5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
I leaned against the counter, my fingers tracing the wood grain as if it could somehow anchor me. Elias had noticed. And worse, he cared. The idea unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. His concern, genuine and unasked for, felt like an intrusion into the carefully constructed fortress around my life.
I tried to shake off the encounter, to dismiss the careful way he'd observed me, but it stayed in the back of my head…not wanting to leave. Determined to refocus on the day's tasks, I reached for a stack of receipts that needed filing— a mundane task to distract me from my own thoughts. The bell above the door sang out again, a sound that normally brought a sense of contentment. Today, however, my heart gave an involuntary start, a flutter of nerves that irked me. Turning, I braced myself for another round of emotional gymnastics, only to see Mrs. Carter, one of my regulars, step inside with her usual unhurried pace.
"Lydia, dear," she called out, her voice carrying the familiar lilt of long held habits. "The sun has decided to grace us today, hasn't it?" Her smile was as warm as the rays filtering through the front windows, her presence a comforting constant in my otherwise turbulent morning.
"Indeed, it has," I replied, grateful for the return to routine, to interactions that required no emotional tightrope walking. Mrs. Carter always had a project or two in mind, her artistic pursuits as much a part of the shop's atmosphere as the paint on the shelves.
“How's your latest piece coming along?" There was a lilt in my voice, genuine interest that surfaced easily around the topic of art. For a moment, I could almost forget the burning of my skin where the cream was against my scent gland…and the words Eliias had said.
Mrs. Carter’s eyes lit up, a spark that defied her age, and in that instant, I saw not just a customer, but a kindred spirit— one who found solace in strokes of charcoal and sweeps of paint, much as I did.
"Slow as always," she confessed, and I saw her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they did when she unearthed some small joy from the layers of everyday life. "But that’s how I like it. Keeps me busy."
I nodded, understanding the satisfaction of letting art unfurl at its own pace. Our conversation meandered through topics of texture and technique, a dance of words I knew well. But soon enough, the cadence slowed, and she gathered her purchases with a contented sigh. She always stayed for thirty minutes, and not a second more. It was just how she was.
"Take care, Lydia," Mrs. Carter said, offering me one last smile before the bell above the door heralded her departure.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Carter," I called after her, my voice softer than the lingering chime. The door closed behind her, and I was alone again, engulfed in a quiet that seemed louder now. Now that I was alone, I was left with my thoughts... and today was not a good day to be left alone with them. I turned to head toward the back room, where restocking awaited, but the sharp trill of my phone cut through the stillness. It was a jarring note, an intrusion on the carefully curated calm of my shop. I hesitated for a heartbeat, my gaze drawn to the small screen where Avery's name flashed like a beacon. A sigh escaped me, a tiny surrender before my fingers curled around the device, lifting it to my ear.
"Hey," I murmured, the word a soft exhale as I pressed the phone closer, bracing for the inevitable warmth that Avery's presence brought, even from miles away. The phone's weight seemed to grow in my hand, the buzz of Avery's voice a stark contrast to the quiet of the shop. There was an undercurrent of concern threading through her words, a familiarity with my moods that left me feeling exposed.
"Hey yourself," she replied, the warmth in her tone a gentle probe. "You sound weird. Did something happen?" I could almost see her, head tilted, eyes narrowed in that knowing way of hers that saw through pretenses. My gaze drifted, toward the door, to the patch of sunlight where Elias had lingered— a phantom presence in the empty space.
"No, just…" I started, my voice trailing off as I fumbled for something reassuring, something normal. "A long morning." My fingers brushed against the counter's edge, seeking the solidity of reality, grasping for the steadiness I usually found in the simple act of existing within these four walls.
"Uh-huh. You never could lie to me. What’s going on?" Avery's voice was sharp, knowing that she would drive all the way here if she had to. I shook my head at her knowing how protective she could be.
"Elias came into the store... the guy from the farmers market that I told you about," I confessed, finally allowing the name to tumble out, heavy with implications I wasn't ready to face. My fingers traced the rim of an empty paint can I had repurposed as a pen holder, seeking comfort in the familiar texture, while my heart beat an erratic rhythm.
“That’s a good thing right? Making a friend?” She asked, and I could hear the confusion in her voice.
My grip on the phone tightened, the faint creak of the plastic case a sharp note in the quiet shop. "He— he noticed my scent glands," I murmured, the words hesitant. A shiver traced the line of my spine as I recalled the way Elias's gaze had lingered on the tender skin of my neck. "They are a bit red, irritated. He looked... concerned." The paint-flecked fingertips of my free hand drifted unconsciously to the spot he'd seen, feeling the rawness beneath the surface. I could still sense the ghost of his attention there, a strange warmth that contradicted the coolness of the room.
"Concerned?" Avery echoed, her voice now laced with genuine curiosity that threaded through the phone line, “Is there a reason he should be concerned?”
I huffed a bit into the phone, “No. I just need to not put cream on it during my day off…or switch brands. But it isn’t bothering me too much.” That was a lie, it was bothering me. It hurt and burned, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. She didn’t need to stop her life to come see me to make sure I was ‘taking care of myself’ as she put it.
"Did he say anything about it?" Avery's voice finally pierced the quiet, pulling me back from the brink of my swirling thoughts. Drawing in a breath that did little to steady me, I let it out slowly.
"Just that there were other ways to manage it," I said, each word measured, careful not to betray the tremor I felt inside. My eyes drifted toward the array of art supplies lined neatly on the shelves— a testament to order and control, two things I craved more than I cared to admit.
"Other ways..." Avery repeated, her tone thoughtful, probing. She didn't push further, sensing perhaps that I wasn't ready to delve into the implications of his words, or maybe she understood that the mere mention of alternatives threatened the precarious balance I maintained.
"Yes, other ways," I affirmed, my thoughts lingering on the containers of scent blocker and suppressants that lay discarded on my kitchen table— silent witnesses to my daily struggle.
"Lydia?" Avery's voice brought me back again, her concern a gentle nudge against the barriers I'd built around myself.
"Sorry," I offered, a faint smile touching my lips, though she couldn't see it. "I'm still here." And in saying so, I realized the truth within those words. I was still here, still fighting, still breathing. And perhaps that was enough for now.
"Well, he’s not wrong," Avery's voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts. "You really should stop torturing yourself with that cream."
"It’s not torture," I muttered, the words slipping more defensively than I had intended it to be. "It’s necessary."
"Lydia, come on." Her tone softened, but it carried an edge, like she was holding back a tide of unsaid things. "That stuff is harsh. Look at what it's doing to you." I was silent for a minute, my eyes looking down at the floor as I took a deep breath in.
"Maybe," I conceded, allowing my gaze to wander to the window where the morning light filtered through, casting patterns on the wooden floor.
"Lydia, listen to me," Avery pressed, her concern slipping through the digital divide between us. "There's more to life than just surviving— you know that, right?"
"I do," I whispered, barely audible even to myself. Yet the admission felt like a breach in the dam I had meticulously constructed around my heart. I was surviving day to day right now, trying to fix the broken mess my family left me as. Trying to learn to trust again…trying to not hate being an Omega.
"Then why—"
"Because," I interrupted, a surge of emotion rising within me, "it's how I cope, Avery. It's how I stay safe."
"Is it?" she asked, and though I couldn't see her, I could picture the frown etching its way across her brow. "Or is it how you hide? I know what happened to you…yes…but you can’t use that as an excuse forever."
Hide.
An excuse.
The word settled heavy on my chest, a specter of truth I wasn't prepared to face head on. Yes, I hid. I hid behind the neutral tones of my clothes, behind the carefully measured doses of pills and cream, behind the walls of my store that kept the world at bay while inviting it in through the beauty of art.
"Maybe it is a bit of both," I admitted, the confession slipping out in a breathy sigh. Avery didn't respond immediately, but I could feel her presence, patient and unwavering, like the steady pulse of the earth beneath my feet, “But…I am not ready yet. It has only been a year…I am trying by going out and seeing people now…isn’t that enough for now? I am out of my comfort zone... ” The words trailed off as I tried to keep the tears at bay.
"Okay," she finally said, her voice carrying a gentle finality that told me we'd reached the end of this conversation for now. "Okay, Lydia. I get it... well… somewhat. I just want you to be happy though…"
"Thanks, Avery," I said, a small smile finding its way onto my lips despite the turmoil inside. She was right; she usually was. But change, like art, took time— a slow blend of colors and experiences that couldn't be rushed, “Maybe soon…but right now I want to keep my scent blockers and suppressants. Maybe in time I will let them go…but I need more time.”
"Alright… I get it… I’m sorry,” she replied, and I could hear the smile in her voice, a mirror to my own. "Remember, I'm here when you're ready."
"Thank you," I repeated, feeling a faint glimmer of hope flickering somewhere deep within me. Maybe one day, I would be ready. Until then, I will take the suppressants and put on the cream like a lifeline.
"Look," Avery's voice broke through the silence, carrying a weight of resignation. "I just called to check in, not give you a therapy session." There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her tone was lighter, almost teasing. "Are you still going to the farmers’ market this weekend?"
The question seemed to float in the air between us, innocuous yet heavy with implication. I hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the counter, feeling the rough texture beneath them. The market was always bustling, alive with chatter and laughter— a cacophony of life that both lured and frightened me.
"Yeah," I nodded to myself, more a reflex than a decision. "I think I will... even if it might be a little awkward for me after this." My words were met with silence at first. Perhaps Avery was surprised by my response, or maybe she was waiting for me to retract it, to come up with an excuse to stay hidden away. But the silence stretched on, and I realized it was acceptance she was offering— not just of my words, but of the person behind them.
"Good," she said finally. It wasn't victory; it was encouragement, a subtle nudge toward the world outside my self-imposed boundaries. Avery understood my need for solitude, but she also saw the threads of longing woven into the corners of my canvas— the ones that yearned for color and connection.
I rolled my eyes, though there was no one to see the gesture but the disinterested walls of my home. "Goodbye, Avery," I murmured, pressing the end call button a tad more firmly than necessary. The screen went black, reflecting back a woman with red hair that was a bit messy, and tired blue eyes. Avery's words lingered, like the aftertaste of the bitter suppressant pills.
Maybe it was time to step beyond these four walls, to let people in… and try to move on from the past… but it wasn’t always that easy.
"Maybe," I whispered to no one, tucking away the possibility like a secret note in the back pocket of my jeans. A tiny spark of something akin to hope— or perhaps just curiosity— fluttered within me at the thought of the market's vibrant tapestry, so full of life and light.