Page 34 of Dubious Match
Something tells me that she’s ignoring her own needs and I want to fix it. If she won’t take care of herself, then I’ll have to make sure that she does. I don’t care how small we start as a pack, I want to teach her that it’s okay to lean on someone.
I hope the notes I left help to nudge her in that direction. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I have a feeling the way to my omega’s heart won’t be easy either.
That’s okay though. I can be patient.
NOVA
Burrowing further under the blankets, I sob as my head pounds. It feels as if there’s a full percussion band marching between my ears. It’s been getting more and more intense despite trying to sleep it off, meditate, and distract myself.
Nothing works, the minutes continue to slip past my fingers like sand, yet the pain continues.
“Please…stop,” I whimper. “I can’t… fuck.”
My fingers massage my scalp, and I ask myself who in the cosmos I managed to tick off. I’m a good person, I deliver babies for a living, ow whyyy?
Hiccuping out a sob, I tell myself this won’t help. Tears lead to dehydration, which will make this all worse. I haven’t been able to eat, I’m drinking water when I can, but I feel nauseous.
Having only water in your stomach when you feel ill makes you more aware of it sloshing back and forth inside of you.
I have had one other migraine since I moved to Minneapolis, but this one is so much worse than the first one. Besides that,I’ve always been very healthy. I don’t understand if it’s the weather change or maybe I inhaled too many fumes while doing work on my car.
Is that possible? I can’t even promise whatever heavenly body that exists never to touch the inner workings of my van again if this migraine will just go away because I know it’ll be a lie.
I need to change my brakes out today anyway, and don’t have time for this. Crawling out of the oasis of my nest, I inch painstakingly to my bathroom. Panting, I begin to get desperate enough to whisper birth mantras.
I’ve never been pregnant, I’ve seen many women crawl on their hands and knees to get a baby to progress, but this has to be on par with contractions. Except there’s no cute newborn at the end of the pain.
What’s the point then?
“Focus, focus, fuck me!” I scream, my head pressing against the cool tile.
I need to get it together. If my landlords hear me screaming, they’ll try to come inside. I suppose they should probably be at work still, but all sense of time is beyond me. It could be morning or the day could have blown past me altogether. Breathe, Nova.
“I can do anything for thirty seconds at a time,” I wheeze out. “I’m powerful and being tortured for some reason. I can handle this.”
Eh, I’ll work on it. My brain feels as if it’s been put through the grinder right now.
Pulling off articles of clothing as I gaze at the shower, I force myself to stand and stumble over to turn on the water. If this is due to congestion from the changing weather, I can try some facial massage exercises to drain it.
At the very least, it’ll get the blood flow to move. After this, I’m going to start eating chocolate covered coffee beans. I’m willing to try anything, because I’m going on hour three of this and it’s only getting worse.
I don’t know why this is happening, and my panicked mind is running through possibilities like a feral hypochondriac. Everything from a brain tumor to someone stabbing a doll with my hair wrapped around it is examined and discarded.
Stepping under the water, I shut the curtain behind me and begin massaging my chest, ears, and face as I try to get the pain to abate. I’m not working today, I don’t have clients, and I shouldn’t have any emergencies.
My shower lasts about half an hour as I stand under the hot water with my face under it, tapping and massaging like a lunatic. Tears mix in with the water as I silently tough it out. My next step will be to cover my face in a CBD lotion that I keep for my heats.
It helps me through the initial stages of my heat, until all I can think about is knots and sex. Since I can’t do that, I use toys instead. Once, while I was in Michigan when I was twenty, I booked myself into a heat clinic and fucked it out.
I was living in a camp and having my heat wasn’t safe when there were so many other people around me. I didn’t have the van yet, which means I lived in a tent and used the camp’s bathrooms to shower.
I kept to myself, didn’t tell a soul where I lived while I was seeing clients, and made it work.
The heat clinic is also how I had sex for the first time where I actually chose it. The alphas were sweet, kept me sated, and we said our goodbyes at the end of my heat. It was expensive, but my safety overrode everything else.
I heard from Omega’s Link that there may be a heat spa opening soon that will be offering free services. If that’s true, maybe I won’t have to go through my heats alone.
I found that I enjoyed how uncomplicated it was at the heat clinic in Michigan. No names were exchanged, everything was focused on my pleasure and happiness, and no one asked any questions.
