Page 11 of Stream Heat
"You want me to play your pack Omega? Dress up as your pet for content?" I almost choked.
"We want to help," Malik said, and oddly enough, it didn’t sound completely manufactured.
The laugh that escaped me then was ugly, bordering on hysterical. "So you get to swoop in, save the ruined Omega, and rack up sponsors while you’re at it. Great."
"It’s not like that–" Reid started, but I cut him off.
"Isn’t it? Five Alphas, storming in to rescue the helpless Omega who can’t control herself. You really think that makes you look better?"
"Better than the alternative," Ash replied, voice flat. "You disappear for violating TOS. We get blamed for triggering it."
The nausea crested again, and their presence in my space wasn’t helping. Reid reached toward me and I recoiled, slamming myself back against the wall.
"Don’t touch me," I hissed, hands balled, jaw clenched. Everything in me was on fire. Their nearness made it worse, not better.
He didn’t close the distance, just raised his hands like he was dealing with a cornered animal. "You’re sick," he said. Not a question, not even really a challenge. Just a fact. "This isn’t just a heat crash."
I focused on a spot over his shoulder. "I said I’m fine."
He wasn’t buying it. "You’re shaking, sweating, pupils the size of quarters." He lowered his voice, pitched it so only I could hear. "Suppressant withdrawal."
No one spoke. They didn’t need to. My silence gave it all away.
"How long?" Malik asked, and I could tell he was about to launch into some lecture if I gave him the chance.
But Reid answered first. "Eight years. She said it during the crash."
Malik whistled, low. "Eight years on high-grade suppressants. And you’re still standing?"
I wanted to tell him to back off, but the fire in my bones was making it impossible to concentrate. "It’s my life," I spat. "I had to burn myself out to get respect. Otherwise, I’d just be someone’s jerk off material bouncing on a yoga ball while pretending I didn’t know how to play the game."
No one argued. We’d all seen the numbers, the constant grind of Omega streamers who got nothing but filth and innuendo until every bit of work they’d done was buried under a joke.
Jace cleared his throat. "The suppressants… they were black market, military-grade,weren’t they?"
I stared, caught flat-footed for once.
He gave a faint, rueful shrug. "My sister did it too. Except she was in the military. Withdrawal almost killed her."
By then, my body was done pretending. The nausea hit like a sucker punch, and I practically collapsed over the trash can. Dry heaves, just pure humiliation, nothing left in me but the ugly tremors.
When I could finally look up, they all stared, but Reid looked like he was prepping for something worse.
"This isn’t just PR, Quinn," he said, and for once it sounded like he meant it. "You need medical help."
"I have it covered," I lied, even though the words barely held together. "Real suppressants get here tomorrow."
All five faces went pale.
"You can’t," Malik snapped. "Not after a crash like this. You’ll shut your system down."
"And then what?" My voice broke at the edges, shameful. "Lean into it? Turn myself into everyone’s favorite Omega, beg for scraps as long as I play the part?"
My legs stopped cooperating, and I slid to the floor, letting the wall hold me up. My vision was shot, but I could see them well enough. In fact, they were the only things I could see, like we were on a video call and they’d blurred their backgrounds, except this was real life.
"Our offer is still open," Reid said. He crouched down to my level, careful not to touch. "Move in. Go through the withdrawal with us. We feed the press a story about a friendly pack helping you figure yourself out. No details. Just manageable."
"And you get…?" I couldn’t keep up the front.
