38. Kallis
Kallis
“You’re safe now, Bee,” Artie says as he presses close, though he’s shaking harder than I am. “They can’t get to you anymore, okay?”
He’s far more distressed than I am. I simply stand there as he rubs his face against my shoulder, fiercely marking me as he wraps his hands around my waist.
“You’re with us now, so pay attention to me. Think of how sexy I am; that works for everything!” he says brightly. I can sense he’s trying to be strong, but I don’t have the capacity to respond and reassure him that I’m fine because I have to admit to myself that I’m not.
We’re in a private dining area, with disorienting yellow, red, and green patterns painted on the walls, and a black rectangular table with eight chairs around it.
Mathan and Artie stay standing, I suspect because my knees are locked and I can’t move now that we’re finally alone. I think I’ll collapse if I even blink. I’m like a doll trapped in its case.
Orso stands five feet away from us, watching like he did the last time his mates embraced me. He says nothing, and all he gives is a hard expression.
I jolt as Artie’s fingers sweep the spots where Father pinched me, and he instantly gasps.
“I’m sorry, Bee. Bee, I’m so, so sorry. Does he do that to you all the time? You can’t see them again, okay? You can only stay with us. Why don’t you take your dress off and I can kiss it better?”
“Is this really the time?” Mathan asks as he runs his hands over my shoulder like he can brush away my mother’s touch.
“Kallis, we’re going to keep holding you; is that alright?” Mathan’s voice is clear, each word defined to make sure I can hear him through the white noise that heightens my nausea.
It’s yet another great display of their ability to do something first and ask questions later.
I nod numbly, and he sighs with relief. In any other situation, where I’ve been triggered so badly that I’ve shut down, the way he molds himself to my back would have caused me to pass out. But he blankets me with his soft wildflowers, and it’s exactly what I need.
The worry in their scents is explicit, but simply smelling them helps me relax. But it’s nowhere near enough, and my cloying panic rushes through me, so vast that I’m going to be swallowed up.
It hurts too much.
I don’t understand why seeing my parents was that intense. It’s not uncommon for me to react to them that way, but my heart has never ached this badly, and there weren’t the unconscious whimpers that spring from me each time Mathan kisses my temple and Artie squeezes me.
What if my parents realized who these three are to me?
What if the team saw them holding me? Will I be exposed?
Will I lose my position not only with the Bears, but with the hospital as well?
Is everything I’ve worked for in my life going to disappear from one encounter between my parents and my scent matches?
No matter how much I want to fight, I can’t stop what’s coming. My breath cuts out, my chest swells, and I choke again.
I need to focus my thoughts to reduce the dizziness, but it’s too fast.
Gasping, heaving, gagging. All I need to do is let my panic attack take its natural course.
But the buildup is so different from usual. Artie and Mathan hold me, murmuring words of support, encouraging me, loving me. The person I knew, the self who could challenge my parents in any situation, no matter how much they disturbed me, is clawing to stay in control.
And Orso is too far away.
My omega side is telling me I need him more than ever.
The more heightened my emotions, the more I can feel Orso inside me.
When every nerve in my body is wired, he’s my relief.
I need his connection to find myself again, and my emotions are too extreme to fight my hate of traditional designation roles.
I stretch out a hand like last time, not expecting him to answer.
He stares at my shaking fingers as if I’m asking him to perform an impossible task.
“I need physical contact until the defense mechanism has stopped,” I gasp as my breaths grow shorter. I have to force the words out before I start fully hyperventilating. “I won’t ask for anything else.”
My chest burns, and I’m desperately gulping air.
I should have turned to either alpha beside me, pulled them into a kiss, and asked them to feed me oxygen. But all my senses are drawn to the man who’s refused to move since we entered the room.
“Orso,” I groan. “I don’t care if you despise me. But I can’t breathe without you.”
“Hey, Bee, you know that’s super romantic, right?” Artie asks. “Like, if you said that to me, I’d be a puddle right now. Why don’t you say any of that romantic stuff to me? Let me distract you.”
I can’t answer Artie, not like this.
The longer Orso stays away, the more urgent my fight-or-flight responses become. I can’t fight myself and my body, and I’m unable to move and flee when I’m shutting down so intensely.
“Orso, come here,” Mathan says. “She only needs one touch.”
Orso’s lips thin, and his scent sours in displeasure, yet he still steps toward us.
As soon as he clasps my hand, a wave of relief shudders through me.
I thought I would stop trembling, and the panic rattling me to my core would abide.
But the second his warm skin meets mine, I heave in a breath, gasping like I’ve been drowning and I’ve suddenly broken through the surface.
A low whine echoes from me as my legs give way, and Mathan and Artie cry out in surprise as they catch me.
I was wrong. I still can’t breathe.
The world has gone white.
I can hear them calling me, but it makes no difference. I’m convulsing, my agitation so strong my eyes roll.
I pull Orso’s hand up to my face, bringing the back to my lips, searching for his scent. I inhale his sweetened clover, and the shakes that have been wracking my body increase.
Another whimper, a whine, and a cry as I squeeze my eyes, and I choke again.
Aspen drilled into me that it’s not natural to have a panic attack after spending time with my parents.
I believed it was simply part of my relationship with them, and I still saw them regularly.
I’d come home, return to my nest, and hyperventilate for at least five minutes before I could continue with my day.
The difference is that those situations were controlled; I knew they were going to happen. Not the embarrassing spectacle I’m making of myself now.
I’m certain something cracks inside me, and fear drains out as the pain in my waist from my father’s pinches magnifies. Tears drop as I desperately search for a way to breathe.
Emotions I’ve kept trapped inside me for years storm up, escaping me in panicked cries that have Mathan and Artie holding me tighter, as Orso watches me in shock.
I don’t want anyone to see this aspect of myself, the weakness that chews me up at the most inconvenient moments. But I can’t hide this from them.
Until Orso presses his lips to my forehead, and his scent grows thicker.
“We’re right here,” he murmurs as he grips me. “Breathe with me.” His chest expands as he inhales before he slowly exhales and repeats, but I struggle to match his rhythm.
My thoughts won’t stop: my parents might ruin my research, blacklist me in all medical fields, and take me away from the three alphas that mean too much to me.
“Just keep breathing, Kallis. Slowly now, you’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you.” Orso cups my cheek, warmth flooding my face as he watches me with his hard gaze.
I’ve never seen Orso look so worried, like he really does care. I tilt my head, nuzzling into his hand as my breathing steadies.
They create a wall around me, stopping anything from attacking me. I’m indestructible with their force and their weight covering me from all sides.
They don’t ask anything of me. They breathe with me, soothing me with their touch.
It doesn’t stop immediately, but my episodes rarely slow after two minutes.
“Are you okay?” Mathan asks softly as the tension in my muscles finally eases.
What reply am I supposed to give that will stop them from worrying about me? Each scent is layered with fear, worry, and pain of different intensities, and I’m to blame.
No wonder Orso scowls whenever he looks at me if I inspire this kind of response from his mates.
“I’ll manage,” I gasp, my throat so dry it aches.
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” Mathan replies, pushing my hair aside with his nose, turning his head so his cheek rests against mine. My eyelids flutter, and another slow exhale calms my heart at his closeness.
Who would have guessed that I would ever be so comfortable with physical contact?
Mathan and Artie both eye Orso as I cling to his hand, refusing to let him go.
I’m so shaken by my violent reaction to my parents that I don’t have the mental capacity to question the state of their pack dynamic.
“Let us take you home,” Mathan says. “It’s not safe for you to be alone like this.”
Artie perks up instantly, pulling back from my shoulder to look at Mathan with a beaming smile. “Oh my God, that’s such a perfect idea. Bee, you’re going to love our cottage. Mathan has spent years working on it, and it’s so freaking pretty. Not as pretty as you, of course.”
“I meant her home, Artie. Not ours,” Mathan says, trying to temper his mate’s excitement. The taste of Artie’s disappointment is thick on my tongue, but so is Orso’s discomfort, and Mathan’s steady concern.
Entering their home feels like a step too far, no matter how much my body sings at the idea.
I lift a limp hand, squeezing Artie’s biceps, a rush of exhaustion sweeping through me.
“My house is five minutes away from the restaurant. It won’t be an issue if I go by myself.”
“We can walk you,” Orso says roughly, still holding me despite how awkward he looks.
“Please. I’d like to be alone,” I say, staring at the floor, already thoroughly humiliated.
I need to organize my thoughts and try to quell my shame at my weakness. It’s obvious from my response why it’s safer to keep myself contained rather than share anything with them. Because being vulnerable with them means I’m more open to outside forces.
But it feels impossible to do when I’m certain the best remedy for my panic attack is to curl up with them, fall asleep, and let these alphas protect me.