Episode 15 Once Upon a Nightmare
There’s a knock on my door far too early. As in, the sun isn’t even kissing the horizon early. None of the gorgeous pinks and yellows and lavenders of a sunrise over the ocean.
It's just dark. Too freaking dark.
I blink blearily at the female beta crewmember on the other side of the door, confusion only growing when she gives me a harried once over and then snaps her fingers at me. “Let’s go.”
“I-I- what?”
I stumble after her, out of conditioning more than anything. I’m so used to trailing after a member of the crew as they guide us from one place to another, that I don’t even stop to put on shoes.
The concrete is cold under my bare feet. My leggings and oversized t-shirt wrinkled, my hair is likely a mess, falling out of the braid I put it in for sleep.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes unsuccessfully.
“Next challenge,” she throws over her shoulder, striding through the resort.
I stumble when I step on a stray rock, hissing as it digs into my bare foot. “Why are we starting so early? Shouldn’t we have been told there was going to be a challenge?”
She snorts and shakes her head. “It was on a need to know basis.”
And you didn’t need to know is left unsaid.
I frown when we reach the main house, and rather than heading into the conference room where the choosing ceremonies have been held, she takes me into a side entrance and down a set of stairs, into the basement.
At the base of the stairs I pause, staring after the beta, trying to remember if I’ve seen her around the production side of things before or not. Because this… it doesn’t feel like the show. Not at all like the sweet, sunny, romantic things that are supposed to happen.
Why the hell are we in a basement? Where is everyone else?
My omega senses are tingling, and an uneasy feeling slides down my spine.
Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe.
The beta woman pauses when she seems to realize I’m not following her. With a sigh she turns. “Come on. Can’t win a pack if you don’t participate in the challenges.”
I open my mouth to tell her I won’t be winning this pack period, and so why should I follow some unknown beta into a dark and dingy basement? The door at the top of the stairs opens, and I spin to see Petal stumbling along after Marshall.
The other omega makes a relieved sound when she sees me, and I mimic it, lacing my fingers through hers when she reaches my side. “I thought they were taking me somewhere to get rid of me,” she whispers. “Like an off camera rejection. They do those sometimes.”
I nod. “Much more realistic than what was going through my head.”
The female beta’s glaring at us. “We need to get a move on.’
Marshall slides into the space next to me. “Yes, yes, we know. Time is money and money is time or whatever.” He turns to Petal and me. “Ladies. If you would be so kind?”
Without any other options, Petal and I move down the hall, following the surly female as she slips into a door.
My feet tangle when I see what’s on the other side, so badly that I definitely would have fallen had Petal not been right there to catch me.
This can’t be right.
It can’t be.
My frantic eyes flit around the room, taking in the other omegas, the metal chairs. And the cages. As in actual motherfucking metal cages spaced around the room at even intervals.
The chairs are placed inside said cages, with neat coils of rope and a blindfold resting on each seat.
I’m shaking my head, mouth open as I turn horrified eyes toward Marshall. “No. No, absolutely not.”
He arches a brow at me. “It's the alpha care challenge. Rescue scenario. They’ll come in, and free all of you while looking very manly and caring. You’re going to be one hundred percent safe, Ren.”
I grit my teeth. As with so many things, logically I know that. I know I’m not going to be any danger in front of so many cameras. But PTSD isn’t logical. The idea of being tied to a chair has my lungs constricting and my heart thudding wildly in my chest.
“If I don’t participate, what happens?”
Petal moves closer to my side, rubbing circles between my shoulder blades as Marshall answers. “Technically nothing. But the chances of you going home are a lot higher if you don’t.”
Petal tilts her head to rest it on my shoulder. “There was that one omega in season four, Holly, I think. One of the front runners and fan favorites. She was deathly scared of heights and refused to do a challenge because of it.”
I nod. I remember. “She wasn’t eliminated that day, but the pack never really sought her out after that and sent her home the next elimination.”
Marshall nods. “Right.”
I look at the cages again. “How long?” My voice is a wheeze. A croak.
Marshall shrugs. “Depends on when they decide to free you.”
Right. How long I spend tied to the chair depends on how much the pack values me as a contestant. Which given that they’ve already decided that I’m not their omega, can’t be all that much.
“Can I be put in last?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, how thready and weak.
There’s a scoff from nearby. “Asking for favors, Karlin?”
Isadora.
I should ignore her, have all but conditioned myself to do that at this point in the game.
But I’m feeling just brittle enough that the scorn in her voice has me lifting my eyes to hers.
And hot damn, someone must have warned her this was coming because the girl is in full makeup, her hair is styled in perfect glossy waves and she’s wearing the tiniest, silkiest little slip of a nightie.
She even has a pair of those feathered kitten heels on her feet.
She looks gorgeous, and I know that I do not in my rattiest pair of leggings and my oversized t-shirt I stole from a beta ex years ago that is so worn out it has holes in the armpits, and the neck is stretched enough that it shows my clavicle.
A quick glance at the other omegas reveals about half of them knew about this early morning challenge, while the other half are dressed more like me, unprepared to face the cameras.
Tristan saunters over to us. He’s clearly in the second group.
But he wears it well, in a pair of low slung grey sweats and nothing else.
His already sleep mussed hair only gets worse when he runs his fingers through it, then rubs at his eyes.
“Run along, Isadora, darling,” he yawns. “It’s too early for your bullshit.”
She glares at him, but does as he said, turning back to her friends and talking unnecessarily loud about the date the pack took her and Odette on.
“Morning, poblano.” Tristan kisses Petal on her cheek, then drops one on the top of my head. “Jalapeno.”
I scowl at him. “Please tell me those names aren’t sticking.”
He grins. “Oh, they’re sticking alright. It's a reminder to you to strive for more spice in your life, Flo.”
Another scowl. “Don’t call me Flo. That’s almost worse than jalapeno.” I’ve always hated it, hence why I ask people to call me Ren.
Tristan shrugs. “Tell me why you're freaking out and I’ll consider it.”
I blink at the change of topic.
“Tell us why,” Petal amends.
I look back at the cages. The metal chair. The blind fold.
The fear that had been temporarily kept at bay by Tristan’s arrival swells. But I try my damnedest to hide it. “I just don’t relish the idea of being tied to a chair for hours while we wait for production and the Ashbourne pack to get their shit together.”
They both peer at me like they know I’m lying but can’t figure out why.
Probably because it's not a lie, per se, more like not the whole truth.
Thankfully, their attention is pulled from me when a producer I don’t recognize steps into the center of the room and lifts his voice. “Okay, we’re going to start getting you into the cages now. If you need to use the bathroom, drink some water, or grab a snack, now is the time to do it.”
For the first time I notice a table set up along the wall with a spread of pastries and fruit. Some of the omegas are already huddled around the food, snacking happily, because this isn’t their worst nightmare.
My stomach flips hard.
Petal’s hand brushes between my shoulder blades, making me jump. “Do you want to grab something real quick?”
A sharp shake of my head is just about all I can answer with, as production leads the first two omegas into their cages.
I don’t think I can stand here and watch them do it. I shake my head. “I’m-I’m going to run to use the bathroom real fast,” I manage to get out before hurrying away, ignoring my friends calling out my names, and the sniggers of the other omegas as I pass by.
“Where are you going, Ren?” Marshall steps into my path.
“Bathroom,” I choke out again, and let out a relieved breath when he nods and steps to the side.
“Good thinking. We don’t know how long you’ll be in there for.”
That just makes my chest clench tighter. Irrational fear slamming into me hard.
I hurry on my way, duck into the rest room and slam into a stall.
Hands braced on either side of me, I take deep breaths, trying to get my lungs under control.
After a few rounds of box breathing and a round of “five things” during which I realize I’m barefoot in a public bathroom—so gross—I feel calmer.
Calm enough to realize that I do need to use the restroom, my bladder full after a night of sleep.
I do my business, wash my hands, and splash cool water on my face.
Looking myself in the eye in the mirror as I pat the droplets from my skin.
“You can handle this. There are going to be thirty other people in that room. They’re not going to just leave you tied up and most importantly…
he’s not here. You’re safe. You are safe. ”
I repeat it over and over with a firmness I don’t feel.
Until I feel strong enough to push away from the mirror and into the hall.
I repeat it as I slip back into the room and find only half of the omegas are in their chairs.
Repeat it as Marshall curls his hand around my elbow and ushers me into my own cage.
“Put this in your ear,” He holds out a tiny flesh colored ear bud. I’m proud of how my hands don’t shake as I take it from him and do as he said.
“Testing,” Lulu’s voice murmurs in my ear. “Can you hear me?”
I swallow and then nod. “Yes. Why-” I’m not even fully sure what I’m planning on asking, but Lulu cuts me off before I can form a complete question.
“All part of the challenge.”
“Right,” I murmur back as Marshall picks up the rope and the blind fold and looks at me expectantly.
In the cage to my left, Petal is already in her chair, her ankles bound to the legs and a PA is working on binding her wrists to the arms of the chair. She gives me a big encouraging smile and I try to smile back, but I can’t manage it.
“No, Tristan,” someone else calls in a harried tone. “That’s not your-”
“I don’t care. I’m taking it,” he says from the cell on my right. His eyes slide to me as he picks up the items on the seat and then slouches into it. “Tie me up, daddy.”
I snort a laugh and thank god for that, because it cuts through the fear and the tension, and I’m able to actually turn and plop myself into the chair.
Marshall eyes me, like he can sense my unease. But it doesn’t stop him from kneeling and looping the rope around my ankle, wrapping it a few times before tying it into a knot.
“When the challenge starts we’re going to give each omega a math equation,” he tells me as he does his work. “The solution to the equation is the combination to your lock. In order for the alphas to get you out you need to figure out the combination. That’s all you need to do, okay, Ren?”
I give a jerky nod as he moves onto my wrists and my chest tightens painfully. Memories pulling tight across my skin.
You’re okay, Florence. This isn’t the same thing. You’re safe. You’re safe.
Logically I know that, but my body is on high alert, braced for the pain of a hammer to my knee.
I should have sat this one out. It would have counted against me but seeing them strap in Petal was enough for me to know that this was a bad idea. And yet. I still went along with it.
“Too tight?” Marshal asks when I wince. But it's not because of the ropes… I mean it is, but not because it's too tight… it's just everything.
“No,” I whisper. “It’s fine.”
He peers up at me again before nodding. “Production really wants you to sell the omega in distress vibe. I know you’ve been on stage before, so don’t be afraid to dip into those acting chops.”
It's not the same thing, I want to tell him. Dancing a ballet is emotional and is a form of acting, but it's not like what he’s asking. I can’t cry on cue, and I can’t recite lines for shit.
Of course, selling that I’m a terrified omega isn’t going to be a problem for me.
Because it's exactly what I am. So fucking terrified. Distressed.
Marshal finishes with the ropes and pushes to his feet, the blindfold in his hands. He stands there like he’s waiting for something, some kind of acknowledgement, so I give another of those jerky nods. “Okay, I’ll try.”
There will be no trying. It will just happen naturally.
Stop this, some part of me urges. It's too much. Ask him to untie you. Get out of this chair.
But also… I am safe here. My logical mind knows that. Totally safe. Like I told myself before there are thirty other people in this room. I will not be hurt. I will not be left here. I’m not bound to the chair by an alpha command.
My therapist said I should try immersion therapy.
Well, this is as immersive as it gets.
If I can survive this, I know I’m on my way to healing.
And I will survive it because there is no real danger here.
So I don’t say anything as Marshall ties the blindfold over my eyes, cutting off the view of the omega across from me, sitting primly in her seafoam green negligee not worried in the least.
Because there is nothing to worry about.
Nothing.
My fingers grip the arms of the chair so tight they ache as I hear Marshall move away from me. Hear the clink of the door closing, the click of the lock catching.
I focus on breathing, on Petal and Tristan bantering back and forth over my bowed head in what is clearly meant as a distraction for me, but it doesn’t work.
My heart thunders, my chest aches, my hands jerk against the ropes. Sweat prickles my forehead, drips along my spine.
How much longer? How long are they going to have us sit here, waiting? Where is the fucking pack that is supposed to swoop in and ‘save’ us?
Every second feels like a minute and every minute feels like an hour and I can’t breathe.
My head starts to feel woozy. My panic is a primal clawing thing in my chest. None of my grounding activities help.
I can’t see five things because of the blindfold.
The only thing I can feel is the metal of the chair and the rough rope biting into my skin.
It builds and builds until all of that panic finally pops in a loud, desperate whine that echoes through the room.