12. Day 190 – Oscar
Day 190 – Oscar
“S he doesn’t trust you.” A book slams down on the desk. “That has to be it.”
At Abram’s words, my head lifts. “Tell me something I don’t know. She doesn’t trust anyone, Doc. She’s…,”
I can’t finish the sentence. He knows well enough what our mate is.
He settles back in his seat, the familiar gleam in his eyes making me sit up straighter. “Just listen. I think this is the key, Oscar.”
Slowly, I place my own stack of papers down. We’ve been working through old medical papers, case studies, anything we can find that even mentions omega physiology. Trying to find something that might help us break through to Kenny, to draw her out.
Although I’m well aware that Abrams is trying to distract me, too. “I’m listening.”
He purses his lips. “You’re aware of how I met Kennedy?”
I stiffen. I can’t help it. “In the hospital, right? After.”
When she was broken and hurting and alone, and thought we hated her.
“You know her father didn’t arrive for more than twenty-four hours after we contacted him?” Abrams’s mouth presses down in clear disapproval. “He stayed for less than fifteen minutes before he left.”
Son of a fucking bitch . “Yeah, that sounds like Rick.”
“Her only parent.” Abrams sighs. “She’s never been able to rely on anyone, from what I can infer. An incredibly unstable childhood, followed by a sustained, horrific assault. And as an omega she needs that sense of security, Oscar. She needs to know she has someone who cares. And Kennedy – whilst being undeniably the strongest omega I’ve ever met – had no one. It would be enough to traumatise anyone. But in her case, I believe it’s affected her actual physiology. If I’m right… she is, in effect, hiding within her own mind. She doesn’t feel safe to come out. The feral aspect is almost a protective barrier.”
Frowning, I think through his words, even as the bottom hollows out of my stomach. “But the bites, the attack, that’s what caused her to change – to turn feral.”
“They did.” Abrams pulls out another pile of papers from the tottering stack next to us. “But her latest stats show that she’s otherwise healthy. She’s not showing the degradation we would normally associate with feral omegas. Kennedy’s not dying , Oscar. Not anymore.”
If I wasn’t standing, I think I’d fall.
“Show me,” I demand hoarsely.
He hands over the paperwork, not saying anything as I flick through it. I’ve seen enough versions of Kennedy’s charts, her bloodwork, her hormone levels, to describe them blindfolded with a gun to my head.
The papers fall from my hands. “She’s healthy?”
“Perfectly so. Which begs the question – why is she still presenting as a feral, when every sign here says that she shouldn’t be? Her heart rate is slightly elevated, but far closer to normal than it was. If I saw this chart without a patient attached, I’d say she was a healthy, albeit anxious, omega.”
I can’t speak.
She’s healthy. Not dying.
We’re not going to lose her. Not like that. Not again.
“Oscar,” Abrams says gently. “I truly think you can bring her back.”
He’s never said it. Not in as many words. And I understood why, even though I hated it.
It feels like simultaneously being punched in the stomach and tossed a life jacket in the middle of a raging ocean. Straightening, I force myself to focus. Force my hands to stop shaking. “ How ?”
“First, by establishing visitation.” Irritation flickers in his usually mild-mannered face. “I’ll admit that the levels of bureaucracy in this building are an obstacle in themselves. We filed the paperwork months ago, but they keep pushing it back.”
“Is that normal?”
He spreads his hands. “Nothing about this situation is normal. But it shouldn’t be taking this long. If anything, the Center should have a vested interest in seeing Kennedy succeed. It would be a medical first, but the board keeps dragging their heels on a decision. I’ll push them again. We need that to make any progress at all.”
“We can’t help her from the other side of a wall, Doc. We’ve said that from the start.”
“So you have.” He studies me. “And you were right. You need to show her that you’re permanent, Oscar. That she can trust you, and your pack. That you not only won’t hurt her, but that you’ll put her first. You’ve done an excellent job, so far. Visitation, removing those barriers, that will help.”
My gaze drops. “We haven’t, actually. She wouldn’t be in here if we had.”
Abrams studies me. He knows it all. Every shameful part of how badly we failed her, all of the information given to him in desperation to help the girl we condemned through our anger. “My wife is the therapist in our family, not me. But I’d say the guilt you’re carrying needn’t be quite as heavy as it was. You’re doing everything you can.”
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.
Offering a half-smile, I push my chair back. “I’ll tell the others.”
He’s picking up his phone. “I’ll call Joanne, try to push for a face-to-face meeting to get this through.”
“Thanks, Doc.”