“It certainly is not stupid,” Doctor Moorehead admonished. “Why do Betas need antiperspirants? Because many of them have overactive sweat glands. It is not so different. And we will not,” the doctor locked eyes with the freckled Beta, “make fun of our fellow students.”
“Yes, Doctor Moorehead. Sorry, Jared.” He replied sullenly, knocked off his pedestal.
The carrier liquid was up to my chin now. Yes, I had the regulator in my mouth. Yes, I wasn’t going to drown...probably.Yet, I still went rigidas fear flooded through me. Didn’t have too much time to contemplate my mortality before the liquid had hit the top of the tank though.
I couldn’t hear anything except muffled voices now that my ears were clogged with solution. I watched mouths move, heads nod, and both nurses take up station on either side of the tank. When they flipped the infusion levers, two large syringe-like nozzles pushed into the tank from different points on the ceiling. One began pulsing an ocean blue into the clear, viscous carrier fluid. The other offered neon yellow. As they began to disperse and mix, I became lost in a green.
And that’s when the burning began.
So great and terrible this time that I wondered if it would remove a layer of skin.
I wanted to scream. I couldn’t scream.
Not and continue breathing.
Every session, I wanted to slam my fist against the slick glass and beg to be released. But I knew that I had to endure the pain. There was no easy shelter for me anymore. I’d fought my feral urges for as long as I could solo. Having help was imperative now.
It was probably a good thing I didn’t know how much it would hurt when I first came to the clinic...if I had?I’d have never had the courage to walk into this tank the first time.
11
MAC
4 MONTHS AGO… OBLIVION HAZE’S MANSION
Parkingin the mansion’s garage, I hit the remote to close the overhead door behind me. It slipped silently down to thud gently against the ground. I took a deep breath, coughing on the way the air in the car smelled. An odd stench always clung to my skin after the scent stripping procedure. Acrid citrus and overwhelming mint. I was going to have to get the Mercedes deep cleaned again. I took Tray for a ride after my last appointment and he’d commented on the scent, asking if I’d gotten some new air freshener and, if I had, I should throw it in the trash.“Shit is foul”he’d smirked, poking me in the ribs. Guy rarely took anything seriously, but honestly that made the few times he switched gears more meaningful.
I pushed my driver’s door open, swinging it wide and hard and cringing when it tried to bounce back at me. I knew better than to succumb to violent actions. They always bit me in the ass. That was my lot in life, and one of the reasons I never chose to engage in confrontation. As I stood up from the seat, I nearly fell when my knees ghosted me. They sometimes did that after visiting the clinic. My entire body was so damn weak. Grabbing quickly for the car roof, I held on for dear life as I waited for my legs to return from the grave. Once they shimmered backinto place, I tested the waters by bending them each in turn and then slamming my feet against the acid-washed concrete beneath me. The balls of my feet tingled, but I felt confident enough to walk.
Closing the door with more gentleness than I’d opened it with, I began the slow trudge to the house entrance. Per usual, I felt like the dead walking. The fatigue, numbness, loss of body control,and that damn smellmade me feel like I was in the wrong body.
I shouldered into the mansion. When I was inside, my vision went blurry. Finding my way over to the curved bench in the front foyer, I slumped down. I hated this fucking bench. It was the most uncomfortable thing we owned. It came with the house, and Tray wanted us to keep it for some unknown reason. It was a conversation piece; I’d give him that. The tacky thing was backless with comically tall sides that curved over. The mustard yellow, velvet cushioning was tufted and looked like it should be comfortable but was, in fact, hard as a rock. I should have vetoed it, but the last time a decor veto happened, we’d all ended up in a stalemate of everybody vetoing everything for payback.
Leaning back against the wall, I closed my eyes. I didn’t hear any movement in the house at first. No one had greeted me. Maybe everyone was outside the house? Listening more intently, the telltale sounds of splashing and laughter filtered inside. The pool. It was a good day for that. The patio doors must be closed, or they’d be louder. I’d look in a moment, but for now I just needed to sit and decompress and pretend nothing existed but my own exhaustion.
I stayed that way for what felt like forever but was likely only ten minutes or so. At the sound of the patio door sliding open, I parted my lashes and looked to the left. Dixon was leaving wet footprints and puddles behind him as he padded into the kitchen. A few moments later, he popped back into view holding both a water and an Alpha tonic. I watched him as he detoured towards the sectional. He leaned over it and shook his head a little. My gaze lowered, landing on Tray who was obliviously snoring. He had a textbook flattened over his face; arms crossed over his chest. Dixon let a bit more water drip onto our Alpha brother, obviously trying to wake him, before frowning and heading back out tothe pool. Seconds after giving Tray a mini shower against his will, Dixon was diving into the deep end.
Tray’s laptop was perched on his outstretched legs, his knees acting like a stopgap to keep the electronic from sliding the rest of the way down. This morning he’d mentioned one of his professors played the drums too. He was gung-ho about this whole college thing. I hadn’t figured out if it was a jokester Tray, short-term hyper-focus or a serious Tray decision.
I glanced up, catching Dixon cannonballing into the pool. He whooped so loudly that the door couldn’t muffle the sound and Tray stirred, his arm flopping off the couch. The book shifted a little, going sideways to reveal one closed eye. I tried to read the spine, but my vision was still shit. Tray shifted, hand moving up to shove the book back over his face before letting loose a monstrous snore.This guy. I bet his new focus is the Art of Napping. Maybe they’ll give him a scholarship.I chuckled to myself as I stood up, having to hold the wall for a heartbeat while my head swam and my body rebelled. Shaking off the off-putting sensation, I moved across the room, almost missing the step down and face planting. Damn, I hated how I felt after a treatment.
Getting closer to Tray, I debated waking him up. The textbook had almost immediately slipped again, this time stopping beneath his nose like a giant book mustache. Physics. So, he was actually studying something. Not the Art of Napping after all. I quirked an eyebrow at the subject. I’d have bet good money against anything that hardcore. A wave of nausea hit me, and I closed my eyes, swaying in place. I’d be okay, if my knees didn’t go phantom again. Dammit if they didn’t threaten to ghost me just as I thought that though.
“You look like crap warmed up,” Tray's voice filtered into my fight to stay upright. I couldn’t force myself to look at him. I had to channel my energy into not dying. Maybe literally. I didn’t know these days.
“You talking in your sleep?” Somehow, I managed to sound nonchalant, even as the contents of my stomach threatened to pull a reappearing act. Thankfully, I hadn’t eaten much. Just the formulated electrolytes and nutrition bar after treatment.
“You’re one to talk,” he poked, “At least I’m not sleepwalking.”
I heard shuffling. Something thumped down. Then something else thudded to either the floor or the coffee table… coffee table, I decided. The floor was carpeted. I felt the air shift around me, and was pretty sure Tray had left the sofa and closed the short distance to where I currently struggled.
“You okay, man?” Concern flooded his words now. This was what I’d been trying to avoid. It was why I’d lied to them all that I was taking piano lessons.
“Fine,” I mumbled, swallowing hard.
“Want me to help you to your room?” Tray wrapped an arm around me before I could speak again. I let him support me.
“Thanks,” I said. Though it didn’t answer his question, Tray began leading me out of the living room.
