9 what the fuck
Dr. Watts’s voice drones on and on and on, but I stopped listening a while ago. He’s not really talking to me, anyway. He’s talking about me to Dad, because I’m the problem here that they’re trying to solve.
Another paper gown, another cold exam table, but somehow this is even more exposing than the last.
Thank god that Dad stepped out for the physical exam because he didn’t see my eyes well up when Watts had me turn around, bend over the table, and shoved his gloved fingers into my hole with far more aggression than Gray did.
He took his sweet time in there, umming and awing and feeling for whatever he was feeling.
Thank fuck I took the time to clean out Gray’s cum this morning.
If anything could make this situation worse, that would have been it.
When he finally had me get dressed and Dad came back in, he told him it was worse than they’d feared.
Which was exactly what I was expecting to hear, but still fucking sucked.
Watts started explaining a little about genetics and male omegas to Dad, and it was kind of the same stuff that the clinic doctor told me yesterday, but everything was framed differently.
Male omegas weren’t a rare-but-normal genetic presentation; they were an “aberration”—which felt more like he meant “abomination”, but whatever—and we “still don’t know exactly what environmental factors cause it, but have some suspicions”.
The process of presenting was “predictable, but perilous”, instead of comparable with female omegas like I was told yesterday.
And worst of all, when I zone back in towards the end of the conversation, I realize they’re talking about suppressants.
I don’t know that clinic doctor, but he seemed to know what he was doing and had no reason to lie to me. Watts has an agenda. So when he tells Dad that suppressants at this early stage can have risks but are also the only way to potentially stave off or prevent a full presentation, I get scared.
The only thing that sounds worse than being an omega is being some sort of weird mix. I don’t want that. I can’t convince myself I want that, even for Dad. Not if it feels anything like last night, when I was stuck in a biochemical limbo and had to beg Gray to fuck me out of it.
I should say something. I think about it, but it’s immediately followed by a wave of exhaustion and a little more nausea. In the end, I hold my tongue. I feel guilty and weak because of it, but that’s not enough to help me.
We go home with a brown paper bag of pills in Dad’s pocket and stony silence filling the car. He hands me two and watches as I swallow them in the kitchen, only nodding when I ask to be excused to my room after.
I guess he’ll be doling them out for me, like I’ve been 51-50’d inside my own home. Lucky me.
I spend the rest of that day and night in my room, lying in bed with the lights off, waiting for time to pass. Dad brings me some dinner that I don’t eat, but he still doesn’t talk to me. He watches me swallow more pills before bed.
At some point, I remember to charge my phone, but when it finally turns on, I have a slew of messages from Gray, so I power it down again.
I can’t bring myself to read them. I don’t even want to think about him, because that makes my body start to wake up in a way that feels like trying to breathe through a garbage bag.
The next day I mostly spend puking. Dad watches over me, making me take my pills, and then more if I throw them up, chasing them with a Gatorade. It never gets so constant that I feel like I could die, but I get very weak, very quickly.
Everything seems bleak. I don’t even care about the omega stuff anymore. I don’t really care about anything. I wish I could feel better, and that the constant cramping, nausea, cold sweats, and what feels like a fever would pass, but if I can’t have any of that, I just want to sleep.
I’m not sure how many days have passed when I wake up more suddenly than I have since getting home from the doctor.
It’s hard to tell why, at first. My phone is still dark because I never turned it back on.
It’s light outside, but my curtains are drawn so it’s dark and cool in here.
A baseball game buzzes quietly on Jax’s old TV that Dad must have moved into my room.
There’s a plate on my nightstand with the ham sandwich I didn’t eat last night, the ham dry and curling at the corners, transparent mayonnaise congealing around the edges.
Something’s changed, though. Not me. I feel as weak and tired as before, but something in the world around me is different.
The knock on our front door comes a few seconds after I think it. I can’t smell who’s out there, but I feel aware of them in a way I never experienced before this change. I don’t normally bother to eavesdrop on Dad, but I feel a spark of curiosity for once, and sound carries well in this house.
“Gray! I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
Dad’s voice booms up the stairs, clear as a bell. When Gray answers, he’s quieter, but I can hear him perfectly, like my ears are attuned to him. And as he speaks, I get the faintest hint of cinnamon and cloves climbing up the stairs, filling my lungs for a few peaceful seconds.
“I was driving past, and I thought I’d stop by, if you don’t mind. I haven’t heard from you for a few days.”
“You know how it is. Come in, come in. Beer?”
There’s silence, but Gray must’ve nodded because I hear the hiss of two bottles being opened one after the other. They make idle conversation for another few minutes, but I tune back in when I hear my name.
“Hey, is Tanner around? Things are getting pretty heavy up at the house and I was thinking of asking him to come help me for a few days. For a decent wage, of course.”
I can picture the convincing regret face that Dad must be making right now. The aw, nuts face; a picture of innocence. I wonder what he’s about to tell him. Am I in Mexico with all my college friends? Or did I get called back to school early for some crucial athletic event?
“He’s been sick, poor fucker. Out for the count right now. No need to worry. He’s seen the doctor, and he’s on the mend, but it’s a helluva virus. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before he’s back in fighting shape. I swear, all the hormones they put in the meat these days that we feed our kids,
it makes them vulnerable. Like the sickly kids in one of them Oliver Twist books.”
That’s a new one. But I should probably be grateful he acknowledged I’m in the house instead of making it sound like he’s murdered me and concocted a cover story.
He’s not lying, after all. I am very, very sick.
I don’t want to hear what Gray says next, so I turn up the volume on the baseball game and pull the covers over my head. It’s fucking August, but no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get warm. Sweaty, yes, but never warm.
It doesn’t seem possible for someone to get so gross so quickly, but apparently my body is good at doing unpredictably awful things.
Dad and Gray talk, but I let the words blur before they reach me.
I hear Dad’s booming laugh and Gray’s quiet one.
It goes on and on, while I drift in and out of sleep, just like I have the other days.
I don’t realize I’m asleep until his smell wakes me up again.
It gets stronger and stronger, and when I blink myself awake and focus, I can hear him walking up the stairs.
It sounds like he tries a few doors before he gets to mine, but as soon as he swings it slowly open, I have to force myself to breathe.
He’s just a guy. He doesn’t mean anything to you. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tanner, what happened to you?”
He whispers the words, quickly shutting the door behind him before rushing over to kneel by the bed.
I roll over on my side to look at him, but pull the covers up tight under my chin so he doesn’t see any more of me than he has to.
No one wants to see this. I always have a kind of dark bedhead thing going on, but right now I can feel my hair pasted to my skin with sweat and fuck-knows what else, and my scent is repugnant.
“Dad’s gonna freak out if he finds you in here.”
My voice cracks, but I get the words out, at least.
“Oh my god,” he whispers to no one in particular.
Gray reaches up and runs his fingers through my disgusting hair. I should tell him to stop, but he’s so warm, and having his fingers against my scalp is the best thing I’ve felt all week.
“Dad,” I croak in warning but don’t know how to finish the sentence.
Gray shakes his head.
“I got him stinking drunk until he passed out on the couch. I knew I couldn’t find you otherwise. I haven’t heard from you in days; I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t stop picturing all this shit.”
His fingers freeze, like he realizes he’s not supposed to be touching me, but I whine and push my head into his hand until he continues.
“What happened, Tanner? Is this rejection sickness? What the fuck is going on?”
He scents me for the first time, too distracted when he came in, and anger immediately flares in his eyes and his scent.
I whine again and pull away from him as much as I can. The thought of an angry alpha is more than I can cope with right now, and I feel too shitty to pretend to be strong.
“Shit,” he mutters, but right away, his scent settles and the tension in my chest eases.
“Come here, little one. This will help you feel better.”
He pulls my face gently until it’s pressed against his neck, and I inhale on instinct, just like I did to him that night.
But that night, it made everything weird I was feeling ease.
And right now, this feels different. Like he’s far away, even though he’s right here.
I can smell him, but I don’t feel it in my gut the way I did before.
I keep trying anyway, but it doesn’t help. Eventually, another wave of nausea hits me, and I frantically push Gray away.
“Fuck, trash can,” I tell him.
He looks confused but manages to pass it to me in time for me to retch over it, then vomit whatever thin liquid was in my stomach.
I don’t know what my relationship with Gray is ever going to be, but even if he was literally just my dad’s best friend, I wouldn’t want him to see me puking into a trash can. Humiliation is not a strong enough word.
“I’m taking you out of here, Tanner. We’re going to a hospital. I don’t know what he did to you, but this isn’t right. You smell like chemicals, and you look like death. Please let me take you.”
The please hits me hard, but he knows I can’t do that. Dad would never forgive me. And then everyone in Ashfall would know, and things would only get worse.
I look him in the eye, still breathless from puking, and put as much force into my words as possible.
“No. If you try, I’ll tell them you stole me.”
Gray’s face crumples, and I can see the pain etched on every inch of it.
He has faint crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes that I didn’t really notice before, and I can’t stop staring at them.
Without thinking, I reach out and trace them with my fingertip.
Gray stays still and lets me, still pumping his warm alpha scent into the air, but he looks agonized.
“Please.”
I shake my head, my eyes falling closed for a few seconds as another wave of exhaustion hits me.
When I look at him again, Gray has his eyes closed, breathing in and out like he’s trying to calm himself down.
He opens his eyes and takes one more breath.
“I’ll make a deal with you. You let me sit here tonight. I’ll stay awake and leave whenever I hear Frank moving downstairs. I told you my senses are sharp. I’ll hear him before he really wakes up. And then I’ll leave you alone,
but you will turn your phone back on and text me every morning and every night until you get better, so I know you’re not fucking dead. You hear me?”
I nod. I’m not sure if I’ll do it, but it feels easy to agree. And I like the thought of him sitting here with me. I can’t scent him like normal, but I do feel a little better with his warm scent and warm body nearby.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, going back to stroking my hair.
Gray gets up and disappears a minute later, but he comes back with some of Dad’s off-brand sports drink and a fresh sandwich.
It’s exhausting to sit up, even a little, but he won’t stop bugging me until I do.
I manage to eat about half the sandwich and drink most of the drink, and it sits in my stomach better than anything has in days.
“Thank you.”
I can hear myself practically falling asleep as I say the words, my eyelids getting heavy and sleep tugging at my mind.
“I told you I’d keep you safe, omega. But I need you to let me.”
I fall asleep too quickly to answer. It feels nice, though. Having someone care if I live or die.