25
After spending days by Noah’s side, I stand in my doorway alone tonight, reeling at how strange it feels to come home to an empty cottage. I thought I’d be used to it from now on, even if I snuggled up with a new partner for a few nights, but the longer I stand in the silence, the more my gut aches, hunching me over.
While Mom was quiet and guarded, she had a playful side that would make Dad laugh his weirdest, most contagious laughs, which I was convinced were the definition of a “guffaw.” Dad was tender with his words, careful to choose what he wanted to say so he could heal your heart in a single sentence. On the worst days, Mom would swoop in during Dad’s sage advice with steady hugs to top it all off - only before watching our favorite comfort movies with a big bowl of popcorn, just the three of us.
Between missing my parents and my newfound mate, I bite back searing tears. Rushing to the bathroom, I bury my head beneath the showerhead before my emotions spill over and reveal too much.
After showering off dirt and wolf slobber, I find a few of Noah’s shirts in the bag he left. My shoulders soften as I smash my face into one of them. God, yes. It all smells like him.
Immersed in his scent from both his shirt and where his head rested on my pillow, I’m soothed enough to sleep. But I still toss and turn all night, aching for Noah.
By the time my alarm goes off at 5 AM, I’m unbearably frustrated. I don’t want to wake Noah by linking him, but I already miss him enough for my wolf to pace frantically in our bond - like she can’t stop searching for him, in fear he’ll never return.
But in my heart, I know I’m scared of more than him “not returning.” I’m scared he’ll return to me as something else entirely, taking off a mask to reveal he’s someone who loves to twist my wildest dreams into my greatest nightmares.
Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing Noah again more than anything. Hopefully this school day will go by quickly, and Noah and I can train my wolf to shift.
But I’m excited to see my kids today too. My hands make deft work of braiding my hair - protecting it from grabby hands - and throwing on breathable clothing I can run around in.
After a quick breakfast, I head out the door with an unsteady heart. I still feel ridiculous for wanting Noah’s attention so badly. Maybe it’s more extreme after being lonely for so long.
An unfamiliar rock catches my eye on my porch, startling me into pausing on the first step. Beneath the rock, there’s a note.
Out of reflex from the past few days, I sniff it. Then I burst out laughing at myself. I really am a wolf.
This totally smells like Noah, though. I try to stifle my overbearing excitement as I unfurl the note.
I didn’t want to wake you but I couldn’t stop thinking about you and went on an early perimeter run. Link me when you’re headed to work and I’ll walk with you.
I find myself with a goofily huge grin on my face and groan.
Okay, fine. I give up. I’m hopelessly into Noah.
I mindlink him, my massive smile still glued to my face. Good morning, my shy Alpha. What gives you the right to be so adorable?
Our bond flutters with warmth from Noah’s end, and I giggle.
God, I missed you so fucking badly,he mindlinks.
I missed you too. Please hurry back to me.
Believe me, I’m on my way. But don’t wait for me - I’ll meet you on your route so you’re not late for work. Which path do you take into town?
Sweet Alpha, thinking of my needs.
The second I link him this gentle tease, I hold his letter to my chest, laughing at how flustered we both are through our bond. Noah can’t bear to speak, too overwhelmed with shy excitement, and I laugh out loud on my porch to myself.
I always take the road that passes Ms. Jensen’s farm, I mindlink. The one with the cows, horses, and the vineyard. Have you seen it?
Sure have. Plenty of times.
Wait... Is she a wolf too?
Sure is. See you soon, sweet Omega.
I rush down my porch, overcome by excitement. I didn’t think I’d get to see Noah before work. I want to kiss him, first thing.
By the time I speed-walk out of my section of the forest, I have to slow to catch my breath. Wait, we didn’t choose where we’ll meet on the path. Can he still track me while I’m walking so fast? I’m already a quarter mile from Ms. Jensen’s farm.
I jump as the bush to my right gives a violent shake. The animal inside scratches through the dirt until–
A chicken bursts through the bushes, flapping her golden-brown feathers. I scream, my back slamming against the nearest tree, which makes her scream too.
I grip my chest, struggling to catch my breath. “Oh, my God, where did you come from, baby? Are you one of Mrs. Jensen’s girls? Terry? Nancy, maybe?” She pecks at some worms in the dirt. “...No? Well, Little Miss Jensen, I don’t think you’re supposed to be out h–”
Little Miss Jensen has had enough. With a violent flap of her wings and claws outstretched, she charges at me, revealing her dinosaur ancestry. And I reveal my own survival tactics passed down for generations, jumping higher than I knew was possible with my knees tucked and voice screeching throughout the forest until I’m sure someone a mile away must hear me. Then I sprint.
I don’t stop until her clucks have faded. Gathering my wits is painful once I realize I’ve dragged myself all the way to Mrs. Jensen’s farm. I almost wish no one really was nearby on the off chance they saw what just happened – I’d never want to show my face in Greenfield again. But as I dust off my clothes and bite back my embarrassment, a sharp movement catches the corner of my eye.
This time I’m too scared to run. This creature was silent. Eyeing me.
I shriek when it moves.
“S-shit, sorry–” I’m met by Noah’s apologetic, wide eyes, emerging from the bushes beside the cows. My shoulders droop in relief.
But as Mrs. Jensen’s brown cow peeks from behind a bale of hay to give Noah a wary moo, I can’t help but laugh. “How’d a wolf get in the cow pen?”
He flushes, dropping my stare with a grin. “I had to put my clothes back on somewhere private.”
Maybe it’s the thrill of seeing him again, or the relief of finding my mate in the bushes instead of another threat, but my imagination is on fire. Arousal courses through me as I picture Noah shifting in the bushes, his bare body caressed by the morning sun. Noah’s clearly aware of it, his jaw clenching.
His eyes widen as I charge at him with a wide smile. Fresh facial scruff scrapes my fingertips as I throw myself into his arms, smashing our lips together with my full weight. Noah catches me, but he doesn’t stop there. Squeezing me closer by the waist, he leans to gain a fuller reach of my lips. My lips part on their own, itching to taste him.
Noah’s tongue slips against mine without hesitation, and a fiery spark of lust grinds my hips into him. He grunts softly into my open mouth, kissing me even harder as he grips my hips for more. I pat the space behind myself without looking, feeling for a mass of cool leaves. Once I’m sure we’ll land somewhere soft, I yank him by the jacket collar with me, toppling into the bushes.
Noah sucks in a surprised breath, easily catching me, but my giggling is cut off by a fierce kiss.
Blood pools between my legs, heating my whole face with it, but as Noah’s kisses deepen, a tangible heartbeat forms in my core. Each pulse sends another wave of pleasure to my groin, soaking my panties.
He must be able to smell it; with a deep inhale, Noah groans, tearing himself away from my lips with red cheeks. “Feisty Omega, you’re killing me. We have to stop here, or else you’ll really be late.”
I flush, the chill morning air no longer noticeable in the slightest as Noah’s bulging pants nudge my belly. “Then we better hurry and separate before my wolf jumps you again.”
Noah chuckles, taking my hand. We brush ourselves off with sneaky glances and shared giggles before heading on our way.
I hug Noah’s arm on the path to town, shocked by my behavior as reality sinks in.
I can’t remember the last time I threw myself at someone like that - diving for Noah’s lips as if I’m sure he wanted me there as badly as I wanted to burrow into him. I’ve been all instinct since meeting Noah. But I guess my instincts were right; he enjoyed it as much as I did, still adjusting his pants as we walk. My cheeks burn, struggling to absorb that this gorgeous man existed in Greenfield this whole time.
“Are you okay?” He peeks at me. His lips are still bright red and swollen.
I giggle. “Yes. I’m just having a shy Omega moment.”
Noah chuckles, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t think I didn’t want to continue. I’ve been dying to feel you next to me, ever since we said goodbye last night.” After an abrupt pause, Noah sucks in a tight breath. “N-not in a sexual way. Well, I guess sexually would be nice too, but, um... I care about you, romantically and emotionally, and–”
I giggle, rubbing his arm. “I feel the same. It was hard to sleep without you. But I don’t mean to pressure you either. I understand you’re busy and can’t visit all the way out here every night.”
“I can make time for you.” His soft but bold declaration flutters my heart. “And I did actually try to visit late last night, but I figured you needed some space.”
“What? What made you think that?”
Noah shrugs. “Your door was locked. Which is perfectly fine. I want to respect your boundaries–”
Panic grips my chest, tightening my hold on his arm. “No, wait. I thought it was unlocked, like I told you I would leave it for you. Are you sure?”
He furrows his brows, not quite understanding my sudden fear. “Yeah, I’m sure... Why? What’s wrong?”
My gut sinks lower and lower as I trace back my steps last night. It never sunk in, but it happened: the silent war between my compulsions and what I actually wanted. Stopping at the door, locking it without thought. Realizing it’s locked and unlocking it while cooking dinner. The quiet, gnawing burn in the back of my mind, guiding me back to the door. Locking it. Unlocking. Locking again. Growling at the lock, tearing it back open, and demanding it stays that way. Giving up, falling asleep unsure if I really did lock it or not before bed.
But fuck, apparently I did. I’m relapsing worse than I realized, and I wouldn’t have even noticed unless Noah pointed it out.
Fear pins me to Noah’s side, just as we cross the border between Greenfield and Westview. And of course, Noah spirals into concern with me, our bond giving everything away. Confusion etches into his forehead, followed by a deep worry when I don’t continue walking.
I’m not prepared to tell Noah I have OCD.
Door locking was one compulsion Jenny and I worked on forever ago. I had hundreds of other compulsions to sort through, but we tackled this one first; I couldn’t stand how I used to waste hours on fucking doorknobs every night.
But it wasn’t just the front door. I’d repeatedly lock my front, back, and side doors - waiting for just the right click. I’d close all the other doors without locks, and hang bells on the main doors in case someone opened them. Ever since my ex broke in and...
We’re stopped where the farmland meets the river, the town waiting across the bridge. Noah pulls me closer, his eyes only on me despite the gorgeous scenery. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay...”
He raises one eyebrow at my obvious lie, and I laugh in embarrassment.
Noah has no idea about any of this, and I know he’d be understanding... If I took the time to explain. And pushed past the fear of him thinking less of me for my disorder.
But I don’t know how much I want to share just yet. How far I want to let him in.
Those teal, gentle eyes pull the truth out of me anyway. “Sometimes I’ll feel a deep, unavoidable urge to do things out of fear, even if I know they’re not logical,” I mutter. He’s still listening, and it’s out there now, so I continue. “I’ve worked in therapy to feel better and stop doing these things, but sometimes it creeps back on its own.”
He takes a moment to digest this, readjusting his grip on my hands. “W-what do you mean? What types of things?”
“Things like the lock. I used to be afraid someone would come in if I didn’t lock it correctly, but I’d lock it repeatedly until it felt ‘right.’ It was excessive, to say the least.”
Noah’s expression remains stoic, but I know he’s distressed beneath the surface. My throat tightens.
But then he asks, “If that was in the past, what’s making you afraid again now?”
My stomach flips. “Oh. I don’t know.”
“Is it what we talked about? With my dad?”
“No. Absolutely not.” I pull him closer, ensuring he knows I’m serious. “It’s not you, Noah. Please don’t think that. I think I’m torn because I’m happier than I’ve been in years when I’m with you. At the same time, I’m stressed from all this change, even though it’s what I’ve always wanted. And sometimes even good stress makes me feel like I have to do... things. To try to cope, or hang on to control. Like re-locking the door without realizing it.”
“O-oh...”
Maybe I made a mistake. Or shared too much. Or confused him. Or–
“I-is it–?” Noah shakes his head to stop himself.
But I step closer, touching his chest. “Is it, what? You can ask.”
“Is it... From trauma?”
“Part of it, yeah. I’ve always done a few of these things, but it got really bad after my parents died.” My voice shrinks as I speak. “And then... Something else happened. At my cabin. Something that makes me want to lock the doors, even if no one knows where I live.”
Noah’s expression darkens. Our bond sparks with concern.
And deep, boiling anger.
I grab his hand, unable to meet those gorgeous eyes.
But he holds tight, grounding me to the earth. “Is there any way I can help you feel less afraid of that happening again?”
At first, I’m overcome with affection that he’d think to ask.
But he’s staring, waiting for an answer.
Whirring through possibilities, no solution seems to stick except eventually having Noah there for the most extreme Prolonged Exposure session for my PTSD yet: having a male figure enter my home, unannounced, and with no further explanation. Noah would be the first man I’d trust to help me with an exposure this deep, knowing he’d never actually hurt me. Eventually, my brain would realize that not everyone who walks through my door is entering to hurt me.
But God, I don’t even know how to categorize that type of exposure. Would it also include Exposure and Response Prevention, considering I’ve developed OCD compulsions around locks? I’d need Jenny’s guidance on juggling triggers from both disorders at once, the mere idea sending my head spinning.
I’m not ready for that yet, even with Jenny’s help. If I give Noah a key in the meantime, it won’t stop a potential severe PTSD flashback when Noah enters on his own. I can’t imagine how terrifying that would be for him - coming home to me shaking and crying like I’m dying over something so seemingly simple. Relying on the key would also give OCD another excuse to lock the door, intensifying its power over me.
But is this really about keys and locks, or am I avoiding the past again?
I groan, dropping my jumbled head. “I-I don’t know, I’m confusing myself. I’ve never had anyone to help with this besides Amy, and it’s... complicated. I don’t want to accidentally make things worse, so I’ll have to ask my therapist what to do.”
Noah pulls me closer, stroking my hand with his thumb. “Okay. Please let me know. I want to help.”
His soft voice fills me with enough warmth to want to cry, but it’s too early in the morning for that.
So I wrap my arms around his waist, nuzzling into his chest. “I like this, though. Can we just stay like this the whole day? I don’t want to go to work.”
It’s an obvious breach of subject, but Noah chuckles, cuddling me back. “Me neither. I wish I could hold you all day, trust me.”
But I have to go to work. So I do - hours zipping by in a chaotic haze.
After two toddler meltdowns and a full day of soothing a scared three-year-old who wouldn’t let go of my pants leg, I’m exhausted by the time the last preschooler is picked up by their grown-up.
I can’t stop thinking about what I told Noah about my disorder. At least he responded better than my ex, but what if...?
I stop myself there, recognizing that “what if” thought pattern early this time.
Fuck. I’m scared shitless. I never want to feel like this is taking over my life again. I don’t want to relapse. I can’t. I’d never want anyone else with OCD to feel ashamed, but it’s always been adept at making me feel like an exception. The one who ruins everything.
I’m so embarrassed that I have to tell Noah about this at all. That it could ruin his peace.
No matter how much I don’t want to, I call Jenny without dwelling further. Might as well get a jump-start on making myself uncomfortable on purpose. Show my disorder who’s the boss.
But when Jenny hears my recount of multiple compulsions I’ve noticed, she has news I don’t want to hear. “How about we start seeing each other twice a week again for a bit? Catch this early, and get you in a better place?”
“I should be fine, though, shouldn’t I? What if I’m just being ridiculous, and I–”
I cut myself off, realizing I’m criticizing myself for needing support and using words like “should” again. It petrifies me.
But Jenny’s voice remains steady. “You’re going to get there, I know it. You can do hard things.”
“I know. I can do hard things.”
I schedule an emergency appointment with Jenny for tomorrow, knowing it’s for my best interest. But as I hang up, I burst into tears on the playground bench.
I hate this. I’m living a nightmare I can’t escape. Why is it always when I’m finally happy that things implode again? I turn my back to the school windows, hoping no co-workers see me upset.
A hint of sadness creeps through our bond. One that’s not coming from my gushing pool of it.
Sweet Omega, where are you?