Chapter 9 Tessa
TESSA
I clutched Josie tighter, her small body vibrating with a low growl. She senses my panic.
The space was uncomfortably warm, just as Beta Love warned. I wondered how many desperate Omegas have stood here before me, clutching the remains of their dignity in a thin hospital gown.
“I don’t want to be in here,” I said it without meaning to, my inner voice expelling outward. Yet, once I’ve voiced those words, I meant them. “Hey! Let me out! I changed my mind!”
My heart was racing.
My pulse was thick in my mouth.
A speaker crackled to life. It couldn’t be in the ceiling. I turned, eyes roving over the walls until I found it. It was cleverly disguised, nearly the exact color of the pale walls. I yelled towards it now.
“I said let me out!”
“Please, remain calm, Miss Fortune. The decontamination process is about to begin. It will last only a minute or two depending on what our sensors detect.” It wasn’t Beta Love’s voice. This voice was calm, commanding, and its tone leaves me no room for argument.
Josie squirmed in my grip, meowing in protest as I jammed her against my chest. For the first time in all our many months together, she lashed out and scratched my arm. I yelped and dropped her to the floor.
“It’s okay, Josie. I promise, it’s fine.” My voice contradicted my words. It’s cracking, falling apart.
The speaker came to life once more.
“It truly is fine, Miss Fortune. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and this will be over before you know it.”
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t escape the room. So, I followed the instructions.
I closed my eyes.
I sucked in a deep, staggering breath.
And I waited.
Seconds later a countdown began. Robotic, measured.
“Three. Two. One. Decontamination process initiating.”
A mechanical hum started from somewhere above; it was a collective buzzing, not unlike a beehive.
It built, and built, until I wondered if an entire swarm of bees was about to descend into the room.
Still, I kept my lashes tightly knitted together.
I refused to part my lids and investigate.
But the thrumming grew louder. Curiosity.
It was always my curiosity getting the best of me.
I flashed my eyes open, head tilting so I faced the ceiling of the room. The countless holes were suddenly glowing with an eerie blue light. The heat of the space reached volcanic level. My skin prickled with goosebumps despite the warmth.
The automated voice spoke again.
“Decontamination Level Two Required. Commencing in three, two one.”
A fine mist now sprayed from the ceiling.
Odorless, tasteless, soaking me through and yet leaving me completely dry seconds later.
The spray intensified, a cloudy formation gathering at my feet.
That cumulous fog thickened and lengthened until I couldn’t see anything around me.
Not even Josie who, on last sight, had been cowering in the corner of the room.
"Josie?" I called out, hands waving in front of me as if I could disperse the fog. “Josie, meow or something. Let me know you’re alive.” My voice was muffled by the thick cloud around me. No answering meow came. Panic seized my chest. "Josie!"
The mist began to dissipate as suddenly as it had appeared, sinking swiftly into the floor through tiny vents I hadn't noticed before. My skin tingled all over. It reminded me of the tanning lotion I’d used once, and then never used again after I’d gotten terrible sunburn.
The room was still hot, but not stifling now, and as the fog cleared, I spotted Josie crouched low against the floor.
She looked cleaner than I’d ever seen her, fur standing on end as if she’d been blown dry after a bath.
I’d never noticed how the white patch on her chest, nestled against the ginger fur, looked like a diamond.
"Decontamination process complete," the computer-generated voice announced. "Please proceed to the next chamber."
I rushed to Josie, falling to my knees and picking her up. She didn’t purr, didn’t meow, she was stiff against me. Absolutely traumatized.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m really sorry.” I stroked her back gently, both for comfort and also to try and push down her wild, fluffy coat.
The wall opposite where we'd entered slid open, revealing a stark white corridor. When the door stopped moving, Josie stirred, trying to get even closer to me. Her little head pushed into the gap of the medical robe to hide. Her fluttering heart hammered against my palm.
"It's okay," I continued to soothe her as I moved towards the exit. "We're okay."
I stepped through the doorway into the corridor.
The air here smelled clinical, like antiseptic and something metallic.
The floor was cold against my bare feet.
Ahead, a Beta in a white lab coat waited, clipboard poised.
It was like looking at another version of Beta Love, one that had been completely drained of all color and joy.
I looked for his name tag and lifted an eyebrow in surprise when I saw it. Mister Love, Head Beta Lab Tech.
“Are you related to—”
The new tech cut me off. I was getting a little tired of that happening.
“Yes, he is my brother. We are nothing alike. If we were, he’d never have let that thing,” he pointed at Josie, “make it past the incinerator. He’s always been odiously soft-hearted.
This way.” He turned, with the distinct air of someone who’d had military training and marched away from me.
I followed, suddenly missing the first Beta Love with all his overzealous joy and pink suit.
“This. Thing,” I growled quietly at his back. How fucking dare he!
A few moments later, I was seated in a wide-cushioned chair with two hinged armrests. Josie was curled beside me, pressed against my hip and not moving a muscle. She was petrified. I was going to make this up to her. Even if I had to use the entire hundred dollars on cat food and sushi.
“I’ll go over the pre-questions with you before Doctor Swann arrives.” This Beta Love was dry as a water cracker. He didn’t smile. He barely looked at me. His monotone voice held zero personality.
"Pre-questions?" I echoed, my voice still a bit shaky from the decontamination experience.
"Preliminary questions to determine your eligibility for donation." He clicked his pen and hovered it over the clipboard. "Have you been on any pharmaceutical-grade suppressants in the last six months?"
"No." Did this company even realize how expensive suppressants were? With insurance, the generics were sometimes accessible. Without insurance? Black market prices, for usually inferior knockoffs, would cost a literal organ. I’d tried to buy a scent blocking bracelet last year from some weirdo in a back alley who had dozens lining the inside of his ratty trench coat. He’d wanted twenty bucks and they were very obviously fake, soaked in inferior blocking solution.
A homeless girl using real suppressants? This guy was wildly out of touch.
“Good. Have you experienced a heat cycle in the last thirty days?" He continued to speak with clinical detachment.
I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s really personal.”
“It’s necessary for us to know that you are experiencing regular, healthy heats.” He didn’t look up, just sat statuesque with his pen ready.
I shifted uncomfortably. "I’m due for one soon, I think.
My last heat was maybe a couple months ago.
” I dug the nails of one hand into my thigh, trying to fight back pricking tears.
I didn’t come here to be picked apart, voicing intimate details of my life, but there was no door with a giant, blinking EXIT sign I could race through.
“I’ve been having pre-heat symptoms for a couple days now. ”
“And, up until now, your heats have been normal?” Pen poised. Still no emotion.
“What’s an abnormal heat?” I shrugged, genuinely clueless.
“When you are in heat, have you experienced suicidal ideation, mania, increased anxiety, lack of arousal or unpleasant scent production?” He listed things off; his eyes were now focused on the ceiling as if he were running through a mental list.
I thought about his question, one hand mechanically brushing across Josie’s fur. My other hand was still brutalizing my leg. Had that been what was happening these months? With each heat, had my cycles been deviating from what they should be?
“Um…I guess that, lately, I’ve been having a harder time with them.
I get really anxious and… sometimes… sometimes,” I swallowed, pushing out the final words, “don’t want to exist anymore.
And the symptoms come suddenly, fade without warning.
Over and over. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve had a full heat in a while.
That one months ago didn’t feel totally normal either. ”
Beta Love began jotting down notes; his expression betrayed nothing.
“Is that bad?” I finally asked as his writing seemed to go on for eons, which couldn’t be good. “Am I not a good candidate?” I realized I sort of sounded hopeful asking that last question. The tone of my voice made Beta Love lift his gaze to my face.
“Not at all. What you’ve gone through with your heats is very typical of Omegas in your situation. We call them dry heats, occurring when an Omega is in a poor physical or mental condition. Thankfully, with a little pampering and medicinal management, recovery is quick and painless.”
“That’s good,” I said, hopes dashed.
He finished the notes he was working on and then continued with his questions.
“Let’s see. Moving on. When was your last sexual encounter? Alpha, Omega, Beta. It doesn’t matter, but we need a full record of partner types to modify our screening.”
"I haven't..." My cheeks burned. "I've never been with anyone.”
He was writing more things down before I’d even answered. Yet, now, his pen paused mid-stroke. For the first time, he looked directly at me with more than just clinical interest. "You're a virgin Omega?"