Chapter 7 #2
At the very least, it’ll get the blood flow to move. After this, I’m going to start eating chocolate covered coffee beans. I’m willing to try anything, because I’m going on hour three of this and it’s only getting worse.
I don’t know why this is happening, and my panicked mind is running through possibilities like a feral hypochondriac. Everything from a brain tumor to someone stabbing a doll with my hair wrapped around it is examined and discarded.
Stepping under the water, I shut the curtain behind me and begin massaging my chest, ears, and face as I try to get the pain to abate. I’m not working today, I don’t have clients, and I shouldn’t have any emergencies.
My shower lasts about half an hour as I stand under the hot water with my face under it, tapping and massaging like a lunatic. Tears mix in with the water as I silently tough it out. My next step will be to cover my face in a CBD lotion that I keep for my heats.
It helps me through the initial stages of my heat, until all I can think about is knots and sex. Since I can’t do that, I use toys instead. Once, while I was in Michigan when I was twenty, I booked myself into a heat clinic and fucked it out.
I was living in a camp and having my heat wasn’t safe when there were so many other people around me. I didn’t have the van yet, which means I lived in a tent and used the camp’s bathrooms to shower.
I kept to myself, didn’t tell a soul where I lived while I was seeing clients, and made it work.
The heat clinic is also how I had sex for the first time where I actually chose it. The alphas were sweet, kept me sated, and we said our goodbyes at the end of my heat. It was expensive, but my safety overrode everything else.
I heard from Omega’s Link that there may be a heat spa opening soon that will be offering free services. If that’s true, maybe I won’t have to go through my heats alone.
I found that I enjoyed how uncomplicated it was at the heat clinic in Michigan. No names were exchanged, everything was focused on my pleasure and happiness, and no one asked any questions.
I can’t date due to how unstable my life is. I live paycheck to paycheck, move often, and have a job that confuses people. Most people have a set schedule, while I don’t. Having to cancel last minute on an alpha or pack isn’t something that they can forgive when it happens often to them.
Besides, how is an omega going to meet anyone when all of the alphas she meets are very happily packed up. No, no. My lifestyle just isn’t conducive to meaningful relationships outside of my work.
Drying my body, I take my first deep breath in hours.
I can feel the echoes of pain in my skull and neck, so the first thing I do is take some low dose pain medication and rub CBD lotion all over my face and back of my neck.
The coolness of the lotion feels amazing, and I continue to tell myself that I can get through this.
Walking out of the bathroom, I’m grateful for all of the curtains over the windows. While it doesn’t block out all of the light, it’s enough to dull the pain.
“This sucks so bad,” I whisper. My eyes are squinted despite how much better I feel, perhaps in worry that this is simply a temporary respite.
Walking to my closet, I toss the towel into my hamper and pull on a long sleeved hoodie with a pair of panties. It hits mid thigh, is warm, and about the most I can handle at the moment.
A knock at my door makes me whimper. Looking up at the ceiling, I ask the universe why. Turning, I stumble to the door and crack it open. It can’t be anyone other than someone from Pack Ledger.
“Nova?” Malcolm looks at me from my barefoot feet to my wet, tangled hair. “I was coming by to see if you’d finished getting your van fixed, but something tells me you’re feeling under the weather.”
“You’re right,” I say, clearing my throat as my voice cracks. “My head is killing me. It came out of nowhere and hijacked all of my plans.”
He gives me an odd look as he nods. “I wonder if that’s something that’s going around,” he mutters. “Someone I know has a migraine that’s put her out of commission.”
“I’ve never had one until I came to Minneapolis,” I shrug. “I practically bathed my face in some CBD lotion I have and wasn’t very careful about it. I probably have streaks of it all over.”
“Pssh, as long as it works,” he shrugs. “Have you done the hot water for your feet remedy yet?”
“Does it work because it pulls the blood flow away from your head?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“I’ll try that next. The shower really helped, but I still feel like I was hit by a truck,” I sigh. “What time is it? Shouldn’t you still be at work?”
“It’s after four,” he says gently. “We decided to leave early and continue working from home. Go soak your feet, and I’ll do whatever is left on your van. If I have to hear the sound of your breaks squalling again, I’m going to cry. You’re doing me a solid here, Nova.”
Smiling inside, I nod. The brakes are really worn down, and I know that it’ll start snowing soon. That’s one of the reasons I was so excited about getting the extra money from Pack Dresmond.
“I bought brake pads, they’re in the shed,” I explain. It’s a small structure, but it’s perfect for everything that I need to store that I don’t want to bring inside the house. “It’s one of the last things I wanted to do for the van.”
“Oil is changed, tires rotated, maintenance is done, etc.?” he asks.
“Umm,” I bite my bottom lip. “I highly suggest that you maybe not look at the tires.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Can you afford them?”
“I can, I haven’t had a chance to buy some,” I admit. “I’ll have to go sometime this week and then lift the car to do it.”
Malcolm gazes at me, but doesn’t call me on my bullshit. I do have a lift in the shed, but using it is difficult alone.
“Why are all omegas lately allergic to asking for help?” he grumbles under his breath.
“I know you didn’t mean that for me, but it’s because we’ve only ever had ourselves to depend on,” I say. “I’m going to go soak my feet and go back to bed. I would remind you that you don’t have to fix my brakes, but it’s very nice that you want to.”
“Sorry, I’m grumpy,” he mutters. “Okay, I’m going to shift gears a little. Please feel better. I am going to call Felix and ask him to bring you some food over. How do you feel about chicken noodle soup? Do you have any allergies?”
“I’m such a pain for food,” I say apologetically. “I’m allergic to gluten. You really don’t need to bring me anything, I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach anything.”
A nomadic lifestyle is a beast when you have an allergy that’s in almost all inexpensive food. I once lived off grilled chicken, veggies, and fruit. I was petrified to eat anything else because getting glutenized with gastric issues is not something I ever want to experience again.
Once was more than enough.
I developed the allergy randomly, and when I turned twenty-four, I found out that gluten was the enemy through trial and error. It was a really rough four months.
“Nonsense,” Malcom scoffs. “He’ll just make the soup gluten free. It’s not too difficult, and you need to get some food into you. Don’t argue, I’ll just start to growl. Go work on fixing your head.”
Weakly smiling, I say the only thing that I can. “Thank you.”
Going back inside, I close the door behind me and lock it.
Passing by the kitchen, I pop a couple of chocolate covered espresso beans into my mouth and crunch on them in an effort to equalize my body.
Then, I heat up some water in a kettle and pour it into a bucket before sitting down to ease my feet inside of it.
I’m not going to lie, it’s very hot, but after a few minutes, I sigh with relief. Closing my eyes, I thank anything I can think of. Chronic pain is not for the weak, and I’m not made for it.
Waiting until the water cools, I pull down a kitchen towel and dry my feet off before standing. Making sure the water is dumped and the towel goes into the hamper, I crawl back into bed and pass out.
Today sucked, I’ll try again tomorrow. I need a redo.