adjust the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it under her chin the way I used to do when she was small, before all this, when I could still pretend to protect her from everything.
Her hand catches mine, fingers cold on my skin. “What happens now?”
What happens with school? What happens with the Alpha? What happens with her body?
I focus on the most immediate concern. “You rest. I called the school. You’re out sick this week.”
“And the Alpha?” Her fear cuts through me. “What are you going to do?”
I lean down to kiss her sweaty forehead. “Don’t ask questions.”
Lena’s grip on my hand relaxes. “What about your jobs?”
“Already handled.” Another half-truth. I’ve called out of both, knowing it might cost me one or both positions. But some things matter more than paychecks. “I’ll be here until you’re better.”
