Page 17 of Knot Going Down
I punch the thin pillow and stifle a scream. This can’t be happening. It’s impossible. I’m too old. People don’t change designations in their mid-twenties. Not normally.
Maybe it’s unfair of me to blame Meggie. Omegas do run in my family. But I’m convinced this is all because I was stuck in a car with an omega in heat for nearly an hour. Being closed in with all those pheromones must have activated some kind of recessive gene in me or something because before that I was fine.
I give my head a shake, trying to get their scents out of my nose and sounds out of my ears. Meggie was in distress. From what my sisters have told me, going into heat is like being on ecstasy, but it can be like a really bad trip if you’re not somewhere safe with people you trust. I’m not a monster—no matter what people say about me. I wasn’t gonna sit by and make her suffer when a cure was right there. So I gave my consent for her alphas to do what they needed to hold her over until I got them to the rental house. But I really don’t need the memory of her getting pleasured in the back of a van cemented into the wrinkles of my brain.
“Ughh!” I hurl the empty bottle of scent neutralizer at the wall.
I still can’t believe I perfumed. Me!
I can’t be an omega. I’m a beta. I’ve always been a beta! I’m supposed to be a beta!
Sure, when I was little, I dreamed of being an omega. Nearly everyone did. Then both my sisters designated, and I saw what it really means to be a slave to your hormones, to need an alpha, to lose all control during a heat. No, thank you.
I won’t lose all autonomy just because my body decides it likes the idea of knots. Lots of knots. My insides ache with something like hunger pains, but lower, a gnawing emptiness I’ve never felt before. Fuck!
This is so bad. I want to compete in the next Olympics and redeem my low score in this one. Being an omega means no gold medals, no swimming, unless I’m ready to break the law like Meggie Harper.
Fucking Meggie Harper.
I drop to the bed, angry tears flooding my eyes.
I’m an omega. Like it or not, biology has decided for me.
“No!” I shoot back to my feet.
When I was in high school, I once baked two hundred cupcakes overnight after the parent volunteer in charge forgot to place the fundraiser order. I was running on caffeine, blind optimism, and a mixing bowl that barely fit in the sink. Total chaos. Still nailed it. I’m Ava Hawthorne. I’ll figure this out. Just like I did then. Just like I’ve done with every other bad thing that’s happened to me.
Maybe there’s a way to reverse this. I just need to make sure no one finds out before I find a solution.
The door opens right as I’ve solidified my resolve. Emily comes rushing in, all eager obliviousness.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She goes to hug me, and I barely slip away before she makes contact. I’m not ready for her to find out what I am.
She looks a little hurt, but forces a smile. “I was worried when you didn’t show for the closing ceremonies.”
“Closing ceremonies?” I completely forgot.
“Yes, silly, they were tonight.” She sits down on the little bed across from mine. “Well, I guess they’re still happening, if you want to go.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re alright.” She looks away and picks at a thread on the blanket.
Her concern for me hollows my chest. “Thank you.”
Our eyes meet across the room, and there’s something broken and exhausted mirrored back at me in her gaze. I think she could use a hug, but I don’t move.
“Wanna watch a movie?” She repositions on her bed, leaning against the wall and patting the spot next to her with a smile that seems only a little forced.
Curling up to watch a movie with Emily sounds divine. But I can’t. The longer I’m here, the more likely she is to scent me. Betas aren’t as sensitive to scent as omegas and alphas. But she’d probably pick up on my designation if we were that close. Especially if I perfume, which is a real possibility if I let myself sit next to Emily, thighs touching as we cuddle to watch a movie on her computer. Yeah, not a good idea.
“No. I’ve got an early flight. I need to head to the airport now.” Liar. And this is yet another reason why I’m the Wicked Witch of the Pool. My flight is early, but not that early. I have plenty of time. But it would be better for me to hide out at the airport with all the scent neutralizers and the smells of other passengers, than to stay here with a woman who’s too kind to me for her own good.
“Oh, well, do you need any help packing?”
Definitely too kind for her own good. I’m near tears again from her simple offer. This hormone stuff is no joke. I almost never cry. But during this trip, I felt like I could cry at any moment. Maybe it’s the breakup with Harrison still being so fresh—though, honestly, I haven’t felt as sad about that as I probably should, considering how long we dated. If I’m honest with myself, I knew that wasn’t going to last.
Maybe it’s just not placing in the Olympics.
