43
Phoenix
The nightmares always came in waves, some worse than others. It was always the same. Zephyr’s face, his betrayal replaying over and over like a cruel movie stuck on a loop. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, my mind would drag me back to the lowest point: my relapse. The suffocating guilt, the feeling of losing control. I could still taste the bitterness of it, feel the helplessness that had gnawed at me, and each time I woke up gasping for breath, I was drenched in cold sweat.
Tonight was one of the bad ones.
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to break free. The sheets were twisted around me, damp and suffocating. My skin felt sticky, and the room was too quiet, too still. The dream clung to me, the vivid memory of Zephyr’s voice, cold and distant, telling me I wasn’t worth the trouble.
I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake the lingering dread, but it wouldn’t go away. Every night for the past few weeks, I had been waking up like this. Cold sweats. Heart racing. Mind spinning. It wasn’t just Zephyr’s betrayal that haunted me—it was everything that followed. The way I spiraled out of control. The way I hurt myself in ways I swore I never would again.
The quiet house only amplified the noise in my head. I needed air. I needed space. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, pulling on the oversized hoodie I’d left draped over the chair. As I padded down the hallway, I half-hoped I wouldn’t run into anyone. The last thing I wanted was another round of concerned looks or awkward silences.
But as I entered the kitchen, I wasn’t alone.
Parker was sitting at the counter, the soft glow of the stove light illuminating his face. He looked tired, his hair mussed like he hadn’t slept much either. For a moment, I froze, unsure if I should turn back and hide in my room or stay. But Parker glanced up, and his eyes softened when he saw me.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
His voice was low, careful.
I shook my head, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands as I leaned against the doorway. “Nightmare,”
I admitted softly.
Parker nodded like he understood, which I supposed he did. He’d been there through most of it—the chaos, the fallout. He knew the damage it had done.
Without a word, he stood and moved toward the stove, grabbing the kettle. The soft clink of ceramic cups followed, and before I knew it, he was making tea. I watched him move in silence, the quiet hum of the kettle filling the space between us. It was strange, this unspoken understanding we had. No questions. No pressure to explain. Just… being there.
When he finished, he handed me a mug, steam rising from the surface. The scent of chamomile wafted up, soothing in its simplicity. I wrapped my hands around the cup, feeling the warmth seep into my skin.
We sat in silence for a while. I sipped the tea, the warmth calming my frayed nerves bit by bit. Parker didn’t push me to talk, and I appreciated that. It was one of the reasons I found myself gravitating toward him. He didn’t try to fix me. He just… let me be.
But after a while, Parker shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the counter before he finally spoke.
“God, I can’t believe I’m about to say this,”
he began, his voice low and hesitant. “But… is being around Zephyr—hell, being around any of us—making it harder for you?”
His words caught me off guard. I blinked, looking up at him over the rim of my cup. He wasn’t looking at me, though. His gaze was fixed on the counter, his brows furrowed like he was regretting asking.
“I mean,”
he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just… I want you to be happy, Phoenix. I want you to be okay. And if being here, with us, is making things worse for you, I need to know. I don’t want you to feel trapped.”
There it was. The thing I hadn’t even dared to think about myself. Was being here with them making it harder?
I stared into my tea, my thoughts swirling. It was complicated. On one hand, Zephyr had broken something in me—trust, safety, everything I thought we had. But on the other hand, I wasn’t sure where else I would go. Despite everything, being here, with them, had given me a sense of stability I hadn’t realized I needed. My Omega had started to settle, the constant ache in my chest easing bit by bit.
“I’m not… happy with what Zephyr did,”
I finally said, my voice soft but steady. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him. And honestly, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay here.”
Parker nodded, still listening quietly.
“But for now… being here is helping. In a weird way, it’s helping.”
I sighed, setting the cup down. “My Omega’s more at peace. Callie and Dr. Lyra have been great. I’m… I’m not ready to leave yet.”
Parker looked up then, his gaze meeting mine. There was relief in his eyes, but also something else. A softness, an understanding that made my chest ache.
“I’m glad you’re feeling a little better,”
he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know, Phoenix, if you ever feel like you need to leave… no one here will hold it against you. You have a choice. You always have a choice.”
I gave him a small smile, the weight of his words sinking in. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until now. The choice. The freedom to decide what was right for me, even if it meant leaving.
“Thank you, Parker,”
I said quietly. “For everything.”
He shrugged, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m just glad I didn’t screw that up.”
I couldn’t help but laugh softly. The sound was foreign, but it felt good, even if just for a moment.
We sat there for a while longer, the silence between us comfortable. Parker didn’t push me to talk more, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the space with empty words. For the first time in a long time, I felt… not okay, but something close to it.
◆◆◆
I sat across from Dr. Lyra, the soft cushions of the chair doing little to ease the tension in my body. Therapy had never been something I enjoyed, but I was beginning to understand its importance. Today, though, felt heavier than usual. There was so much to unpack, and I wasn’t sure where to start.
Dr. Lyra’s gentle eyes watched me patiently. She had a way of waiting that didn’t feel intrusive, like she was giving me the space to speak but wasn’t pressing me to fill the silence. I took a deep breath, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve.
“It’s hard to talk about,”
I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What’s hard to talk about?”
she asked, her tone soft, as if she were coaxing the words out of me without forcing them.
“Everything.”
I sighed, leaning back into the chair. “I’ve been thinking about why I drink. Why I used to drink so much, I mean. And I guess… I don’t know, it just feels like it was the only thing that made the noise in my head stop.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I could see the understanding in her eyes. “The noise,”
she repeated. “You mean your anxiety?”
I nodded, but then shook my head lightly. “Yes. But it’s more than that. The anxiety’s part of it, sure. But it’s also... the feelings. I feel everything so deeply. It’s like it clings to me, sticks under my skin and burrows in. And sometimes, it’s not even my own emotions that crush me—it’s everyone else’s pressing in too. Drinking helped me dull it all.”
I looked down at my hands, picking at my fingernails. “It’s not one thing. It’s everything. Being around people. Feeling like I have to be perfect, or like I’m not doing enough. I get this pressure in my chest, and my mind starts racing, thinking about all the ways I’m failing or messing things up. And then I panic because it’s too much. It’s always too much.”
She nodded again, giving me time to continue if I wanted. But the words were spilling out now, and it felt too late to stop.
“I guess that’s when I’d drink,”
I said, staring at the floor. “To make it stop. Even if it was just for a little while. It was like a way to escape all the pressure.”
Dr. Lyra leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but serious. “And how did that work for you in the long run? Did drinking really help?”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “No. Not really. I mean, it worked at first. I’d drink, and the emotions and anxiety would go away. But then… then it got worse. It stopped helping, and instead, it made everything spiral. I’d feel even more out of control. And when I wasn’t drinking, everything was ten times worse. It was like I was trying to fix the problem with something that only made it worse.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with empathy. “It’s common for people to use substances as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions, especially anxiety. But, like you’ve realized, it can create a cycle that becomes harder and harder to break.”
“Yeah,”
I muttered. “That’s exactly what happened.”
Dr. Lyra wrote something down before gently setting her notepad aside. “You’ve mentioned before that your mother’s betrayal was the catalyst for your drinking. Do you think that moment made everything harder to manage?”
The breath caught in my throat. I nodded slowly. “Yeah. That was the breaking point.”
She gave me time.
“It broke something in me. And after that, I didn’t want to feel anything. So I drank.”
Dr. Lyra nodded gently. “And then, recently, when your alphas hurt you…”
“It felt the same,”
I whispered. “Different people, different reasons, but it brought all those feelings back. Like I was sixteen again. Like I was stupid for trusting anyone. That pain, that specific kind of heartbreak, it’s familiar. And it brought me right back to that place. I started spiraling again before I even realized what I was doing.”
Her voice was soft, careful. “And drinking became the instinct again.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I thought I was past it. I really did. But it turns out I still don’t know how to sit with feelings like that. The betrayal. The grief. The shame.”
“You’re learning how now,”
she said gently. “Even talking about it is a step.”
“I guess.”
My voice cracked a little. “But it doesn’t make me feel any less broken. Or any less weak.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying me with her kind eyes. “What would you say to someone else who was going through the same thing? Would you think they were weak?”
“No,”
I said almost instantly, my voice stronger than I expected. “Of course not.”
“Then why do you hold yourself to a different standard?”
she asked gently.
I sat back, her words hitting me in a way I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.
After a moment of silence, Dr. Lyra spoke again. “Phoenix, you’ve done a lot of hard work identifying what led you to drink in the past. The anxiety, the fear, the pressure. Those are valid feelings, and it’s understandable why you turned to something that provided relief, even if it wasn’t healthy. But now, we need to talk about how you can manage those feelings without turning to alcohol. Are you open to that?”
I nodded slowly, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice. I couldn’t keep going down the same path, and I was trying—really trying—to get better.
“So,”
she continued, “let’s talk about your anxiety first. We’ve already identified that it’s a major trigger for you. What are some things you think might help manage it?”
I thought about it for a moment, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable. “I’ve tried breathing exercises before,”
I offered. “They help sometimes. And… I don’t know, writing things down sometimes helps me sort out what’s going on in my head.”
“That’s a good start,”
she said, her voice encouraging. “Breathing exercises are a great way to ground yourself when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Journaling, too, can help you get out those racing thoughts and put them into perspective. But I’d also like to suggest some other techniques.”
She paused, giving me time to absorb what she’d said before continuing. “Mindfulness can be very helpful for managing anxiety. It’s about staying present in the moment, focusing on your breath or your surroundings to pull yourself out of the cycle of anxious thoughts. Have you ever tried it?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“We can work on that together if you’d like,”
she offered. “Another thing to consider is creating a routine for when you feel the anxiety creeping in. Something predictable and calming. It could be as simple as taking a walk, making tea, or even listening to music. The idea is to find something that soothes you, something you can rely on when you start to feel overwhelmed.”
I nodded, trying to take it all in. There was a part of me that felt overwhelmed just thinking about it, but another part—the part that wanted to get better—was willing to try.
“And remember,”
she added, “it’s okay to reach out for support when you need it. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”
Her words lingered in the air, sinking in deeper than I expected. Maybe I didn’t have to do this alone. Maybe it was okay to ask for help, to admit that I was struggling.
I thought about the new local AA group Callie had taken me to after our first meeting. I’d been attending in person instead of joining my old one virtually, and so far, I’d connected well with the group. It felt different—more real, more grounding.
“Thanks, Dr. Lyra,”
I said, my voice soft but sincere. “I’ll try.”
She smiled warmly. “That’s all I ask, Phoenix. One step at a time.”
As we left the Omega suite that day, I felt a strange sense of relief. The weight of my anxiety wasn’t gone—not by a long shot—but I felt like I had a plan. Like maybe, just maybe, I could manage it without falling back into old habits. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, I believed it was possible.
Therapy had a way of draining me, pulling emotions to the surface that I usually kept buried. But there was something different this time—underneath the exhaustion was a flicker of hope, small but steady.
I walked through the hallway, the sunlight streaming through the windows catching the dust motes in the air, and for the first time in a while, I noticed the warmth of it. The house felt more alive, more inviting than it had in weeks. My steps were slower, less burdened than they usually were after therapy. Maybe it was because I had finally opened up about my anxiety, about the reasons why I drank, and now I wasn’t carrying all that weight alone.
I paused at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing my stomach absentmindedly. A quiet rumble broke through the silence, and it took me a moment to realize what it was: hunger.
I hadn’t felt this in… I couldn’t even remember how long. Eating had become an afterthought, something I did only when I was forced to or when I couldn’t ignore the dizziness any longer. But now, standing there with the sunlight warming my back, I felt it. A real, gnawing hunger, and the thought of food didn’t repulse me. It was strange, almost foreign, but welcome.
I wandered into the kitchen, hesitating at the doorway when I heard the sound of voices and clinking dishes. The pack was in there, along with Zephyr’s sister, Charlotte. I hadn’t joined them for a meal in… I don’t know how long. The thought of sitting down with everyone made my heart race, the familiar anxiety creeping up my spine. But I forced myself to take a breath, grounding myself like Dr. Lyra had taught me.
It’s just lunch, I told myself. They won’t expect anything from me.
Still, my legs felt heavy as I crossed the threshold into the kitchen, my gaze scanning the room. Charlotte was at the stove, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun as she stirred something that smelled surprisingly good. Zephyr sat at the table, laughing at something Parker said. Everyone was scattered around, filling plates and talking casually, like this was just another day.
But it wasn’t for me. It was the first time I had felt the pull to join them, to be part of this family—this pack. I swallowed hard and stepped into the room.
Charlotte noticed me first, her blue eyes lighting up in surprise before softening into a warm smile. “Hey, Phoenix. You hungry?”
I nodded, though the words were stuck in my throat.
“Well, you picked a good day,”
she said, grabbing a plate off the counter and holding it out to me. “I made chicken stir-fry. It’s one of the few things I can make without burning the house down.”
I took the plate from her, trying to ignore the way my hand trembled slightly. “Thanks,”
I managed to say, my voice coming out a little quieter than I intended.
Zephyr’s gaze caught mine, and for a moment, everything in the room faded away. I couldn’t read the expression on his face—relief, maybe? Cautious hope? But he didn’t say anything, just gave me a small nod as if to say, It’s okay. You’re welcome here.
I sat down at the far end of the table, away from the center of the conversation, but close enough that I wasn’t isolating myself entirely. The food smelled good, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I actually wanted to eat. I took a bite, and the taste of the warm, savory chicken hit my tongue, reminding me of how long I had been going through the motions without really tasting anything.
For a while, the room was filled with the sounds of casual conversation, laughter, and the clink of utensils against plates. I didn’t join in, but that was okay. I was here, and that was enough for now. The pack didn’t pressure me; they let me sit in silence, eating slowly, while the noise and life of the kitchen hummed around me.
It was strange, being part of something again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until now. Being around people, even in the background, felt like a reminder that I wasn’t alone, that there were people who cared, even if I didn’t feel like I deserved it sometimes.
Parker glanced over at me from across the table, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to gauge my mood. “How was your session?”
he asked softly, not prying but giving me an opening if I wanted to talk.
“It was… good,”
I said after a moment, pushing my food around on the plate. “Hard, but… I think it helped.”
He nodded, understanding without needing more explanation. Parker always had this quiet way about him, knowing when to push and when to let things be.
“That’s good,”
he said simply before returning to his conversation with Zephyr.
The tension in my shoulders eased a little, and I focused on finishing my meal. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had eaten in days, and that felt like a small victory. Charlotte sat down beside me after a while, nudging me playfully with her elbow.
“Glad you joined us today,”
she said, her voice light and genuine. “We missed having you around.”
I glanced at her, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with gratitude. “Thanks,”
I murmured, not sure what else to say. I didn’t know if I deserved to be missed, not after how much I’d pulled away from everyone, but it was nice to hear anyway.
Charlotte just smiled, like she understood. “No pressure, okay? You take things at your own pace. We’re here when you’re ready.”
Her words made something inside me loosen, like a knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. I wasn’t sure how long I would stay or if I’d ever truly feel like I belonged here, but for now, it was enough to be present.
After lunch, I lingered at the table, sipping on the tea Parker had made for everyone. The pack continued their conversations around me, and I let myself be part of it, even if I wasn’t fully participating. It was a start, and that was all I could manage today.
As I stood up to leave, Zephyr caught my eye again, his gaze steady and unreadable. There was so much unsaid between us, so much that still hurt. But there was also a silent understanding, a fragile truce.
For now, I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I wasn’t sure when—or if—I ever would be. But being here, with the pack, felt like a small step toward healing. Toward something better than the emptiness I’d been drowning in.
I turned and left the kitchen, the sound of laughter and voices fading behind me as I made my way upstairs. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe I was on the right path.