Page 30 of These Bonds that Unite Us
They linger in the doorway after they sit my bags inside, but I can’t handle them being here. I need to lay down and let the toll of this day fade from my aching body.
“I’m going to sleep,” I tell them before closing the door. It clicks shut several minutes before I hear their footsteps fading into the house.
I slump against the edge of the bed, allowing myself to sit in all of the feelings I’ve been bottling up since I arrived half an hour ago. Tears soak my cheeks and muffled sobs wrack my body, but for the first time in months, it feels cathartic to cry.
After fifteen minutes of breaking down, I slip into the bed and wrap the blankets from my bag around me. I hope my restless mind will allow me to slip into a deep sleep at least for a few hours.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Now Playing: Dig It- Bring Me the Horizon
“Omen, if you don’t open this damn door and eat something, I’m going to break it down!” I demand, pounding my fist on the door to the guest room she had claimed two nights ago.
She isn’t eating. She hasn’t left the guest room either. Fear starts to press against the edges of my mind as past memories of my sister’s decline blur with my current reality. I won’t let Omen take the same path Elizabeth did. Whatever it takes, I’m going to save my omega.
When she’d looked me in the eyes and told me she wasn’t our omega, my heart damn near cracked in two. We had naively thought she would be thrilled to see the house we bought her, instead she’s shut down. Hope led us to believe she would perk back up when we showed her the nest, but she refused to enter the third floor again.
I know this is my fault, I’m the one who pushed her away and lashed out at her for being born a Montgomery, but fuck, I wish I could take it all back. If I could rewind time to the momentsbefore Bea showed up at our apartment to tell us who Omen is, I would kick some sense into my own ass. Then I would have gone to my little omega and never left her side again.
Sighing, I carry the tray of food I made her back to the kitchen. Callisto sits at the island, his eyes fly to mine and a sad smile stretches across his lips. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, I head into the living room. The cold glass of the window presses against my forearm when I lean against it. The back patio sits untouched in the September sun, warm and inviting despite the leaves and grass littering the stone bricks.
My eyes travel to the picture hung on the wall to my left. It’s been years since I felt comfortable enough to put my sister’s picture out for others to see. I’m finally starting to come to terms with what happened to her, thanks to the help of my therapist and my mates. It’s easier to talk about her life now, instead of focusing on her death. Remembering the vibrant, adventurous person she was before makes losing her a little more manageable.
What would Elizabeth do in an impossible situation?
I grab my phone and step outside, wandering through the garden until I find a bench facing the lake. It takes several phone calls for me to finally connect with the person I hope can help me the most–Omen’s adoptive mother.
“Hello, Dr. Powell. My name is Nebula Graves, I was hoping to speak with you about Omen’s Rejected Omega Syndrome.”
“Hello Nebula. Please give me a moment to step away.” She seems surprised to hear from me, understandably so since we’ve never met. I also don’t know how much her daughters have told her about me. Regardless of what she’s heard, I’m betting on her wanting to save Omen over whatever prejudice she has against my pack. “Alright, how can I help you?”
I explain who I am to her adopted daughter and my role in her rejection. “My older sister passed away from ROS eightyears ago, so I’m somewhat familiar with the disease, but I have questions and I thought you may be able to answer them.”
“I am sorry to hear about your sister. Rejection is a difficult thing to deal with, both as the victim and those close to them. Omen doesn’t have Rejected Omega Syndrome specifically, she has what is considered a chemical rejection. Since no one in your pack verbally rejected her, she can’t have ROS. Instead, her body is convinced your actions are the result of a rejection, so it is reacting in a way that mimics the symptoms of ROS.” Dr. Powell explains.
“We had wondered how she had the disease when we hadn’t rejected her. I assumed it was from me telling her to stop contacting us.”
“Something that likely added to the stress of the chemical rejection, but wasn’t the root cause,” she explains firmly. “I heard from Donovan she is currently staying with your pack while they investigate the attempted break-in at her apartment. Do you have concerns about her being there?”
“We want her to be here with us. This is her home. Or we hope it will be one day.” I lean back against the bench, letting the afternoon sun shine down on my face. The warmth is only skin deep, unable to penetrate the trepidation still filling my soul. “She’s been here for two days and she has barely left the guest bedroom she’s claimed. She also isn’t eating. I don’t know how to help her, but I thought you might.”
“That is worrying,” she sighs. “I’ll have Donovan reach out to the doctor she’s been seeing since the encounter with the Pastor. There is a chance her close proximity to your pack may be adversely affecting the medication they’ve been using to slow her decline.”
I wasn’t aware Omen was taking medicine to combat the chemical rejection, so I’ll have to ask her about it. If I can convince her to leave the guest room.
“As for what you can do to help her, being there is the biggest step you can take. Help her take care of herself and show her you accept her as your omega. Those steps should help combat the effects of the rejection until you reach the point where she feels comfortable bonding with your pack,” Doctor Powell tells me.
“Okay,” I blow out a breath. It is disheartening to not have a solid plan moving forward.
“I know this isn’t the advice you were hoping to hear, but there isn’t much else you can do. Time, and a bond, are the only things that can stabilize the rejection enough for Omen to truly heal.” She hesitates for several seconds before continuing. “Whatever happens, Nebula, your pack cannot hurt her again. If she believes she isn’t wanted there, she will spiral to a point we may be unable to bring her back from.”
“We won’t,” I promise. “We’ll never hurt her this way again.”
After we end the call, I continue to sit in the sun to try to work through my chaotic thoughts. My phone beeps with a timer reminding me of my virtual therapy appointment, so I make my way inside and get my laptop set up in the living room.
“Good afternoon, Nebula,” my therapist, Mia, greets when her video flickers to life on my screen. Her warm smile and grayish-white hair remind me of a grandmother, though she is brutally honest in a way my own grandparents were not.
We chat for a few minutes, easing into the session. Her affable personality is what endeared me to her as a therapist. Even when we’re discussing difficult topics, I always feel comfortable speaking with her.
