23. Ticking Anxiety
Ticking Anxiety
~ICARUS~
“ W e have something else more pressing to discuss.”
My eyes briefly trail to the door as Nathaníel slips back into the room. He didn’t take long, which means he definitely took Astraea to the nesting rooms and made sure she was asleep before returning here. Deep down, I assumed he was going to take advantage of the situation, but I’m coming to realize Nathaníel has many different traits in comparison to his younger twin counterpart.
“Regarding Astraea?” I ask for clarification as Dr. Malcom sits down at his desk and gestures to the two empty seats in front of the space.
I walk over to sit in the right chair, while Nathaníel ends up walking over to sit in the left seat. We exchange a quick look before I ask to ensure Astraea’s asleep.
“She’s out,” he confirms. “She had to have been exhausted. Laid in the nest and was snoozing away.”
“We should ensure she takes the next few days slower as she adjusts to this new lifestyle,” I emphasize before we both look at Dr. Malcom. He doesn’t seem to mind our prioritized commentary, but from the seriousness that floods his face, I feel like this next conversation is worrisome.
“What’s the pressing urgency?” I ask, hoping we don’t dance around the bush with this conversation.
“So, how long has Nathan Jr. been on addictive rut blockers?”
Nathaníel frowns deeply while I have no choice but to try to think of how long it’s been.
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” I finally admit. “It’s been a long time. Obviously, we all started taking them when we became sexually active, but not consistently. At least for myself, Kai, and Kenji. Those two rarely take it since they have their ways of calming their ruts.”
“And yourself?”
“Once every few months? The minimum dose that’s the least problematic,” I admit and shrug. “I normally don’t react to Omegas. Astraea’s the first Omega to ignite my Alpha senses.”
“Genetics in your favor,” he notes. “Knox is like that.”
“He knows Knox?” Nathaníel inquires quietly, even though we all can hear him.
Dr. Malcom smirks.
“Part of his pack. I think I’d know he has a son with our Omega.”
“Your… Omega?” Nathaníel looks even more confused before he looks my way. “Velvet?”
“Their pack relationship is complicated as fuck,” I emphasize and brush my hand in Dr. Malcom’s direction. “Old people shit that we don’t need to involve ourselves in.”
“We’re not old,” Dr. Malcom mumbles, but he knows I’m trying to lighten the intense atmosphere. “Anyway, so you’d say you take those rut blockers once every six months?”
“Hmmm. Probably every eight to nine, and I take the lowest dose,” I confess. “I don’t like them. Makes me feel woozy. Like I’m floating and shit. Don’t need that type of high,” I conclude. “Anything I take is the lowest dose and to be the least problematic for me. Any other preventative measures are short term.” I may have taken something so I wouldn’t be so horny to think straight with Astraea, but I made sure it was a natural remedy.
Triple the cost compared to the market shit, but at least it has the minimum side effects. Rather get the chance of diarrhea than some crazed knot-blocking shit.
“ What’s the big deal?” I decide to ask. “Was a bad bunch reported from the government or some shit?”
Dr. Malcom tries not to look so mangled by this conversation, but the creases of his forehead dip when he grabs a file and slides it along the desk so me and Nathaníel can have a look at it.
“I’m sharing this because you guys are a pack, and you need to be informed,” he discloses as we stare at the piece of paper.
I notice immediately how Nathaníel’s body tenses up, but I’m still trying to figure out what this paper discloses. I have to return to the top, scanning the initial information that pertains to Nathaniel Jr.
It takes getting to the second part of the page to see the bold caption of words.
Diagnosis Stage IV Cancer.
Potential triggered cause:Rut Overdose
(long offender - 98% probability. Further testing must be conducted to narrow down dose, brand, and length of usage).
For a few moments, my heart stops.
My breath catches in my throat while my eyes are glued on that single line that emphasizes why we’re having this conversation.
Why Dr. Malcom legally had to tell us, the pack, how severe the current circumstances are…
My eyes further dip, forcing me to acknowledge the line beneath.
Estimated Life Expectancy:
3-6 Months without treatment.
I’m forced to swallow the lump in my throat, but the dread in my chest only further descends with the next line.
Treatment/Preventative care:
Incurable
“Fuck…” The words leave my lips because that’s the only thing I can get out without feeling like I’m drowning in devastation.
“This… this isn’t some sort of scare, right?” Nathaníel questions in disbelief.
“I’ve tripled check,” Dr. Malcom reveals. “I’ve done extra analyses that aren’t normally covered during initial pack review bloodwork.”
He takes a moment for his words to register in our frazzled minds.
“When you guys were hitting puberty, they tell you that rut blockers aren’t a long-term solution. They’re short term. To aid in controlling your urges so you don’t become addicted to their chemical balance,” Dr. Malcom revealssternly. “There’s a reason why they emphasize that when you’re in your teens.”
He looks between us as his expression looks more dire.
“The chemicals in these products are heinous to an Alpha’s hormonal system. You’re forcibly trying to stop your body from doing what it’s naturally created to do when placed in situations where you’re in an Omega-heightened environment,” he explains. “Even short-term usage has an onset of effects that causes internal damage more than a physical set of symptoms and side effects that make you visibly ‘sick.’ Alphas think we’re being nagging medical professionals, but they emphasize how dangerous these drugs are, and you guys just brush it off. Even go to compare yourself to Omegas with their line of contraceptives and how they come out just fine.”
He shakes his head in dismay.
“Let me tell you the hard truth with these preventative shit. If it’s not made naturally with weaker components, most of these medications are filled with carcinogens. Those are the shit that gets into your blood and becomes a long-term toxin until your vital organs are affected. You know why that shit doesn’t happen to Omegas?”
“W-Why?” I ask.
“Their Heats send a specific hormone that cleanses their blood. Compared to a normal woman who would have their period every month, Omegas have their Heat. The overstimulation in those few days spikes the hormonal antidote that floods through their bloodstream, cleansing any toxins that may try to remain and become cancerous. It doesn’t mean they’re not at risk of side effects or long-term effects, but their bodies are genetically made to prevent such.” He looks at both of us. “Alphas are NOT made to fight those hormonal spikes.”
“But what about the contraceptives and shit Omegas have to use,” Nathaníel argues. “Aren’t those riddled with risks?”
“They are, but you’re not thinking like a business person would.”
“Business person…” I whisper as my brain is one step ahead. Piecing things together, one by one. “There’s no benefit to an Omega being sick or unwell… versus an Alpha… No one gives a shit if we rot and die.”
“Bingo,” Dr. Malcom declares. “Not to say your importance in this world is insignificant because status, power, and finances all play a significant role in whether someone will live or die. In the general aspect, Omegas are threatened to be extinct at the current rate predicted by population analyses, making them a sacred race that needs to be protected at all costs.”
He looks at his desk and loads of files before him.
“Everyone is reviewing this movement as some sort of drastic power struggle to make Omegas seem more important than they are, but none of you are grasping just how vital having an Omega is going to be in a few years. How Omegas will soon be given the choice of having more than one pack to appease because there is just not enough to go around. You’re all going to realize that Alphas are the weakest link in this world without an Omega to help balance your own urges and needs. You think the government is doing this just to teach your cocky breed a lesson on how to treat an Omega?”
“Maybe,” I mutter, but deep down, I know they’re not. There’s a deeper reason. One they don’t want to give us the privilege to find out the easier way.
Dr. Malcom leans further back into his chair, staring in my direction.
“Do you know what happens to Alpha who doesn’t fuck get a whiff of an Omega’s scent in 90 days?”
“No…” I whisper, feeling Nathaníel’s gaze on us.
“They go feral.”
My lips dip in a deep frown as I envision the primitive side of my Alpha instincts kicking in enough for me to lose my damn mind.
“Feral, as in you’ll go from being the famous talent manager everyone fights to get a mere phone call from to a manic, growling, naked man on all fours who will live the rest of your life in a cage,” he summarizes while he picks up a pen and spins it between his fingers. “Or maybe the government will decide they don’t want to waste tax dollars on keeping you alive in captivity, so they’ll electrocute you,” he offers. “Before an audience, of course. You’d be a good puppet for entertainment.”
“That…”
“Doesn’t happen?” Dr. Malcom questions with a head tilt. He looks to Nathaníel. “I know you were in Europe for some time, Nathaníel. Tell me, is the cafe fighting scene over there still hush-hush, or are they boldly advertising the idea of Alphas fighting one another in cages in hopes of winning an Omega acceptance into her pack of feral Alphas?”
When I look at Nathaníel, his eyes darken.
“Bold and proud,” he mutters, trying not to look as devasted, despite it showing bluntly on his face. “Met a survivor and her pack. She got a massive tattoo on her back. Her pack that came in was five men, but she had tried to save more. Got those that perished names tattooed within the petals of blooming pink flowers. They call that shit the Feral Omega Games. Maddening shit that people spend millions on daily to keep going. The Omegas are orphans, volunteers, or kidnapped survivors.”
“Who would volunteer for that shit?” I whisper.
“They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. Most are in dire situations where they’re either forced into arranged marriages that will lead them down to an early grave of torture and mayhem or take their chances going to a place that is unknown,” he reveals. “If they cherish the idea of freedom and life enough, they’ll take the hopeful chance, despite obviously regretting it later.”
“Fuck…” I whisper. The whole scenario makes me remember how that other pack was trying to take Astraea away that night. If they had been successful, what would have stopped them from selling her to those types of industries, shipping her off, and receiving the loads of money they were desperate to have so they wouldn’t go bankrupt?
“Icarus.” Nathaníel’s hand is gripping my shoulder, forcing me out of my imaginative thoughts. “What’s upsetting you to go on a growling fit?”
Oops.
“The day I met Astraea, she was almost kidnapped by a pack who she rejected. They were just informed that their pack would be bankrupt in a few hours or some shit, and unless they got an Omega, they were screwed,” I confess. “I stopped them from hurting Astraea, but the idea of her…” I can’t even finish the sentence because it makes my blood boil.
From the growl that floats through the room, I know Nathaníel agrees that we’d never dare allow that to happen to our Rae.
“It would never happen,” Nathaníel assures me, as though reading my mind. “We wouldn’t allow that to happen. She’s ours now.”
I simply nod and look back to Dr. Malcom, who observes us.
“When you become a feral Alpha, the chances of reversing the effects are almost impossible,” he confesses.
“What?” I gasp.
“No fucking way,” Nathaníel adds on.
“It’s true,” Dr. Malcom admits. “And to be honest, I’d rather die from disease than face a fate like that.” He pulls out a different file and opens it up, displaying a bunch of charts.
“Which brings us back to Nathan Jr. As often as this scenario happens to Alphas across the world, it’s currently incurable.”
“It happens so often, yet there’s no cure,” I mutter. “No form of chemotherapy? How about radiation? I’m sure there has to be something.”
“Alphas aren’t like Omegas where if they have issues in their womb, they can just increase their risk of survival by having a hysterectomy,” Dr. Malcom emphasizes. “As I explained, there’s not enough funding or research being done to prevent this problem, which is why it’s deemed incurable. Even if you guys made the unanimous decision to be the first pack to try forms of treatment not ventured in, Nathaniel’s life expectancy is far too short. Vigorous tests would cost millions of dollars for quick results, and there are always chances of error. I also wouldn’t want you spending so much money on this, only to be a failure.”
“Money can be replaced,” Nathaníel quietly mutters. “My brother’s life can’t.”
“You realize money isn’t the issue here,” I stress. “We all have means of income. We can band together and get him the test he needs.”
We’re both stunned when Dr. Malcom laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Do you guys think money is the problem here?” When he looks between our confused expressions, he sighs. “You can order every test possibly available, whether they’re in a trial stage or give the best survival rate in the world. At the end of it all, if the client doesn’t want to take them, all you’re doing is wasting money.”
“W-What?” I’m confused enough to look at Nathaníel in hopes he can figure out what scenario is being painted here.
Cause I clearly don’t get it.
“We don’t understand,” Nathaníel reveals.
“Your brother won’t take the test.”
“How would you know?” Nathaníel argues and gestures to the bed where Nate is sleeping away. “He’s been unconscious this whole time.”
“1999,” Dr. Malcom announces, making us even more uncertain about what he’s trying to portray to us. “That’s how many Alphas have rejected treatment.” When we exchange looks, Dr. Malcom adds, “In the last month.”
My jaw drops.
“From my doctoral institute alone,” he reveals. “This is not a hospital or clinic statistic. This is the number of Alphas who have rejected my treatment this month, despite learning of their incurable health status that will lead them to an early grave within three to six months.”
When we can’t comprehend it all, he shrugs.
“What stops us the most in retrieving life-saving treatment for the Alpha population isn’t solely due to money or the government’s ignorance,” he declares. “It’s your anatomy that makes you all stubborn, cocky assholes who believe you’re invincible.”
He points over to Nathan Jr., looking even more disappointed at his sleeping frame.
“I’ll bet you one million dollars, I will tell your packmate his diagnosis and prognosis, and he will laugh in my face. He will laugh long and hard as though he’s not on a ticking time bomb and insult my intelligence and schooling because he’s invincible. His family is all in good health, so there’ll be no possible way for such a young Alpha like him to suffer such a short, tragic end,” he summarizes as if he can see it unravel before his eyes. “I’ll suggest he looks at the documents, and he won’t. He’ll call me any word that portrays a medical fraud and request to be discharged because he has places to see, things to do, and random Omega prostitutes to fuck.”
“He can’t fuck,” Nathaníel notes. “In fact, he can’t be sexually active, can he?”
“He shouldn’t,” Dr. Malcom answers calmly. “But the internal health decline will spike his sexual drive. The craving for the rut blockers will also grow the moment we try to wean him off of them, seeing as he’s been addicted to them since his teenage years. His denial, matched with the mere idea of him losing out on life itself, will drive him into partying harder, fucking more, and competitively proving he has plenty of life left in him to do what he wants. To him, all of this will be some sort of ploy scare to force him into accepting Astraea as the Omega of the group,” he summarizes.
I may not want to accept that everything that’s being portrayed is something Nathan Jr. would do, but I won’t act oblivious that everything Dr. Malcom said is true.
“So… my brother is fucked,” Nathaníel concludes.
I have to look at him because the slight tremble in his voice makes me realize how hard this must be for him to take in.
Especially when it was only a few years ago when he lost Suzy.
“I only have one very vigorous treatment plan for these cases, but I doubt Nathaniel will go through it,” Dr. Malcom admits. “And if it’s not started ASAP, conducting it will only be in vain with such a tiny life expectancy.”
“We can force him to take it,” Nathaníel suggests. “Has anyone survived these measures you suggest? Is there maybe a way to contact the survivor to come and speak to my brother and make him realize how serious this is?”
“Yes. One person has survived the measures I have in mind,” he reveals, giving us a spike of hope. “But again, I doubt their arrival will be the push your brother needs to realize every precious second wasted could bring him a step closer to salvation.”
“We can try,” I urge. “Please, Dr. Malcom. Who is the survivor? Are you able or allowed to share such info? Would they be willing to help?”
“Of course, they’re willing to help,” Dr. Malcom emphasizes. “And as to who the survivor is, well… you’re looking at them.”
We stare back at him in disbelief, catching on rather quickly.
“You…” It’s the only word I can get out.
“And you’re still alive…” Nathaníel acknowledges the obvious.
“Diagnosed at twenty-five. Forced into vigorous therapy for six months. Was cancer-free in a year. Do preventative therapy once every quarter to ensure it stays that way while monitoring my current health status.”
“Forced.” I try to wonder who would have forced him into doing this.
“Either I lost the Omega I was madly in love by not doing therapy or lost everything,” he summarizes with a shrug. “My risky pregnant Omega was going to deal with worrying about my ass to the point of losing her surprise baby. So I was left with a choice.”
He looks specifically at me.
“And that choice is the reason why you, of all people, have to be the leader of the pack dealing with the same instance we dealt with twenty-plus years ago.” He gives me a sad smile. “I don’t regret Velvet forcing me. In fact, I’m in forever debt to her because my ego back then would have landed me in an early grave.”
He leans forward to place his elbows on the desk and press his hands together.
“I pray Nathaniel gets the wakeup call he needs to face this merciless storm, but remember, at the end of the day, it’s his choice to accept his fate or live in denial. Doesn’t matter how much you want to save him. He has to want to be able to save himself.”
“Did you want to save yourself back then?” I ask, looking him dead in the eye.
“I did,” he confesses, the admission barely audible. “Because after all the partying, the drugs, the lies, and endless laughter, I knew in my heart that not one of those individuals who revolved their life around me would be at my funeral.”
My heart clenches at the truth.
“The one mourning me would be the Omega I didn’t listen to. Those who would carry my casket were my pack members who tried to speak sense to me. The ones who would carry the memories we shared in their hearts are those I positively impacted.” He smiles at the melancholy of it all. “All those I fucked and played around with? The fake friends and packs who told me to come into their circle of support would have ditched me the moment I became a burden. They’d forget me faster than a stream of wind passing a tombstone.”
He closes his eyes.
“And that’s a decision Nathaniel has to make… and regret if he chooses the wrong one.”
He opens his eyes, allowing the tension in his muscles to fade.
“You have a few days before he’ll wake up. Due to his injuries and written alerts of past admission incidents, he’ll be given sedatives to ease his recovery and ensure he’ll be able to wake up at a controlled rate that won’t risk any spiked hormones or potential side effects that may not have reached the surface.”
“So all we do now is wait,” I conclude.
“Yes.” He nods. “He won’t die in a week, but I’d suggest you speak with your pack this week about it. At least before the tour rolls out,” he suggests. “I’ll get everything organized to submit to the government. This will ensure you guys can keep busy and not be punished by the movement, but I will hold off in submitting the details of Nate’s health condition.”
“‘Cause if you do submit it?” Nathaníel asks.
“It’ll be up to the government to let him live the lifestyle he wishes until his final breath, or they’ll enjoy the honors of disposing of him in a way that is most profitable,” Dr. Malcom concludes. “I can take a wild guess that Nate Jr. is not a multi-millionaire, so you can take a good guess which option will be given to him due to lack of ‘connection,’ yes?”
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat at the idea of the government stepping in to “quicken the deed.”
“This society is fucked,” Nathaníel whispers.
“Yet, it’s something none of us can escape because this is our birthright,” Dr. Malcom replies. “Why don’t you two go check on your Omega and pack mates? It’s been a long conversation with lots to go over. Go be with the ones who make you feel alive and blessed.”
Alive and blessed.
“Thank you, Dr. Malcom,” Nathaníel whispers.
“Just Malcom is fine,” he assures us and gives us a softened smile. “Whatever happens going forward is going to be a challenge, but remember to rely on one another for strength, and most importantly, begin to live life with purpose because so many don’t get such a golden opportunity.”
When we leave, the silence is deafening between us. I know something needs to be said. That we need to urgently tackle the news revealed to us, but no type of plan formulates in my mind.
Reaching the sleeping nests, I realize Kenji and Kai are already inside, snuggled next to our Omega, who’s barely keeping her eyes open, yet she’s smiling so radiantly.
Opening the door, I wait for Nathaníel to follow me inside before I take the few steps that land me into the very comfy-looking nest.
“Welcome back,” Astraea mutters and yawns. “We were waiting… so we can take a nap.”
“A power nap,” Kenji mumbles and opens his eyes slightly. “Y’all look like shit.”
“You’re blunt when you’re barely awake,” Kai notes with a deep voice, as though he’d fallen asleep and only now woke up. “You guys good?”
I’m not sure how to answer. That could be what has Astraea raising her arm out to me, her hand gesturing for me to come forward.
Without a word, I walk over to them until I’m squeezing myself between the wall and behind Astraea, then lowering until I can find a way to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her onto my lap.
She giggles at my rather selfish move, especially when Kai and Kenji were here first, but I need to hold her for a few moments.
Maybe a few hours.
“What’s wrong, Icarus?” That softened voice is like a heartfelt melody. “Are you mad at me?”
“Never,” I reply instinctively because deep within my heart, I know I couldn’t be angry with her. Fuck, she could kill, and I’d take the fall, then be mad.
“Then?” She leans back enough so she can peer up at me with her tired eyes. She looks so beautiful. Like a Sleeping Beauty who just woke up from years of slumber. “Why do you look so sad?”
Am I sad?
I can’t remember the last time I acknowledged my emotions. Allowed myself to accept that something or someone hurt me to this point where I feel like I’m sinking into a void of sadness.
“Nathaníel?” Kenji croaks, forcing us to look at the standing Alpha, and how he stares at a tiny marking on the side of his thumb—a mark I realize is a little tattoo.
It’s not his fascination with the mark that has us all concerned.
It’s the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Nathaniel?” Astraea’s voice is soft and tender, carrying a welcoming call. It’s enough to catch Nathaníel’s attention, and those tear-filled eyes lock on whatever expression our little Omega is giving him. “Come,” she whispers.
For a second, I can see him questioning himself, but a second later, he’s taking the necessary steps to land himself near our little cuddling nest with Astraea. Kneeling into the nest, he ends up lying down so his head is resting in Astraea’s lap.
She doesn’t make any comment about it.
She just runs her hands through his hair while he focuses on the mark on his thumb, tears still streaming down his flushed cheeks.
I don’t know how long we’re silent, but I hold my breath when Nathaníel ends up saying something.
“I promised her,” he whispers. “Suzy. That… I’d take care of him. That I wouldn’t let another sibling perish senselessly…”He fights hard not to sob, but the whimper is heart-wrenching as his parted lips tremble. “Maybe this is fucking karma. Payback for him sending Suzy away with those bastards, but… where does that leave me? Why… does… it hurt… so fucking much…”
Astraea’s arms snake around his neck, pulling him against her.
“It’s okay for it to hurt,” she whispers while her words seem to resonate with all of us. “Pain means we’re still alive. The agony emphasizes that our hearts are still beating. Which also means we can do something about it. Destiny isn’t written in stone, even if it feels as if there’s no way out of this void of hopelessness.”
Her words are almost like a musical masterpiece.
Written words of knowledge woven in a way we can all relate to.
Where we can all understand and accept that the lows are a part of life.
Just like the highs.
“My little bro… has cancer. Stage… four…” He’s sobbing by the time he tries to finish the diagnosis, but Astraea won’t let him finish. She just holds him even tighter as she calmly hums words of encouragement, leaving me to give up on fighting the tears that threatened to fall even before I left the room.
Kai’s and Kenji’s devastated looks prove neither of them was expecting this. They don’t hesitate to reach out with comforting hands, doing their part in giving both of us some form of touch to remind us that they’re here.
That we’re all together.
I know when we leave this room, we’ll have to get back to our lives. Jump back into the swing of life, starting this tour and pretending as one of our pack members isn’t going to ‘not exist’ anymore in a few months.
Deep down, I’ve accepted that none of this is going to be easy, but unlike in the past, when I felt like I was dealing with dreadful circumstances on my own, I can look around this nest and feel supported.
Loved.
The reins from this point onward will be up to Nathaniel Jr. to grasp and whip, for I know I no longer can carry the weight of it all on my shoulders.
It’s not my weight to bear, and maybe that’s why having an Omega in your lives is essential to realize how important this balance is to both our kinds.
Without Omegas, we fall down a hole no one can prepare us for…
Without Alphas, Omegas are trapped in circumstances they’re desperate to run away from…
“We’ll get through this together, okay?” Astraea says those hopeful words, not just to Nathaníel but to all of us.
For the first, I want to believe them with all my heart.