Prologue #3
Omega’s Haven.
A shelter for people like me.
Homeless. Beaten down and exhausted. Completely alone and on the cusp of doing something I’d regret ever thinking about if I were in my right mind.
I heard about it once before, when we were in town window shopping for our house, and I remember thinking how nice it was that someone took the initiative to create a safe place like this.
And how much I wish something like this existed when I was fourteen years old.
I didn’t think I’d ever be here, though.
I didn’t think I’d have reason to be.
That alone is why I don’t want to be here.
If I stay in the truck a little longer, if I let my wounds continue to fester and keep up with my unintentional hunger strike, I won’t have to go inside. No, I can sit here until I die and maybe someone will find me in a couple of hours when the sun rises again.
Something is telling me that’s not the way I go out though, not how I’m supposed to leave this world, just like something is telling me this is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now.
Which is why I grab my wallet and keys, push open the driver door, then lock the truck up like it’s Fort Knox before shuffling my way across the street to the blue door of the shelter. There’s a spotlight lighting everything up, a clear sign that they’re taking new intakes.
Bet they’ll wish they had a no vacancy sign up instead once they get a load of me.
Or maybe they can direct me to the nearest funeral home instead.
I do not want to fucking be here.
It takes everything in me to knock on the door, but I do it because I know my mates would want me to. They’re looking down at me, wherever they are if they’re anywhere at all, wanting me to keep going. That’s the only reason I’m even here.
They made sure I survived, and I’m going to keep doing that for as long as I can because of them.
The street is quiet, not a single car passes by as I stand here, and there’s only the sound of a light breeze to keep me company. One that could easily knock me over from all the blood loss and trauma. I’m seconds away from dropping to my knees when the door finally creaks open.
“I was in the back when you knocked…” A woman with blonde hair piled in a top knot stares at me for a long second before she opens the door wide without any fanfare.
Thank fuck she doesn’t. I’m so grateful for it, I honestly don’t think I’d be able to handle someone oohing and ahhing over me.
Especially since it would be the morbid kind of gawking and nothing else.
I’m definitely the human equivalent of a car crash right now.
“I’m Aurelia, and we are going to do the world’s fastest intake,” she says, ushering me inside before she helps me sit down.
She bites her lip as she picks up her phone, looking at me for a beat before she takes a breath.
“I’m going to send a text to someone. It’s not the police, it’s to our on-call nurse.
I want her to take a look at you. Is that okay? A nod or head shake is totally okay.”
I didn’t even think about anyone calling the police. I suppose I do look like a victim of a murder scene, because I am. For all she knows, I could have been the one on a killing spree.
If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here.
Too bad it’s not.
“No hospital,” I rasp, those words taking a lot out of me.
“Absolutely not,” she agrees, her fingers flying over the screen. “You’re really hurt and I want to make sure you make it through the night.”
There’s no apology in her blue eyes, she’s simply telling me how it is. I can appreciate a straight shooter, that’s how I am, too.
Bet she’d shit if I told her I wasn’t worried about making it through anything at all, let alone tonight.
“She says she’ll be here in five minutes. Now, can you tell me your name?”
Aurelia wasn’t kidding about taking minimal information from me, and I can’t help the way my brow raises in question as she produces a tablet out of nowhere and inputs my information as quickly as possible.
Granted, it’s only my first name and a couple brief stats, but still, she’s quick.
“Policy and red tape kills, Olive, and I’m not a murderer.”
My slight nod is all it takes before she continues.
“There are no alphas allowed here unless it’s well known beforehand, and never in the shelter behind me.
We offer everything that you’ll need to start over, regardless of your circumstances.
If you need legal representation, it’s yours without any questions asked.
If you’re hiding from someone, we can help you change your identity.
We have a work program, which is a fancy way to say that we offer help in finding a job or assistance in going back to school,” she explains.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, Olive, but it’s obvious that you’ve walked through Hell and are coming out the other side.
All of our services are free of charge, including counseling. None of it is mandatory, okay?”
It’s so difficult to do anything other than nod weakly at her but it’s all I’ve got at the moment, and no sooner do I give her one than she’s rushing to the door to answer a knock I definitely didn’t hear.
“Hurry,” Aurelia mutters under her breath, ushering in a woman wearing scrubs.
“I usually offer a private room for this, but I’m not going to move you,” the nurse says. “I’m Laurell Price, and I’m going to clean you up. This means I’m going to need to touch you. Are you ready for that?”
Honestly, I’m not, but her tone is so kind that it has tears burning in my eyes, and a sting of what I can only describe as regret piercing my gut.
This place would have been amazing when I was a kid and I know without a doubt, if I’d have brought my brother with me, we wouldn’t have had to worry about anything ever again.
I wouldn’t have met my pack if that were the case, which also means I wouldn’t be here right now, trying desperately to calm my nerves while a perfect stranger asks to touch me.
But meeting those men was the best thing to ever happen to me and I’d do it all over again, gunshot wounds and all, just to have those few years with them.
“Yes,” I whisper, grateful no one comments on the warble of my words.
I sit and stare at the wall as Nurse Laurell takes the bloody rags that I haphazardly wrapped around my wounds, her lips pinched to keep any sound from coming out. Probably because the infection is bad, worse than I realize, and I wouldn’t be shocked if they smell like rotting flesh at this point.
All I can smell is burning wood and the metallic tang of blood.
The nurse is a trooper for not letting on how bad things are, I’ll give her that.
She disinfects, cleans, and gives me a shot of antibiotics that I mutely sit through. I’m practically swaying with exhaustion, damn near rocking from side to side in my seat, and just as my head starts to bob, a protein bar is pressed into my hand.
I choke out a sob as I look down at it, reminded all over again of my last moments with my pack. Reminded of everything I lost, and how I will never find that again.
Yet, even as the tears flow freely and I border on hysterical, I open the damn package and force myself to take small bites. My mouth is full of saliva from both the extreme hunger and my tears, causing me to choke as I chew, but I don’t stop until the stupid protein bar is gone.
Thankfully, neither woman mentions it, they don’t even acknowledge what just happened aside from handing me water as well.
The last thing I want is sympathy when I can barely find the will to live. I don’t even know what I want right now, but this seems to be the place for me to figure my shit out.
Nurse Laurell is gentle as I zone out, staring at nothing as my tears finally subside, and she stills once she’s done.
“I’d like to come back tomorrow to check on these and run some tests,” she says softly.
“You look like a stiff breeze could blow you over, so I don’t want to do it now.
I also have a feeling you’re severely dehydrated, and I want to start you on intravenous fluids and another round of antibiotics as soon as I can. ”
All of that barely registers.
It’s almost like she’s speaking another language.
But I nod instead of dragging this out any longer, deciding that I’ll deal with it tomorrow in case I just accidentally sold what’s left of my soul to the nice nurse.
That’s probably the worst thing that could happen right now, and it doesn’t seem half bad.
Not much more could go wrong in my life at this point.
“Thank you, Laurell, for coming so quickly,” Aurelia murmurs before turning to me. “I’m going to be here till six in the morning and then Aisling will take over. She’s amazing and one of the co-founders for Omega’s Haven, Olive. Let’s walk you back to the shelter and get you settled.”
“I’ll let myself out,” the nurse says quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Olive.”
Standing takes some effort, more than I’d like to admit thanks to the wounds on my arms, hands, and face reminding me of how much it hurts to move. I do it though, because there’s no one here to carry me everywhere, no one who’ll make sure I do what I’m supposed to in order to care for myself.
Fuck, I miss them so much.
The tears start up again as I follow Aurelia through the common room and I can’t stop crying as we head down a hallway.
She has keys that allow us entrance, and it makes me very aware of how much security they have here.
That helps settle me some since I still don’t know what the fuck happened, and just when I’m feeling like I might be able to let my guard down, the night manager does something that floors me.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks, opening a closet door.
The question seems to come from left field, and I blink slowly at her, trying to remember what the hell colors are, let alone whether or not I have a favorite.
So, I blurt the first one that comes to mind. “Black.”