Chapter 3 Help Me, Okay?
1008 Words
*****
The night flowed into the tiny bathroom, followed by a flurry of footsteps and a chaotic mix of Alpha pheromones. When I was pushed against the toilet, my arm gripped tight. When I was lifted, my clothes ripped. When I was smeared with bodily fluids laced with potent pheromones... My mind was a jumbled mess.
A group of indistinguishable Alphas released their courtship pheromones like they were free, and at first, the overwhelming scent of red wine triggered my heat. But I still carried Richard's temporary mark.
Every Alpha could have me, but none could mark me. Forced to lift my head to swallow, I thought of the dirt on the cuffs of Richard's shirt... the night flowed in again through the cracks in the wall.
The tall Alpha looked down at the Omega sprawled on the ground and let out a low growl, releasing everything. He put away the camera on its tripod, took one last lingering look at the final frame, and kicked away the emptied cash box at his feet.
The Omega, stained with invisible desire and tangible grime, was breathtakingly beautiful. Richard walked into the room and started snapping photos.
*****
"Boss, this time it's a p*****t from Upper City. And they spiked the food at that restaurant with Cloudie." the silver-haired underling respectfully presented a stack of photos and videos to the man in front of him, then suddenly realized he had misspoken.
His boss frequented Upper City too. The man, a good 6.2 feet tall with a hulking physique, had a face like a classical marble sculpture, all sharp angles and handsome lines. He ignored his underling's slip-up and picked up a photo, raising an eyebrow. What a beautiful Omega!
He clicked on the video and frowned, his face a mask of "what a waste."
He tapped his fingers on the table and asked casually, "Where is she?" the underling replied respectfully, "She went back to Upper City overnight. Don't worry, Boss. We took care of it cleanly. It won't affect your reputation!"
The man waved his hand dismissively, and the silver-haired underling scurried away. He stood up and looked out the window, his eyelashes lowered, his tailored suit sharp and crisp. A faint scent of menthol wafted through the room. He had heard that the beautiful Omega smelled of green grapes.
*****
It had been three months since I returned from Lower City. Richard took me to the hospital and then back home. Summer faded away in a haze of hospital white and the smell of disinfectant, and autumn brought with it a chill in the mornings and evenings, a bit like menthol ointment. We never spoke of that night. I didn't bring it up, and Richard didn't ask.
When I woke up, he was slumped in a chair beside my bed, his head bandaged, looking utterly drained. We were both victims. I reached out to hug him, but he gently pulled away. Richard's project was terminated, and he was transferred back to Upper City.
After I was discharged, I handed in my resignation. It went through layer upon layer of approvals until it reached the top, where it was rejected. The company's director, a man I had never met, granted me an extended leave of absence. I ignored my colleagues' whispers about my relationship with the boss, wanting nothing more than to hide away at home.
As a wave of heat washed over me, I knew the agonizing torment was about to begin again. Three months had passed, and Richard was as gentle as ever, but he hadn't touched me. He thought I was dirty.
My suppressants had long expired, and even if they hadn't, they wouldn't be enough for me now. As I clutched a box of high-dose suppressants, I stumbled into someone in the elevator. The tall man was polite, steadying me by the arm. "Sir, are you alright?"
I gripped the elevator's mirrored wall to steady myself, but the box slipped from my grasp. Suppressants clattered across the floor, glass vials shattering. "I... I'm sorry..." I mumbled, scrambling to gather the unbroken vials, my mind racing, wondering if I had time to buy another box. But a wave of heat surged through me, and I knew it was too late.
By the time I fumbled with my keys, I was sliding down the hallway wall by the shoe cabinet. I grabbed the suppressants and a syringe, my vision blurring with heat, my arms covered in needle marks. The cool liquid flowed into my veins, bringing a moment of clarity before the flames returned.
"It's no use... It's no use..." I fumbled for the box, but sweat and tears mingled, blurring my vision as desire consumed me completely. The hospital had only healed my physical wounds.
*****
The apartment hallway was filled with the fresh, sweet scent of green grapes as if someone had spilled gallons of grape juice. It was giving Michael Johnson a headache. He stood outside his neighbor's door, which was slightly ajar, his jaw clenched. The scent held a strange, fatal attraction for him, but years of rigorous training instilled in him a sliver of reason.
"Sir," he called, knocking gently, "do you need any help?" the scent of mint! Just half a minute ago, Richard had impatiently hung up on me, complaining that I was interrupting his important research.
I leaned against the door for support and saw my new neighbor, Mr. Johnson, his expression full of concern. How ironic, a neighbor cared more about me than my Alpha husband. The man in the hallway, backlit by the hallway light, crouched down and offered me his hand, his voice a cool, magnetic baritone. "Can you stand?"
I should close the door, refuse his help. That's what a well-behaved, modest Omega should do. But... Michael looked at the drenched Omega in front of him, his eyes flashing with conflict. In the next instant, a pale, slender hand slipped into his. The Omega's doe eyes glistened with tears. "Mr. Johnson, please, help me, okay?"
- Writer
