Chapter 27 Lucy
LUCY
A fresh wave of melancholy washed over me as I returned to the present, my forehead still pressed against the window of my Eros Institute suite.
Vivid pinks, yellows, blues, and green danced in my vision, as if I still walked through the museum. I blinked, seeing the slashes of stark black slicing through the brightness.
Every painting had woken something new inside me.
And that taste of freedom had been intoxicating, terrifying, overwhelming—and nowhere near enough. I wanted more. I wanted everything.
And that was what made today's scent sampling so important. It was the next step toward a real life, with real connections. Real touch. After experiencing the outside world without barrier how could I possibly go back to any level of isolation?
But the fear remained. What if my scent was wrong somehow? What if no Alphas matched with me? What if they did, but couldn't handle my medical history, my strangeness, my inexperience with everything that normal people took for granted?
The clock kept moving.
Almost time.
Almost there.
Almost ready to be a real girl.
A nurse arrived at precisely ten to escort me.
The sampling laboratory looked nothing like I'd expected.
It was almost spa-like with soft lighting, sage green walls, and floral art.
The hum of an air purifier disguised the whirr of machinery.
A lush looking chair sat near the middle of the room.
Yes, there was medical equipment, but none of it felt scary because everything else felt a bit dreamy.
"Lucy, welcome." Doctor Swann's voice drew my attention to where she stood by a pristine countertop; she held a tablet in one hand, a stylus in the other. "Right on time."
“It’s nice in here,” I breathed out, voice a little shaky.
“Ah, yes.” The doctor glanced around the room. “This is a recent development. Higher-ups thought it would make the process more comfortable.” From her tone, I could tell she wasn’t a fan of the decision.
A sour faced man in glasses arrived, pushing a medical cart into the room. Doctor Swann didn’t make introductions; she just launched into orders.
“Beta Love, help Lucy to the changing area and make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Yes, Doctor Swann,” he nodded quickly, abandoning the cart next to a vented lab table and gesturing for me to follow him. It only took a few feet to reach a door which the man opened, revealing a small space with a bench and an oversized cotton gown hanging from a hook.
"Do you know how to put the gown on?” He asked, his attention only half on me.
“I’ve worn a few,” I tried to make light, but the man gave no sign he got the joke.
“Great, you can keep your underwear on.”
He strode off before I could respond.
I changed quickly, nervousness building by the second.
When I emerged, Doctor Swann was sitting on a stool next to the fancy chair. "Have a seat, Lucy. We'll make this as quick and comfortable as possible."
I settled against the seat, the gown gaping open. Goosebumps pricked along my exposed back as it made contact with the chilly chair surface. I shivered.
“Love, get Lucy one of the warmed blankets.”
Before I could say it wasn’t necessary, a blanket fell across my lap. I was instantly glad I didn’t refuse it. The warmth stopped the shaking.
For a moment, I watched the doctor and her assistant prepare vials and labels. Then I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was somewhere else. A beach. A mountain lodge. A movie theater.
I didn’t open my eyes when fingers began touching me, manipulating my body to access needed areas.
Retreating deeper into myself, I clung to fake memories made in places I’d never visited.
I was walking down a street in Chicago; one I’d only ever seen online.
There was a pizza shop on the corner that claimed to have the best deep-dish pepperoni.
Then I roamed the aisles of a bookstore in New York.
Rare first editions in glass cases. Floor to ceiling books.
I walked slowly, tracing my fingers over spines.
That one I’d seen in a magazine just a few days ago.
As tiny pinches and odd sensations broke the surface, I sank lower, embedding myself so fully into the imaginary that I wondered if I’d ever come up to reality again.
Sticks and stones may break my bones.
No, really, they probably will.
But needles always hurt me.
I’d made up the stupid little song as Doctor Swann gathered my samples. Needles at my neck. Needles at my wrists. Prick after prick. Endless vials filled, blood taken from the crook of my left arm.
“All done!” The doctor finally announced. “Must not have been so bad if you fell asleep.”
She said it with all the confidence of someone who was absolutely wrong.
“Right,” I murmured. “Not bad at all.”
“Lovely,” Doctor Swann clapped her hands together. “The future is looking so bright for you, Lucy.”
“Bright,” I murmured. That word always made me think of Brightfield, and their silly slogans. “Dr. Swann?”
She was standing, readying herself to leave. “Yes?” Her eyebrow raised.
“I still don’t—” I swallowed down the lump in my throat— “smell right. I mean, my scent just seems so weak. Will that change?”
“Lucy, your body has gone through over two decades of distress. These things take time, and the olfactory strength of your scent doesn’t affect the outcome of the matching.
” She broke out into a smile suddenly. “But we do have something I’ve been working on that might do wonders for you in that regard.
It’s a one-time series of injections, a dose in each Maxima and Minora glands, to stimulate production. Would you like to try that?”
I bit my lower lip, thinking. Was the potency of my Omega scent important enough to submit to yet another treatment?
Then I found myself nodding and saying, “Yes.”
Because I wanted to be as whole as possible. I didn’t want a half-measure cure.
“Great, I’ll set that up!” She beamed at me, then turned to her lab assistant. “Love, I’ll leave the rest to you. Come to my office with the results.”
“Yes, Dr. Swann.” The man replied, rolling the cart lined with vials containing little bits of me away.
“The nurse who escorted you here should be waiting in the hall, Lucy. Remember that you might not get matched immediately. Our database grows every day, and we want you to get the highest compatibility possible.” She gave me a parting smile and strode from the lab.
The same nurse was waiting. We traveled, her leading the way, back to my room.
When I was alone, I had the sudden need to shower away the laboratory.
I moved to the bathroom
The water was as hot as I could stand, a strong stream pounding against the porcelain.
I chose the brown sugar body wash today.
Choice. Such a simple concept for most people, but so radical for someone who'd had every aspect of their existence dictated by illness and treatment protocols. Unscented soap. Showers only as necessary to preserve layers of protective creams. Assisted bathing if I was too weak. If I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, I’d have to use the pan.
So many things that stripped away any confidence or pride I possessed.
My neck throbbed as I touched it with soap-slick hands, the glands swollen and tender.
My wrists ached too, forcing me to clean every part of me gingerly.
The little stings were reminders that somewhere in this building, my biological essence was being processed, analyzed, and uploaded to the Eros database.
I kept standing in the hot water long after I was washed, letting the blistering heat course over my sore neck, hoping it might ease the tenderness.
I wanted to stay in the shower forever but began to feel guilty about using so much hot water.
Not that the water ever went cool. I stayed in for a full hour once, and the water was just as lava-hot at the end as it was at the start.
Reluctantly, I turned off the shower.
After drying my body and combing my hair, I slipped into soft lounge pants and a sweater.
It was too early to go to bed, but I was bone-deep tired.
I sank onto the bed, its mattress cradling me.
I turned onto my side, adjusting pillows.
One between my legs, another tucked against my stomach, the fluffiest one beneath my head.
My body seemed to melt into the comfort, all tension releasing in a single, involuntary sigh.
Sleeping in a bed like this could never get old.
Lying on my side, I faced the windows. I liked it that way, so the last thing I saw before dreaming was a vision of the future.
I dozed off and when I woke up Seattle's skyline was faded toward evening, lights flickering to life in buildings and along streets the same way stars emerge at night.
Slowly, without fail, to glitter in the dark.
I watched through heavy-lidded eyes, fighting falling asleep again so I could watch darkness swallow up day.
Snow began to fall, flakes fluttering lazily through the air. That made me smile.
That world would be mine soon.
I’d be part of it.
Not just watching from the outskirts, living vicariously.
“Take a cruise,” I murmured, adding to my ever-lengthening list of things I wanted to do when I was free. “Feed animals at a zoo.”
My eyelids drooped; I forced them open despite the impossible heaviness of my lashes.
“Learn to drive,” my voice was little more than a whisper. “Get a dog.”
So tired…
My hand drifted to one of the tender spots on my neck, palm cupping over it. As sleep finally claimed me, I dreamed only of beautiful possibilities—a life beyond barriers, beyond illness, beyond the bubble that had defined my existence for as long as I could remember—instead of persistent pain.