Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
There are a lot of things I can ignore. Thatcher’s occasional body odor after practice. Sam’s workaholic tendencies. My parents forgetting about our weekly phone call because one or both of them are in surgery unexpectedly.
But when I walk into the kitchen on Friday morning and see Opal taking a foreign capsule with her coffee, it hits me somewhere in the gut.
Blockers are little white pills, and they almost always look the same unless someone buys the expensive kind, but these weren’t that.
These were large, full of little blue beads.
And when she saw me a second after swallowing it, her eyes turned into saucers before she leveled her face and overcompensated with cheery morning talk.
If I’ve learned anything about Opal over the past few weeks, it’s that she has two very different diversion tactics.
She either goes quiet or she talks up a storm.
The latter is exactly what she does now as she explains how excited she is for the day, how her class is having a party, and how she bought all of these decorations for it.
I let her continue, and listen intently while she goes on and on about how the different kids were excited for the party and how they couldn’t wait to have cake and watch the movie the teacher picked.
She is so focused on her excitement that I think she forgets the reason she started ranting to begin with, which almost made me forget it, too.
But the image of that pill finding its way into her mouth is stuck in my brain.
I can’t decipher from memory what it is.
I thought I knew what every pill looked like, but this one is leaving me stumped.
The fact that it’s bothering me so much is another sign that something isn’t right, and somehow I know that if I asked her, she wouldn’t tell me the truth.
Opal is such a ball of light, but she isn’t immune to darkness.
There are hidden crevices holding secrets buried beneath the radiance.
There’s a mysteriousness lurking within her that calls to me, reaches out its hand, and beckons me forward.
At first sight, she seems like an open book, but I know that there’s a side of her that she doesn’t let anyone else see.
And I think Thatcher got a glimpse of it.
I can’t help the dopey smile that takes over when the grouchy alpha comes to mind.
He’s not cross without reason. I can see that now.
Everything is starting to make sense to me, and the picture of how this pack was meant to be is slowly coming into focus.
I have to keep my senses clear to push the pieces in the right direction.
Thatcher needs time to realize, and Sam needs to let go of the idea of creating the perfect pack.
Because I think we might have our missing piece right underneath our noses, they’re just too caught up in their own nonsense to recognize it.
I feel it so instinctually. My soul recognizes Opal’s in every possible way. Now, I just need to be there for her until she realizes it, too.
Although it feels like murky waters, I can’t help myself when I pull out my old notebooks.
Something’s been itching at my brain ever since Thatcher mentioned that Opal can’t take pain medication for her headaches, but I can’t pinpoint it.
Having spent my first year in classes built around basic biology and different diseases that attack the body, I’m positive that I read something about this before. It’ll just take some digging.
Learning medicine was a drag. It was also excessive, which is evident by the mountain of notebooks I have in front of me from my freshman year alone.
I start going through the ones from Omega Anatomy, which was arguably one of my favorite classes while I was studying medicine.
I’m looking for a specific note that I jotted down when my brain spots something strange.
Hyper-Hormonal Omega Syndrome:
Rare Condition, Only 50 Cases Worldwide
The words seem to sparkle, and my brain is unable to look away.
I don’t remember going over this in class, but it’s the only note I have written down for it.
The rest of the page is full of other rare conditions, all related to omegas and their heat cycles.
I open my laptop and type in the disorder, clicking on the first resource available.
Hyper-Hormonal Omega Syndrome (HHOS) is a condition that presents in omegas that causes an overproduction of hormones that results in premature heat cycles.
I raise a brow. Premature heat cycles? What the hell does that mean?
A flare-up of HHOS includes the following:
Long-Term Migraines
Fever/Flu-Like Symptoms
Spontaneous Heat Spikes
Painful Cramps
Sensitivity to Light/Sound
Exaggerated Scent
Dysregulated Menstruation
Dysregulated Heat Cycles
I keep reading the list, wondering why there are so many listed. Below the symptoms, a disclaimer says: Symptoms are varied between individuals, but the consistent variable is that early heat cycles occur regardless of the bonding status of individuals.
Well, fuck. I didn’t even know that was possible. What do unbonded omegas with HHOS do when their heat arrives? The idea sends chills down my spine.
I scroll down, not even bothering with the section titled Causes because it pisses me off that there are only a few short sentences there. The Treatment section comes up, but the section is just as short.
The only known treatment plan includes Heat Inhibitors that can help block the production of hormones speculated to cause the uncomfortable symptoms. It can’t, however, prevent the premature heat cycle from occurring.
In some cases, scent blockers can help postpone heat cycles, but there is no conclusive data to support why.
I come to a halt, my mind hyperfocusing on the sentence about scent blockers.
When I asked Opal about them, she opened up about a horrible blind date she had been on and why she chose to go on them.
My gut says that story is true. If I were accosted by an alpha like that, I would feel insecure about having my scent out in the open, too.
But I wonder if that isn’t the only reason why she hides her scent behind blockers.
I wonder if the reason why she was even going on blind dates to begin with has to do with feeling like a ticking time bomb, desperate not to explode before she got somewhere safe. My stomach tightens at the thought.
My finger slips and the page scrolls down.
The picture that shows up causes me to stop everything.
It’s a weirdly artistic photograph, little clear capsules laid about with one opened wide, the blue beads spilling out.
My entire body freezes as I recognize it as the pill I accidentally saw Opal take that morning, the one that caused her to panic when she realized I was watching her.
The tiny picture description reads: HHOS inhibitors.
The queasiness in my stomach doubles. The other day comes roaring back. Thatcher describing her symptoms, the duration of how long it lasted. There’s no doubt in my mind that she had a flare-up, and now she is trying to pretend like it never happened.
The rabbit hole of research I find myself going down continues to cause more and more awful feelings.
There apparently isn’t much regulation when it comes to HHOS, and the little bit of knowledge that is available is disturbing.
My question is, what happens to unbonded omegas who go into their heat cycles?
Apparently, the only solution that douchebag overseers can come up with is locking them in isolation to fend for themselves.
In fact, most are encouraged to seek this route so they’re not a ‘burden to society.’ Gag me with a fucking spoon.
Or better yet, I’d like to gag the douchebag who made this decision with one. The biggest spoon I can find.
The idea of Opal going through something like this makes me want to literally riot. She’s the sweetest person, and if my gut is right about this, she is struggling right under our roof, and none of us had a clue.
My mind turns to Sam and the creative cases he’s talked about in the past. There may not be a lot of information on the internet about the rights of these omegas—of Opal—but I know there must be a case out there that has a record of this condition and what it does to people.
So, before I can think better of it, I grab my coat and walk out the door to send my boyfriend on a wild goose chase.
When I get to Alpha Xi, I walk right in. Normally, I’d feel awkward about that, but this time I don’t care. I’m on a mission to get more information, and nothing can stop me, not even the confused stares from the members as they lounge around the house.
I walk upstairs, using muscle memory to get to Sam’s office. He is standing, as he often does when he’s examining a lot of paperwork at once. He holds a single piece of paper amongst many when he hears me enter and looks up, his face lighting up at my arrival.
Oh, not right now, you stupid butterflies, I’m on a mission.
But that mission is paused as I take a look at his desk, noticing all the papers flung about. My alpha is organized, almost unbearably so. Seeing papers in such a disarray is my first sign that things are a bit chaotic. “That’s a lot of papers,” I comment sarcastically. “What are you working on?”
Sam lifts one shoulder in a shrug as he sets the paper back on his desk. “The Dean asked me to go over a few things from all the fraternities, to make sure everything reported by them is correct. And these are all the cases that my boss wants me to look over.”
I suddenly get frustrated. “Does that even fall under your responsibilities as an intern?”
He gives me an amused smile. “If I say ‘no,’ what would you do?”