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So I take my big fat L and scramble to the exit, praying no one notices me crying the whole way out.
chapter
one
“So what did the doctor say?”
I poke at the sandwich on the plate next to my laptop, scowling at the stale bread, my best friend’s question. And, you know, my general existence. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Denial has become a lifestyle of sorts.
And, turns out? It’s not exactly an effective strategy.
Two weeks of avoidance, and I’m still unemployed. Broke. Alone. And edging toward desperation.
“How much do you think I could get for feet pics?” I ask around a mouthful.
Remi squeals, then sobers. “Seriously, Meg. Is it that bad?”
Well, it isn’t good. I suck in a quick breath to force down a wave of dread. “Two months. Max.”
The doctor actually said eight weeks. But… denial.
In this instance, it’s entirely necessary. If I let myself think about my upcoming heat, I might actually give myself a stroke.
It will be my first unmedicated cycle. Ever. I’ve been on a steady regimen of suppressants to lower my hormones to a livable level and pain medication to get me through without any… help.
If losing my medical insurance just meant losing access to the pain management drugs, I could deal. It would be painful and terrifying and all that fun stuff, but I would live. According to my doctor, the same can’t be said for going through heat alone without my suppressants.
Remi’s gasp really doesn’t help my anxiety. On the screen in front of me, my WorkNow inbox stares back at me. Empty.
“What are you going to do?” my friend frets. “You could get really sick, Meg. Or really hurt.”
I know she’s right. Stories of unbonded, untended omegas going crazy during their heats are well-documented. The thought of stripping all of my clothes off and running through my neighborhood in desperate search of an alpha to climb may sound ridiculous to me now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen once my unchecked heat hormones shoot through the roof.
Remi is right. I can try to chain myself to my bed and ride out the excruciating cramps, but there’s no guarantee I won’t somehow wander once the delirium sets in.
And a perfuming, slick-dripping omega roaming the streets? Let’s just say recent experience has taught me there are plenty of alphas evil enough to take advantage. And even more who simply wouldn’t be able to control themselves.
I swallow another whine, doubling over my keyboard and pressing the tips of my fingers into my face. “I know, I know.”
Because we’re true best friends, Remi and I take turns panicking. As soon as it’s clear I’m about to melt down, she’s suddenly brimming with optimism.
“You have two months, Meg. That’s plenty of time. You’ll get a job soon. I just know it.”
Hearing the sunshine in her voice would ordinarily boost my spirits. But, now, it just makes it clear exactly how hopeless I feel.
I wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine I’d designate as an omega. My mom was an alpha. And since she conceived me with a test-tube from another alpha, I definitely didn’t grow up dreaming of the perfect nest or the right pack to share my heats with.
Mom raised me to be independent, smart, and tough. All of the things she was before I lost her.
Since I was only fourteen at the time, I was sorted into the system and lived in group homes until my designation started to come through.
At first, I thought the blood tests were wrong. Government medicine is notoriously mediocre, and everything I knew about myself told me that my recent mood swings and weird urges had to be some sort of teenage fluke.
I could not be an omega.
…See what I mean about the denial?
