Page 9 of Lavender and Honey

"Concerned?" Avery echoed, her voice now laced with genuine curiosity that threaded through the phone line, “Is there a reason he should be concerned?”

I huffed a bit into the phone, “No. I just need to not put cream on it during my day off…or switch brands. But it isn’t bothering me too much.” That was a lie, it was bothering me. It hurt and burned, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. She didn’t need to stop her life to come see me to make sure I was ‘taking care of myself’ as she put it.

"Did he say anything about it?" Avery's voice finally pierced the quiet, pulling me back from the brink of my swirling thoughts. Drawing in a breath that did little to steady me, I let it out slowly.

"Just that there were other ways to manage it," I said, each word measured, careful not to betray the tremor I felt inside. My eyes drifted toward the array of art supplies lined neatly on the shelves— a testament to order and control, two things I craved more than I cared to admit.

"Other ways..." Avery repeated, her tone thoughtful, probing. She didn't push further, sensing perhaps that I wasn't ready to delve into the implications of his words, or maybe she understood that the mere mention of alternatives threatened the precarious balance I maintained.

"Yes, other ways," I affirmed, my thoughts lingering on the containers of scent blocker and suppressants that lay discarded on my kitchen table— silent witnesses to my daily struggle.

"Lydia?" Avery's voice brought me back again, her concern a gentle nudge against the barriers I'd built around myself.

"Sorry," I offered, a faint smile touching my lips, though she couldn't see it. "I'm still here." And in saying so, I realized the truth within those words. I was still here, still fighting, still breathing. And perhaps that was enough for now.

"Well, he’s not wrong," Avery's voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts. "You really should stop torturing yourself with that cream."

"It’s not torture," I muttered, the words slipping more defensively than I had intended it to be. "It’s necessary."

"Lydia, come on." Her tone softened, but it carried an edge, like she was holding back a tide of unsaid things. "That stuff is harsh. Look at what it's doing to you." I was silent for a minute, my eyes looking down at the floor as I took a deep breath in.

"Maybe," I conceded, allowing my gaze to wander to the window where the morning light filtered through, casting patterns on the wooden floor.

"Lydia, listen to me," Avery pressed, her concern slipping through the digital divide between us. "There's more to life than just surviving— you know that, right?"

"I do," I whispered, barely audible even to myself. Yet the admission felt like a breach in the dam I had meticulously constructed around my heart. I was surviving day to day rightnow, trying to fix the broken mess my family left me as. Trying to learn to trust again…trying to not hate being an Omega.

"Then why—"

"Because," I interrupted, a surge of emotion rising within me, "it's how I cope, Avery. It's how I stay safe."

"Is it?" she asked, and though I couldn't see her, I could picture the frown etching its way across her brow. "Or is it how you hide? I know what happened to you…yes…but you can’t use that as an excuse forever."

Hide.

An excuse.

The word settled heavy on my chest, a specter of truth I wasn't prepared to face head on. Yes, I hid. I hid behind the neutral tones of my clothes, behind the carefully measured doses of pills and cream, behind the walls of my store that kept the world at bay while inviting it in through the beauty of art.

"Maybe it is a bit of both," I admitted, the confession slipping out in a breathy sigh. Avery didn't respond immediately, but I could feel her presence, patient and unwavering, like the steady pulse of the earth beneath my feet, “But…I am not ready yet. It has only been a year…I am trying by going out and seeing people now…isn’t that enough for now? I am out of my comfort zone... ” The words trailed off as I tried to keep the tears at bay.

"Okay," she finally said, her voice carrying a gentle finality that told me we'd reached the end of this conversation for now. "Okay, Lydia. I get it... well… somewhat. I just want you to be happy though…"

"Thanks, Avery," I said, a small smile finding its way onto my lips despite the turmoil inside. She was right; she usually was. But change, like art, took time— a slow blend of colors and experiences that couldn't be rushed, “Maybe soon…but right now I want to keep my scent blockers and suppressants. Maybe in time I will let them go…but I need more time.”

"Alright… I get it… I’m sorry,” she replied, and I could hear the smile in her voice, a mirror to my own. "Remember, I'm here when you're ready."

"Thank you," I repeated, feeling a faint glimmer of hope flickering somewhere deep within me. Maybe one day, I would be ready. Until then, I will take the suppressants and put on the cream like a lifeline.

"Look," Avery's voice broke through the silence, carrying a weight of resignation. "I just called to check in, not give you a therapy session." There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her tone was lighter, almost teasing. "Are you still going to the farmers’ market this weekend?"

The question seemed to float in the air between us, innocuous yet heavy with implication. I hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the counter, feeling the rough texture beneath them. The market was always bustling, alive with chatter and laughter— a cacophony of life that both lured and frightened me.

"Yeah," I nodded to myself, more a reflex than a decision. "I think I will... even if it might be a little awkward for me after this." My words were met with silence at first. Perhaps Avery was surprised by my response, or maybe she was waiting for me to retract it, to come up with an excuse to stay hidden away. But the silence stretched on, and I realized it was acceptance she was offering— not just of my words, but of the person behind them.

"Good," she said finally. It wasn't victory; it was encouragement, a subtle nudge toward the world outside my self-imposed boundaries. Avery understood my need for solitude, but she also saw the threads of longing woven into the corners of my canvas— the ones that yearned for color and connection.

I rolled my eyes, though there was no one to see the gesture but the disinterested walls of my home. "Goodbye, Avery," I murmured, pressing the end call button a tad more firmly thannecessary. The screen went black, reflecting back a woman with red hair that was a bit messy, and tired blue eyes. Avery's words lingered, like the aftertaste of the bitter suppressant pills.

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