Chapter 18 Nelly #2
“Should I be worried?” That wasn’t the question I wanted to ask, because obviously I couldn’t have some abnormality only affecting Betas.
“It’s not life threatening,” he shrugged. “You’re done.”
“Okay.” I hesitated; the arm rests were still lowered on the chair.
He looked at me when I didn’t move. “That means you can leave,” he said bluntly, lifting both armrests and then turning his attention away from me again.
I stood up quickly, feeling lightheaded from the combination of frayed nerves, blood loss, and the scent extraction which I’d never experienced before.
My body swayed dangerously, and my head felt fuzzy.
My hands instinctively went to cover the bandages on my neck, the reality of my situation crashing down on me.
Little prickles of pain bloomed at the touch of my palms. I dropped my arms, wincing.
My lashes fluttered, vision darkening at the edges. I really might pass out.
“Oh, you’re one of those.” The tech’s disgruntled tone pushed through the haze. “Drink this.” Something small and cool pushed into my right hand. “And then eat this.” Something crinkly and hard was forced into my left hand. My fingers curled instinctively around both items.
“Thanks,” I muttered, though I didn’t know what he’d given me.
“No thanks necessary. It’s protocol for unstable patients.” Unstable patients. What a rude person.
My eyes fall on the shimmering lavender that was so recently safe inside my body. If the samples went to a lab, they wouldn't find Beta gland abnormalities. Would they discover I was an Omega pretending to be a Beta? What kind of testing would they do?
Here I was relying on a wooden bracelet to hide my secret, when a place like Eros existed with state-of-the-art mobile clinics and hot new ferality blockers hitting the market.
God, I was an idiot to think this situation could last for me.
It had always only been a matter of time, and all I could hope was I didn’t mess up Crystal’s job when mine imploded.
I hurried down the metal steps of the mobile clinic, nearly tripping as I glanced down to see the electrolyte tonic and protein bar from the lab tech. I didn’t bother glancing at the few still waiting dancers. I did exactly what Jade had done—shot like an arrow towards the club’s back entrance.
Back inside, cool air and the perfume of Club Midnight slammed into me.
Everything about the place had provided me comfort these past months, but now the sweetness pouring through the vents had a slightly acrid taint.
Maybe because my subconscious was worried about the samples, it was already trying to warp this place into something I could stop loving.
I moved through the back halls, past the changing room and rear offices, and out into the entertainment lounge.
The minute I spotted a trashcan, I tossed the protein bar and juice into it.
I didn’t want to consume anything from that jerky Beta.
Per instructions, I made my way to the crowded bar where beautification stylists were removing bloodwork bandages and applying ointments to prevent bruising.
I wove through the mingling dancers and staff, finding my way to an empty barstool and a waiting stylist. I smiled when I saw Myrtle’s kind face.
She was older and often came to the club when a client got a little…
too rough with one of the dancers. Thankfully, I’d never been on the bitter end of a bad private dance, but nonetheless she’d aided me a few times covering puffy under eyes and minor imperfections.
“You girls had it rough today,” she frowned, lifting my arms one by one and checking them over, then turning my head gently side-to-side to peer at my neck, before carefully removing all the bandages. “You’re already bruising,” she observed, dabbing on different ointments across each tiny wound.
“Apparently there’s some Beta thing going around, so they took a lot of samples today.” The skin where she touched was still wildly tender, but she was being gentle, whispering her fingers across the damage with practiced finesse.
“The glandular disease,” she murmured, reinforcing my words. “They’ve been testing clubs all over Seattle. A dancer at Velvet Room collapsed last week.”
“Really?” I sounded shocked, because I was. I thought the whole glandular overproduction thing sounded ridiculous and was probably being blown out of proportion.
“Yes.” Myrtle was focused down on my left wrist, but she glanced up at me with a quick nod. “Our bodies just can’t process and use scent the way Omegas and Alphas can. Our glands are basically…” she scrunched up her face, thinking, “vestigial. Like tailbones.”
“But tailbones mean we grew out of needing tails,” I reasoned with her. “Aren’t scent glands still useful? Finding your soulmates and all that nonsense.”
The older woman snorted. “Would you want who you love determined by the way you smell?”
“I mean…” I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I’d cared about Geoff, but my body hadn’t responded to him in a world-shattering way.
He’d been convenient. We’d worked together because we understood the demands of our career.
I didn’t think I could honestly answer her question, because I hadn’t experienced what people talk about—the undeniable, unavoidable and irrevocable bond that happens when an Omega meets her true scent match like my grandparents had.
“Anyways,” Myrtle continued as she began applying skin veil makeup to conceal any remaining issues.
“It’s just status in my opinion. You have working, productive glands and your body can process the output, or you don’t.
You either more valued in our society, or you’re not.
All our classifications are bogged down with bullshit. ”
"I guess," I mumbled, watching as Myrtle expertly made the last remnant of the last puncture mark fade away. It was just a surface fix, but that’s all that mattered for my job. Look pretty on the outside, dance well, rake in the cash.
When Myrtle finished, she gazed at me and her eyes softened. I don’t know what she saw in my expression. I could only imagine it reflected how poorly my heart was feeling.
"Oh, don't mind me, honey. I'm just an old Beta with too many opinions." She patted my hand. "You're all set. Good as new."
Good as new.
I could be a lot of things now, but I was never going to be that. Good as new would mean rewinding time, which wasn’t possible.
I thanked her and slid off the barstool, my mind still spinning with the implications of those labeled vials.
I needed to find Crystal and talk to her.
I’d voice my fears, and I’d hope she waved them off as no big deal.
She knew more about being a Beta and required testing. She’d know if I should be worried.
I found her in the changing room applying eyeliner. I moved behind her, leaning down and folding my arms against the back of her chair. I watched as Crystal fluidly applied a pitch-black wing to her right lid. She always did it perfectly, with a quick flick of wrist.
When she’d finished, her eyes locked with mine.
"What's with the face?" Crystal asked without turning from the mirror. "If you're going to tell me you suddenly can’t come this weekend, then I refuse to listen. I need my sexiest sidekick.”
“Sidekick?” I bumped her shoulder. “Haven’t I earned my own place yet?”
“Maybe after a year,” she teased. “But seriously, what’s wrong? You look like someone stole all your tips.”
I moved around the chair, dropping to kneel on the rough carpet. “Should I be concerned about the testing?”
“What do you mean?” she asked absentmindedly, rifling through her makeup and pulling out mascara.
“Well, you’re not worried because… But I’m…”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, so I lifted my arm and gave my hand a little shake which shifted the beaded bracelet around. Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, then settled back to normal.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She shrugged.
“And if it’s not?” I pushed.
“Then I have zero idea where you got that bracelet and I had absolutely no clue you were,” she leaned in, pitching her voice low, “not a Beta.”
“So, hope for the best, and if the worst happen, plausible deniability.”
“I think you’re amazing, Lucky.” The hand holding the mascara lifted close to my face, she used one knuckle to affectionately trace down my cheek. “But I can’t lose this job.”
“If shit hits the fan for me, I promise I won’t bring you down too.” It was the least I could do for her. I wouldn’t even be dancing again without her help.
She grinned, then turned back to the mirror and started layering her lashes with thick coats of black pigment. “But it won’t come to that. You’re our Lucky Star after all.”
“Sure. I always have the best luck,” I tried to return her optimism, but my own sounded like a frail imitation.
Lucky.
When was the last time I was actually lucky?