Page 101 of Knot All is Forgiven

The peeling Formica countertops are covered in small appliances, and the fridge is dented stainless steel in the corner of the room. Jordan has a knee on the counter and is digging in the cabinets. The pose makes it frustratingly difficult not to stare at her ass.

She finds what she's looking for in a stack of plates and spins around, tossing them around the room like frisbees.

"You're burying your head in the sand, Jordan."

Crash.

She's talking to herself in annoyed bursts, and though it's clear she's furious, it's not an all-consuming rage.

"You're not the only one whose life was upended, Jordan."

Smash.

A baseball bat leans against the refrigerator, and she squeals, excitedly yanking it off the floor. "Living on scraps, my ass!" she shouts, banging the front of the fridge in. "I'm trying my best, and he's going to act like I'm not putting in enough effort?"

Smash. Bang.

My Omega stalks around the kitchen, searching for other things to destroy, swiping her arm over the countertops and sending a coffee maker flying.

"But it's not like I wanted it to happen this way!" My Omega growls, pacing around the room. "All because I couldn't present. And do you know what would've made me present, Rafe?" she asks, whirling around to face me. She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes as she stares me down, hands on her hips. When I don't answer her immediately she glowers. "Well, Rafe? Do you?"

We're still far enough apart that I haven't caught a whiff of her scent, and when I take a step toward her to get a hint of it, she holds the bat out. "Do you know what would've made me present, Alpha?"

Awkwardly, I rub the back of my neck. "Uh, us?"

"Ding ding ding! Just as smart as you always were, I see!" She skips out of the kitchen, and I trail behind her.

I follow her up the stairs and into a pale pink room meant to imitate an Omega's nest. Cushions line the room, half with their guts hanging out, and shredded curtains are draped from the ceiling. The floor is a lumpy mattress, and several lamps line the walls.

Jordan lowers herself to the surface and pulls one of the cut-open pillows into her lap. She slowly pulls the stuffing out chunk by chunk,

"All I ever wanted was to be an Omega," she says unprompted. "I just knew I was an Omega, and your scent match. I can't explain why I felt that way, but I think a part of me could tell from your pheromones even then."

She tosses the empty pillowcase aside and grabs another one, looking for a hole to dig the stuffing out. When she doesn't find one, I hold out my pocket knife. She reaches for it, and our fingers brush.

Mango and lime.

Jordan's scent swirls around me as she freezes, eyes wide, staring at me. It takes a moment, but she shakes her head and opens the knife, cutting into the pillow as she returns to speaking.

"When you three left, I felt like I was lost at sea. Everything was changing around me, and you guys were growing distant. I knew you were doing our weekly phone calls out of obligation, not because you wanted to."

"Of course, we wanted to. It was ju-"

"Don't interrupt me!" Her raised voice echoes through the room, and I can practically taste her irritation. "Please," she adds at the last minute. It's only a little sarcastic.

I nod, lowering myself to the floor and moving marginally closer to her. When she is satisfied that I will stay silent, she continues eviscerating the pillow in her arms.

"Despite how much I wanted it, presenting as an Omega has upset my routine. My best friend is treating me strangely and saying it affects my work, people treat me differently in public, and then there's you three."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"How could you have?" she snorts. "I don't think Vick even fully understands the extent of it."

"I know we haven't made this easy for you."

"Honestly?" She looks around the destroyed space. "This has helped. I feel a little better, letting out some of my anger." Jordan reaches over, grabs my hand, and squeezes it. "It was a good idea."

I pull my knees to my chest, my black slacks dusted in the remnants of rage that float around the room. We sit silently, Jordan picking apart the pillow on her lap and me watching her, holding space.

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