Page 122 of Freeing My Alpha

No one noticed.

But I’m still left with the most disgusting purse I’ve ever owned, tempting me to vomit again. Smacking my bag shut, I gag again.

Jumping from my seat, I set my sights on the door. Yasmine, I’m really sick. I don’t know what’s happening, but I have to leave our stuff to run outside in case I throw up again.

Holy shit, okay. I’m coming.

Yasmine opens the bathroom door, gaping at me as I sprint across the small shop. Now people are noticing me. God, I really hope they can’t see anything wrong with my bag, or that I didn’t miss anything that splashed onto my clothes.

Threatened tears burn my eyes. How could this happen? Trauma triggers sometimes make me puke from all the stress stewing in my gut, but that’s usually after my initial panic. I’ve never been sick uncontrollably like this before.

With the fresh air blowing in my face, I’m smell-free. My stomach relaxes, but I burst into tears.

Carrying my laptop, Yasmine throws open The Cozy Roast’s door. When she sees my ugly crying face, she grabs my shoulder with petrified eyes. “What happened?”

“I threw up, but it’s— It’s okay. I’m fine.” My voice hitches through sobs.

Yasmine bites back a smile. “Um— I mean, clearly you’re not okay, emotionally.”

I groan, gripping my rocking stomach as my anxiety returns. “No, I’m not. I probably grossed everyone out.”

“Oh, really? I thought you mindlinked you threw up inside, but I didn’t see anything at our table. Some lady asked if you were okay because you looked scared when you ran out, but she didn’t mention anything about you puking.”

With a whimper, I drop my head. Yasmine sits at one of the outdoor tables, plopping our belongings in front of her. She’s staring, awaiting my explanation. Now that I know Amy is another Beta, I can see why they’re so effective at mediation; Noah’s best friend also has truth-serum eyes.

I can’t bear to look at Yasmine as I hold my bag out, pinching the corner like it’s infected. “That’s because I— I threw up in here quietly and ruined my purse.”

Yasmine gives me a sad laugh, returning to my side to rub my back. “Poor Luna. Your sad face is gutting me. No wonder Noah says he’s regularly totaled by you. Here, let me help you with that.”

Before I can argue with her, Yasmine takes the bag from me, striding to one of the big public trash cans at the street corner. I try to sputter out words as she opens my purse, but a sharp, revolting pain strikes my gut. All that comes out is, “Oh, no—”

Yasmine does a double-take. “Are you going to throw up again?”

I lurch a little, clasping both hands on my mouth. Yes, if you touch that! What are you doing?!

Emptying it for you. Just close your eyes.

I can’t close my eyes. I’m too horrified by the thought of someone taking care of my disgusting mess for me. With my body shaking like it’s in active trauma, this is way beyond the normal exposure-safe anxiety limit. I make a mental note to bring this up to Jenny as I cry out beneath my hands, fighting an aching compulsion to keep Yasmine contamination-free. Although, I think I’ll pass out if I have to handle that bag myself.

Or, maybe I will now. My vision reverts to spotted, starry lights, blocking out big chunks of Yasmine’s face.

“Whoa, hey—”

I can’t see her, but I hear the clatter of my bag on the concrete as Yasmine catches my stumbling body.

“Dude, you’re not okay at all. I’m taking you to the Pack Doctor— Well, after I take you to the—” Yasmine steers me to the trash can, gripping my hair behind my head just before I throw up again. “To the trash can,” she mutters. “Dude, you’ve gotta actually let yourself puke. That was hardly anything, so no wonder you’re still gagging.”

I don’t want to make you watch. I shudder over the can, catching my breath as my vision returns.

“Well, too bad, because you’re looking like you’re going to pass out if I don’t hold you up. If you hold it in like that, you’ll only make yourself feel worse. Your body’s doing its job to protect you from something, and I’m here to help, so don’t strain against it. Let your poor stomach do its job.”

Her soft rubbing on my back somehow makes me even more nauseated. I’m terrified to do it, but closing my eyes, I relax as much as I can through the next wave of sickness.

Every second is disgusting and scary. A wet sound escapes me, but I survive it. By the time it’s over, I actually feel worlds better.

As promised, Yasmine carries most of my weight for my wobbling legs, helping me into the car. She shifts into reverse, and I relax into her passenger’s seat.

My tears resurface. This time they’re hot and sad, ripping apart my heart.

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