22. The Plague Of The Past
The Plague Of The Past
~ELIZABETH~
T he fever drags me under, pulling me back to that day at Harvard --- the day that changed everything. The memories surface like drowning victims, bloated and distorted by time but no less horrifying.
I'm running.
The elegant hallways of Harvard blur past me as I flee, my feet pounding against the polished marble floors. Each step echoes like a thunderclap in my ears, matching the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Something's wrong.
So terribly wrong.
My skin feels like it's on fire, burning from the inside out. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the building's climate control, and there's an ache deep in my core that makes me want to crawl out of my own flesh.
The perfume I'd sprayed this morning — a light, floral scent my mother had given me — now seems to chase me down the corridor like a ghost, mixing with something else. Something sweeter, heavier, more primal.
The aroma chases me. So thick and intense, leaving a trail behind that almost makes me feel sicker than I’m currently experiencing.
My scent.
But that's impossible because I'm not...
I can't be...
Another wave of heat crashes through me, making my knees buckle. I catch myself against the wall, my palm sliding against the cool surface as I fight to stay upright. My reflection in a nearby window shows a stranger -— face flushed, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with each desperate breath.
"No," I whisper, the word catching in my throat. "Please, no..."
I know what these signs mean.
What they’re meant to portray.
Something I thought I’d never be a victim of.
Yet…it’s happening.
My body betrays me, another pulse of need making me whimper. The sound echoes in the empty hallway, too loud, too vulnerable.
I have to get out of here.
Have to find somewhere safe.
The construction site.
The thought comes suddenly, a lifeline in the chaos. They're renovating the east wing --- empty rooms, sparse foot traffic, plenty of places to hide until...until what?
Until this passes?
Until someone finds me?
Until I wake up from this nightmare?
My legs carry me forward on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me through the labyrinth of Harvard's halls. Each step feels like moving through molasses, my body growing heavier as the heat builds.
Something sticky slides down my inner thigh, and the realization of what it is makes bile rise in my throat.
Slick.
The word comes unbidden, though I've never used it before. Never needed to.
I'm not supposed to be this.
This isn't me.
This can't be happening.
I need to hide. Just hide and let it pass.
It has to pass…right?
The construction area looms ahead, sealed off by yellow caution tape and temporary barriers. I duck under them without hesitation, my shoes crunching on sawdust as I enter the half-finished wing.
The air here is different — thick with the smell of fresh paint and new drywall. It helps mask the sweetness pouring off my skin, and gives me something else to focus on besides the inferno raging through my veins.
An unfinished room catches my eye — four walls but no door yet, the floor still bare concrete.
Perfect.
I stumble inside, collapsing against the furthest wall. My hands shake as I pull my phone from my pocket, the screen blurring as I try to focus.
Who can I call?
Mom? Dad?
The thought makes something close to hysteria bubble in my chest.
How do I even begin to explain this?
James?
My finger hovers over his name in my contacts. He'd help. I know he would. Even with our rivalry, even with all the tension between us, he wouldn't leave me like this.
But the thought of him seeing me this way — desperate, needy, completely out of control — makes shame curl hot and heavy in my stomach.
What would he think of me?
The straight-A student, the perfectionist, the girl who challenges him at every turn...reduced to this quivering mess on a concrete floor.
A sob escapes me as I curl into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees as if I can hold myself together through sheer force of will. The concrete is cool against my overheated skin, but it's not enough.
Nothing is enough.
"Please," I whisper to no one, rocking slightly. "Please make it stop..."
But it doesn't stop.
The heat builds and builds, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Each inhale brings new scents — dust, paint, my own desperate sweetness — until I'm drowning in sensation.
Omega.
The word echoes in my mind like a death sentence.
I'm an Omega.
All this time, all these years of thinking I was normal, of planning my future, of competing with James...and I'm an Omega.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest, quickly dissolving into another sob.
How did I not know?
How did no one tell me?
The questions spin through my mind like leaves in a storm, each one bringing fresh waves of panic and confusion. My body feels foreign, like I'm trapped in someone else's skin, someone else's need.
A sound — the creak of floorboards, the shuffle of feet — cuts through my spiral.
Hope flares briefly in my chest.
"James?" I call out, my voice small and desperate.
But the figure that appears in the doorway isn't James.
As my vision clears, focusing through the haze of heat and fear, I see them.
Three men.
The leader stands slightly ahead of the others, his dark red hair catching what little light filters through the unfinished windows. His grin is wide, predatory, as his nostrils flare.
Taking in my scent.
"Well, well, well…" he says, his voice carrying an edge that makes my skin crawl. "Look what we have here. A helpless little Omega who needs to find her way."
I try to press myself further into the wall as if I can somehow sink through the concrete and disappear. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my teeth, taste it on my tongue.
This isn't happening.
This can't be happening.
He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking a cornered mouse.
"Don't worry, little one." His voice drops lower, softer, but there's nothing gentle in it. "We'll help you inch into this world without much dismay."
Another step closer.
I want to scream, to run, to fight --- but my body won't cooperate. The heat has left me weak, and pliant, my limbs heavy and unresponsive.
His finger presses against his lips, the gesture almost playful.
"Just be silent."
The memory fractures there, splintering into fragments of sensation and fear. But before I can fall deeper into the nightmare, a cool touch on my forehead drags me back to consciousness.
My eyes snap open as I gasp for air, my heart racing as reality slowly filters back in. The room is unfamiliar at first— all soft lighting and expensive furnishings — but then I remember.
The suite James brought me to…
Safe.
The word repeats in my mind like a prayer as I fight to steady my breathing. I'm safe here. Not trapped in that half-finished room at Harvard, not alone with those men and their hungry eyes.
Safe.
But the memory lingers like smoke, bitter and choking, reminding me that some scars never truly heal. They just wait beneath the surface, ready to resurface in fever dreams and quiet moments when we least expect them.
Ready to remind us that safety is always temporary.
And some nightmares never really end.
The tears come without warning, hot and heavy against my fevered skin. My body trembles as panic claws its way up my throat, threatening to choke me with memories I've spent years trying to forget.
But I can't forget.
Never could.
Never will.
The sheets tangle around my legs as I scramble out of bed, my feet hitting the floor with enough force to send jolts of pain up my calves. I stumble, catching myself against the wall as the room spins and tilts around me.
Have to get clean.
Must cool down.
Nothing will happen.
You can’t have a Heat.
You’re NOT ALLOWED to have one.
Nope. Nope. NOPE.
Never again.
The thought pounds through my head with each racing heartbeat.
Have to wash it away.
My legs carry me to the bathroom on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought fails. The marble floor is cool against my bare feet, but it's not enough to ground me.
Nothing is ever enough.
I don't remember turning on the shower, but suddenly water is cascading over me, frigid as ice, soaking through my clothes and plastering them to my skin.
The spray is almost painful against my burning flesh, and I’m sure I’m so red, but it doesn't matter.
Can't feel it.
Can't feel anything except their hands.
The pain.
The agony.
My screams echo like a choir desperately trying to be heard from the man above.
No one is coming.
Stay silent for no one will save you, Omega…
Someone calls my name, the sound distant and distorted like I'm underwater.
I press my palms against the expensive tiles, seeking their cold surface as an anchor against the burning that consumes me from the inside out.
"No," I choke out, the word torn from my throat. "No, no, no..."
I won't go through this again.
Won't let the heat take me.
Won't be that helpless Omega they made me into.
"I don't need it!" The words echo off the shower walls, mixing with the pounding water. "Don't need a fucking heat! Don't need to feel this. This NEED to fuck! To please!"
My voice rises with each word, hysteria creeping in at the edges.
"I can get whatever I want!"
Punch.
"Whoever I want!"
Punch.
“I’m in charge! I’m always in charge!”
I’m punching the tiles as if they’ll be the final barrier to my constant misery. I don’t care if it leaves me bruised or bloody. I’m tired of fighting against all these walls.
So fucking tired of it all.
Where’s my peace?
Where’s the serenity of being something that’s supposed to be praised and appreciated by the men who cherish her existence?
No one cherishes me.
If I disappeared today, it wouldn’t matter.
Never mattered.
"I don't need this Omega trait that RUINED me!" I scream because that’s the truth of it all. The truth I bury with anything that will push away the immense regret I carry for being born this way. “Took my innocence that I was saving for him! Took all the joy and left me with nothing but fear and pain!”
Blood mingles with water, running pink down the drain, but the pain has to keep me sane.
The pain IS the only thing left that can help me remain in this pitiful world.
I say that over and over again…
But how long can I keep doing this?
How long does this cycle have to repeat before death finally steals what breath I have left?
I bang and plead, not even sure what I’m speaking or what language I’m even saying. Those men who spoke German and mocked me wholeheartedly, taking turns deflowering me, petal by petal, ripping every bit of me away until I was bare and broken.
I despised the language since.
As if it was the cause of the fall.
But I needed something to direct my anger towards.
Something to receive the cruel hatred I carried for those men who ruined me.
I grit my teeth so hard, I feel the metallic taste of blood pool in stinging agony, but I can’t stop remembering that day.
That concrete floor.
Those hungry eyes.
The laughter.
Endless mockery all because I couldn’t stop what my body was made to experience.
"I don't need ANY of it!"
My scream bounces off the walls as I slam my fist into the tiles again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves up my arm, the physical pain a blessed distraction from the memories threatening to drag me under.
Someone's calling my name — my surname —but I filter it out.
They're not real.
Can't be real.
No one came that day.
No one heard me screaming.
No one answered when I begged every god, every power, every force in existence to make it stop.
To make them stop.
A hand grips my shoulder, and instinct takes over.
My fingers find their throat, squeezing with desperate strength as I spin to face them. My vision blurs with tears and shower spray, but I bare my teeth in a snarl.
"I won't let you hurt me!" The words tear from my throat, raw and primal. "Never again! Do you hear me? NEVER AGAIN!"
I can barely make out their features through the haze of tears and water, but it doesn't matter.
They're all the same.
All want the same thing.
"I'm not your fucking toy!" I scream in their face, my grip tightening. "Not your helpless little Omega to break! You think because I smell sweet, because my body BETRAYS me, that gives you the right to…to…"
The words choke off as memories surface:
Rough hands.
The taste of blood in my mouth.
The sound of zippers.
Laughter.
So much laughter.
"I never wanted this!" The confession bursts out of me, years of rage and pain and helplessness pouring forth like poison from a wound. "I never wanted to be a fucking Omega! I was GOOD!"
My voice cracks on the word, splintering like glass.
"I studied hard! 4.0 GPA! Made my parents damn proud! The world was my oyster and I was going to get everything I worked my ass for. I was going to graduate with honors, get my PhD, and finally tell James I loved him! W-We were going to get married and have kids and live a normal fucking life!"
The tears come faster now, mixing with the shower spray until I can barely breathe.
"But no! Being an Omega ruined EVERYTHING! Do you know what it's like?" My fingers dig deeper into their throat as I shake them. "To have your entire future ripped away because some…some ANIMALS couldn't control themselves?"
The memories flood back, unstoppable now:
The leader's red hair, dark with sweat.
The concrete floor scraped my skin raw.
The others holding me down.
Taking turns.
The sound of my screams echoing off unfinished walls.
The way they laughed when I begged them to stop.
My voice gave way until my silent pleas fell on deaf ears.
"They took everything!" The words pour out between sobs. "My dignity, my future, my choice. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror for months! Couldn't wash away their touch no matter how hard I scrubbed! The bruises tainted my arms, I had to cover them with fucking tattoos!"
My legs give out, but I maintain my grip on their throat, dragging them down with me as I sink to the shower floor.
Why couldn’t I have that strength facing them?
Why hadn’t I prepared myself to fight those fuckers who were double my size?
Why was I so pitifully weak?!
"And the worst part?" My voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the rushing water. "The worst part is that my body responded. Because that's what Omegas do, right? We're just sluts in heat, begging to be fucked, to be claimed, to be RUINED!"
The last word comes out as a scream that tears my throat raw.
My grip loosens because my raw hand can barely respond as it throbs with pain.
“Then I’m sent here like some mocking punishment. Like I’m supposed to accept some random pack of men after a set of men who didn’t even know my name raped me…again…and again…and…” I trail off because I’ve never dared reveal the words to anyone.
Why am I saying it now? It doesn’t even matter…no one cares…
Yet, I can’t stop.
“So I pushed them all away. Not my type. Not my taste. Ugly. Rude. Bullies in the flesh. Nothing would satisfy me. No one would be allowed to come near me. I’d stay here as long as I had to, even if it meant I was forgotten. Even if I was left in an initiation state because I can’t even get a pack to learn my name before I cast them out.” My laugh is hollow, bordering on hysterical. "Because the moment I let myself feel something…the moment I dare to want someone..all I can feel is THEM! Their hands, their breath, their…"
I choke on the words, gagging on memories that taste like bile.
"Three at first…and then there were five of them," I whisper, the confession like acid on my tongue. "Five of them took turns, encouraging their friends to come and watch. Told me I should be grateful…that they were teaching me what I was made for. That this was natural. That this was what Omegas were FOR!"
My grip loosens slightly as exhaustion starts to seep in, but the words won't stop.
"I couldn't tell anyone. Who would believe me? The perfect student, the girl who challenged James Morrison at every turn…reduced to a whimpering Omega in heat? They'd say I asked for it. My skirt was too short. My hair provocative and pretty. The lipstick on my lips too attractive to ask for men’s control, or my hips too wide. My legs too long, and my ass to big. I should be fat and unattractive because that would be the key to stopping them right? At the end of the day, I’m the problem. That I wanted it. That it was just my nature finally showing through."
The tears come harder, wracking my body with sobs that feel like they might tear me apart.
"So I ran. Left everything behind. My future, my friends, James…because how could I face any of them knowing what I'd become? What they'd made me into?"
My fingers finally release their throat as the fight drains out of me, leaving me empty and even colder with the cold water still pouring down.
"I hate what I am," I whisper, the words barely audible over the shower's spray. "Hate that my body betrays me, that it wants things I can't…can’t control…”
The room spins as fever and exhaustion catch up with me, and I slump forward, only to be caught by strong arms that seem to grip me tenderly. I’m fighting for breath, darkness creeping into the edge of my vision, but I can’t just faint now.
I have to finish what I start…I have to just get this over with…
"I just wanted to be normal," I breathe, the confession lost in the sound of running water and my own ragged breathing. "Just wanted to be me...why is that so damn hard? Why…do I have to keep fighting for peace? That’s all I want. Peace!”
It’s a question I’ll never get the answer for, and maybe that’s what gives me the strength to lift my head enough to peer at the one who dared accept my abuse so silently.
When my eyes lock with theirs, I barely take in their face. I see the familiarities though, only I realize that a key piece is missing that has made his image so prominent from so many Alphas who project confidence in their looks and persona.
The scar along his right eye is deep, a permanent shade mixed of red and purple, making it seemingly impossible to open those lids that are closed shut. The mark looks intentional, almost as if someone enjoyed slashing the edge of a knife at the right spot, leaving a forever mark that clearly haunts its victim in his wake.
That single open eye is locked on me, but it’s not filled with any means of anger or pity for my confusion.
He looks at me with a level of understanding that I don’t comprehend, while any hints of sadness take shape as empathy — the sight almost feeling like a hallucination.
I finally realize who I’ve just spilled my life circumstances to.
Holmesovich…
Holmes…
The Alpha that probably hates my guts.
I acknowledge the very obvious bruise around his neck, realizing I could have choked him to death.
And he may have allowed me to do it…
“H…Hol…” I want to say his name,but realization daunts me as fast as the next wave of exhaustion takes over, making the darkness creep further into my line of vision, but I fight hard to stay conscious.
I…
I need to apologize.
Trying to open my mouth next feels like a newfound quest I’m desperate to complete as the time ticks down, but before my voice can squeak out, he presses a finger to my lip and shakes his head.
Confusion paints me, and I squint my eyes, thinking I must be hallucinating, but his hand ever so gently presses on my forehead, the touch soft and feels as though it has a hidden meaning I’m unable to unravel.
“I’m sorry, Abercrombie.”
For the first time in forever, I’ve heard an apology from an Alpha.
A genuine one, with no strings attached.
I don’t know how to respond, but maybe he’s not waiting for me to say a word. All he does is begin to move the wet strands along my face, observing me closely, even as his thumb trails on the bottom of my broken lip that I bit.
He doesn’t say another word, despite everything I’d just done, and when he’s made sure my hair is in a form of perfection in its wet glory, he very gently makes a sign, that I understand because I remember those classes of sign language.
Can. I. Hug. You.
My eyes widen, tears pooling almost immediately, and with my trembling lip and quivering body, I find the strength to nod ever so slightly.
To give him permission…while he gives me control.
When he pulls me into that hug, I soak in his warmth, realizing just how cold I am being drenched in the frigid water. This hug isn’t in a sense of lust or desire.
It’s purely out of compassion, his touch breaking that wall I knew was going to crumble with one final hit to my tired soul.
I finally reached my limit, and I’m too exhausted to even prevent my fall.
I can only wonder if Holmes ever experienced what it’s like to lose control.
Maybe this is what I always needed.
Control of my life.
Control in my choice.
The control to take the path I know I deserve.
The world tilts and fades, and I’m sinking into the darkness, but the warmth around me further wraps around me, like a safety blanket that’s determined to keep me protected from everything I fear around me.
For once, I give up fighting the darkness that wishes to comfort me.
For once…I let an Alpha hold me in his arms…knowing I’ll be okay.