Cassidy #2
She settles at her spot on the counter, where ingredients are already laid out in neat clusters.
I pause for a second, taking the kitchen in properly.
The marble countertops gleam under the overhead lights, despite being covered in chopping boards, knives, and piles of vegetables. The sink is half-full of pots, water still running over one of them, and a pan of potatoes bubbles steadily on the hob.
The oven door glows softly, a roasting tin visible through the glass—meat surrounded by carrots, parsnips, and sweet potatoes.
Everything is busy.
Full.
Already moving without me.
“Yeah,” I say, squeezing myself into the only open space. “I’ve been trying to establish myself.”
Mum hands me a knife without even looking, and I take it automatically, turning to the loaf of bread waiting to be buttered.
“Oh, lovebug, you don’t want to show them you’ll work all hours of the day,” she says lightly. “People start expecting softness from omegas when you give too much too early.”
I pause for half a second, and then keep going.
“You’re right,” I say immediately, lowering my head slightly as I spread the butter in precise strokes. “I thought… never mind. I’ll do better, I promise.”
“Oh, duckling, nobody is telling you off,” Dad says, shaking his head. “We’re just worried you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Especially when nobody’s heard from you all week,” Mum adds lightly, like it’s an afterthought. “I don’t want you losing yourself at that job and having nothing left by the time you get home.”
The knife stills in my hand.
For one awful second, everything inside me goes completely still.
Because they’re not wrong. I am disappearing into my job… but it’s by choice.
It’s one of the worst things about having scent-matched parents—sometimes they move in perfect sync, their thoughts aligning, their voices overlapping, until it feels like there’s nowhere left for me to breathe.
I know they’re not trying to smother me, but sometimes, it feels that way anyway.
I swallow, forcing my hand to keep moving again.
“I’ve been busy,” I say lightly. “It’s just the adjustment period.”
It’s normal.
It has to be.
This is my first proper job after university. Of course, I’m still adjusting.
It’s normal to feel like this… right?
A small, unwelcome thought slips in anyway.
What if it’s not?
What if I’m already failing?
I press the knife harder than I mean to, carving a clean line through the bread.
No.
It’ll settle.
It has to.
I just need to be better.
“I’ve been selfish, I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Dad did mention Auntie Jess called, so I’ll get back to her soon.”
My mum nods like that fixes the problem. “She has. She’s been asking about you—worried, knowing you were here all alone. I swear, she was ready to send the boys over to check you hadn’t hibernated yourself away.”
They both laugh easily.
I try to laugh with them, but the sound catches somewhere inside my chest before it fully makes it out.
“Typical Cass,” Dad says fondly, grinning at me. “We’ve got a few family events coming up, so I’ll get them in the calendar. We’re away for a few of them, so we’ll need you to represent us.”
I always do.
Mum nods in agreement, popping an edamame bean into her mouth like it’s already decided.
“Of course,” I say automatically. “I’ll be there. Family matters most. I know.”
The words come easily.
They always do.
My hands move just as automatically, slicing through the bread in neat, even motions while my mind scrambles to catch up.
Eliza’s engagement party.
That’s the next big one.
But there’ll be more. There’s always more.
Birthdays. Dinners. Events. Appearances.
Things that need attending. People who need me to keep showing up for them.
Things I can’t afford to get wrong.
I’ll have to check the calendar. Plan around work. Make sure I don’t miss anything.
Make sure nobody ever has a reason to be disappointed in me.
The knife slips anyway, my focus scattered by too many scents, too many voices, too much need.
The sting is sharp, sudden—so quick I don’t even register it properly at first.
Then red blooms across the white bread.
“Oh—!”
I jerk my hand back, the knife clattering loudly against the counter.
Blood wells from the slice across my palm, deeper than I expected, enough to make my stomach twist.
“Oh, fuck, Cass!”
Dad is at my side instantly, concern and panic lacing his scent, his face draining of colour as his hands hover helplessly over mine, unsure of where to touch without making it worse.
Behind him, Mum’s sharp inhale cuts through the room.
“Cassidy, lovebug, you’ve got to be more careful,” she says, already moving closer, her tone tight with concern. “You need to be more careful with yourself.”
Dad grabs a tea towel and wraps it around my hand, pressing down far harder than necessary, his own hands shaking.
“She’s right,” he mutters, pulling me into his side. “Fuck, girl, I—”
He stops, shaking his head, pressing a kiss into my hair instead.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say quickly, panic rising at the thought of upsetting them. “I was—I’m fine. You’re right.”
Of course, they’re right.
I should’ve been paying attention.
Mum’s expression softens slightly, though there’s still tension in the set of her mouth.
“You still worry me, you know,” she says, quieter now.
“Just like when you were younger. You used to be such a little menace—always into everything.” She huffs out a small breath.
“And then… well. You just knew, didn’t you?
When Daddy got sick. One day you were climbing bookshelves, and the next you were trying so hard to be good. ”
The words land heavier than she means them to. They always do when it comes back to Daddy.
“Darwin,” she adds, glancing at Dad, “does she need stitches?”
He peels the tea towel back carefully, inspecting the cut before shaking his head.
“No, it’s already stopped. You’re okay, aren’t you, duckling?”
I nod before I even think about it.
Even though I’m not.
Even though everything inside me feels like it’s fraying at the edges.
“I’m fine,” I echo automatically.
I have to be.
Mum’s already halfway in the past, thinking about Daddy—about their omega—and everything that came with losing him.
They’re trying so hard to keep everything steady, and I nearly ruined it by becoming another problem for them to manage.
This is my fault.
Another mess I’ve made.
Another thing I need to fix before it upsets anyone else.
“Go get that cleaned up properly, love,” Mum says, her brightness returning just a little too quickly. “I’ll go nudge Papa so we can eat. Dar, can you sort this out?”
She gestures vaguely towards the ruined loaf without quite looking at it.
Dad doesn’t hesitate. He sweeps the loaf straight into the bin.
Guilt twists viciously in my stomach.
Wasted food.
Wasted money.
All because I couldn’t keep myself together for five fucking seconds.
I duck my head, clutching the tea towel tighter around my hand as I slip out of the kitchen.
Upstairs. Away from all the pressure. Away from the feelings and the guilt.
I go into the bathroom at the top of the stairs instead of my en-suite because the first aid kit is in here.
Plus, it’s closest.
The light flicks on—too bright, too harsh—and I flinch when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Red-rimmed eyes. Pale skin. Shadows dragged beneath both.
I look exactly how I feel—like one more thing might finally break me open.
I peel the tea towel away slowly, wincing as it tugs against the drying blood. The cut is clean, angrier than it felt at first, but already clotting.
Not as bad as it looked.
I clean it carefully, antiseptic stinging sharply enough to make me bite down hard on my lip, and wrap it neatly with gauze.
Practical. Efficient. Controlled.
I don’t need anyone worrying more than they already are.
I pack everything away, my hands still trembling, and lean against the counter for a second—just one measly second.
My phone buzzes, the sound slicing through the silence.
I close my eyes briefly.
Of course.
I have it set to Do Not Disturb at work, but the moment I get home, it switches off automatically.
It’s helpful—usually.
Not now, though. Not when I don’t have anything left to give.
The phone buzzes again and again.
In a family like mine, there’s always something.
Someone who needs help. Someone who needs an answer. Someone who needs something from me.
It never stops for long.
Dad’s side. Mum’s side. Papa’s side.
A constant stream of messages, calls, requests.
A favour here. A problem there.
Cassie, can you just—
Cassie, when you’ve got a minute—
Cassie, I need your help with—
I reach for the phone anyway.
I always do.
My phone buzzes again on the counter.
I grab it with a quiet sigh, already bracing myself for what I’m going to see.
The incessant buzzing belongs to the twins—Aunt Jess’s boys.
I scroll to the top of the group chat, bracing myself.
Kai
Cass, Mum says you’re hibernating.
Kai
What’s going on?
Need us to go ruin someone’s day for you?
Koa
Need me* to come beat some fuckers up for you?
Koa
We all know I’m your favourite twin.
Kai
Oh fuck off, twin.
Kai
I’m the stronger alpha.
Koa
Yeah, in your dreams.
Koa
Tell him I’m the one you like best, Cassie. We all know it’s true.
Kai
Mum said you’d help us with something, too.
Kai
But only once you’re okay.
Koa
Yeah, absolutely. Let us help you sort your shit out first.
Koa
Who is it? One of the models? If it is, I’d even let Kai have a whack at them.
Kai
Come on, aren’t they mostly omegas?
Koa
True. Okay, Cassie girl, apparently, we can’t beat up omegas for you. That’s abuse of power and shit.
A tired little laugh slips out before I can stop it.
They’re complete idiots.
Loud, chaotic, impossible boys who take up too much space and somehow still make the world feel lighter anyways.
For one tiny second.
Then the headache behind my eyes throbs harder, dragging me straight back under.
I rub at my temple, pressing my fingers in like I can physically push the pain back. It’s been building all day, slow and steady, and now it’s tipping into something sharper.
A migraine.